|
Heterosexual
✶Jaysong✶
What do you mean it's *checks watch * July
|
Post by ✶Jaysong✶ on Dec 14, 2020 22:09:56 GMT -5
CAMPFIRE
When I think of the time I spent sitting beside a campfire, it’s always the little things that stand out. I remember lounging next to the fire ring, and constantly changing the way I sat so that it wouldn’t feel as if I were about to catch fire. I could have moved, but the fire drew me like a moth; to not sit near it seemed wrong. My mind recalls the most fleeting of memories: the dog curled around my feet, flickering firelight playing on faces, feet propped up on the nearest available chair, sparks drifting into an endless inkwell sky. We missed the falling stars, and gained our ephemeral moments.
We never sat in silence, and always lost track of time. We talked philosophy and swapped stories, stuffed our faces with s’mores and mountain pies, and listened to music until the early hours of the morning. Sitting around a fire drew us together in a way few—if any—other things can. We were rooted firmly in the here and now, as if we could forget everything else in the world, and only focus on each other. Our accomplishments and dreams, our deepest fears and desires. Not what’s wrong with the world, but what’s good about it. Sitting around a fire always filled me with an inexplicable, profound sense of contentment. If I could bottle it and give it to the world, I would.
Those little moments, plucked from hundreds of undifferentiated summer nights, are my favorite campfire memories. Even if I can never remember those nights in entirety, I know I’ll never forget how they made me feel—cherished, content. Complete.
|
|
|
Heterosexual
✶Jaysong✶
What do you mean it's *checks watch * July
|
Post by ✶Jaysong✶ on Dec 14, 2020 22:17:30 GMT -5
AN IMAGINARY FRIEND SAYS GOODBYE
She was five when we became friends. Her words are the first thing I can remember: “would you like to sit here?” After that we were inseparable.
When she was six, we went to school. She met new friends, but I was the one she shared her toys and snacks with.
At age eight we talked more than ever. Her dog had died and she needed someone to comfort her. I had never had a dog, but I understood her anyway. In a sense, I knew her better than she did.
She joined a soccer team when she was nine, and I never missed a game or a practice. When she scraped a knee or scored a goal, I was there.
She was ten when I first noticed the changes. She was a child who realized they were growing up, and we played less than before.
She was eleven and our friendship was fading. She had outgrown me. Or rather, I hadn’t been able to grow with her.
She turned twelve and I was gone.
Sometimes when kids grow up, they stop using their imagination, because they think it’s childish. Some don’t even realize what’s happening. Because you never get a warning when you grow up. And when you’re a kid’s imaginary friend, you never get a warning when they leave you.
That was what happened to her. She woke up one day and forgot to bring me back.
The last time I saw her, she was eighteen. She packed up her memories, hugged me goodbye, and left for college. But that was okay. Because that meant she hadn’t forgotten me after all.
|
|
Cake
Pheonix
goodbye. I'm leaving the forums (for a while though I might come on here once a month or so)
|
Post by Pheonix on Feb 14, 2021 17:54:16 GMT -5
um can there be like two long paragraphs? + I like your stories
|
|