June

June is a month full of worries, reliefs, excitement, happiness and sadness. June is a beginning, an end, and even a middle. June is worrisome to a point where everything becomes too blurry and unknown. June is a month of graduation, a closing of one book and an opening of another. June is full of tears as you slowly bid goodbye to all your friends who you’ve known for over half your life. It is a month of happiness because all the hard work finally got paid off. Most of all, June is June, a month that no matter, you’ll never forget.

I suck, I know

I've been away for over a month and unfortunately I won't be back on until the end of this month. Exam time is brutal and I have no time for writing AT ALL. It really sucks, but I promise to post more soon. I'm going to restart my drabble challenges again, they were inspirational and I found that I kept myself useful while I wrote them. This time though, I am going to select a word that I like and then write about it...and bend the rules a little bit ;) 100 words is a little too little, don'y you think? Anyway, I will be back soon!  :)

Moving...

Hey guys, so I decided to create another blog. This one is purely based on my stories that are currently on FictionPress, FanFiction and Wattpad. Check it out if you visit this blog because of teasers. Click Here for the direct link. From now on, all my story updates will be posted there, not here. I'd rather keep this blog for creative short pieces that I sometimes write.

YTIAA- Teaser Chapter 12

A/N: I'm sorry for the long wait, I was experiencing some heavy writer's block. Please be patient. Chapter 12 is sent for editing. Enjoy :)

There were bags under his eyes. His hair was all over the place, as if he went through it more than a hundred times. He looked older -older than what I thought he was- unshaven and tired.

I didn’t feel sorry for him.

My mother had often told me that I was too naïve and good-hearted. She said there wasn’t an ounce of evilness in my soul. She called me pure. She thought I was her angel.

Right now I was so far from pure that I’d never even be able to come close to it. I hoped that he felt worse; I wished the worst for him. My heart turned so black but I didn’t take anything back. He made me feel that way. And it was never going to be fixed; I wanted to let him know that.

I was eating breakfast on the third day when his door opened. I guessed he thought that I was asleep because he looked surprised to see me on the kitchen table eating my French toast.

Accepting Me

A/N: This is dedicated to all the people who are suffering in silence. I may not know how you feel but writing this may ease your pain. I hope you know that there are people out there who will accept you no matter who you are, what you are and what you stand for. This piece is dedicated to someone special. Someone who deserves the same love and warmth that I do. Remember: We're all different but we're all the same, too.

Accepting Me

I wonder why it is so hard for you to accept me. I wonder why you deny everything that I do, why you turn your eyes to the opposite direction.

Do I disgust you? Do I make you so repulsive that you won't even see me as a person anymore?

Will you tell me why?

I never meant for this misunderstanding to occur. All I wanted was for you to love me as I am. All I wanted was to be accepted by you because I love you.

Do you know what you're doing to me?

I am hurting. I am hurting, inside, outside, everywhere. I don't want to shed these tears anymore. I don't want to cry helplessly as you take your anger out on me, over and over again.

Make me understand.

Tell me what to do and I'll fix it. Give me a sign, a word, anything just so we could smile. Just so I could turn back time when you still loved me.

Is it because I'm not like her?

I don't want to be. We're different, you know? We may come from the same blood, but we're each unique in another way. Why don't you see it? Why won't you let me in?

I don't want to close myself from you anymore. I want you back. I need you back. I crave for your love and warmth, and hope that you do too.

Why is it so hard to accept me? What had I done that was so wrong?

My Own Pace

I don't believe in love. I've never experienced nor have felt it. I don't know what it is, so don't ask me if I love you or not. I don't know. I don't want to know.

I'm afraid. Afraid of what my response will be. I'm scared to fall because if I do, no one will pick up the pieces of my broken heart. Not you, not anyone.

Let me live the way I want to. Let me stay in one piece as I lose myself in you. Let me believe what I want, no matter how absurd it may seem to be. Let me do what I think is right —not love you at all. Let me be carefree. Let me continue lying to myself, even if it isn't true. Let me stay in your arms even though our thoughts are worlds apart.

          .

Just please don't bring it up. Don't ruin the perfection you’ve created for me. Don't talk about it, don’t use it against me. Lie to me, look away but still smile. I'm not ready yet. When I will be I'll tell you, I promise. Don't give up on me yet, my time will soon come.       

Until then, wait for me.

If you don’t, I might just disappear.

Remembering You

“What are you doing here?” She asked, her voice shaking in nervousness.

The little boy stared at the older woman in confusion and held a up the object he had found. “Mommy, who is that?” he asked, a twinge of excitement in his tone.

The young woman shook her head, closing her eyes for a moment, wishing this was all an illusion.

“It's no one Michael,” she replied, grinning halfheartedly at the child.

“But his eyes are green, mommy, just like mine,” he countered, a smile appearing on his baby features.

For a second, she had thought the colour had drained off her face. She wondered briefly how the old photograph landed in his hands, before turning her attention to the curious boy.

“Yes, just like yours,” she whispered longingly, walking closer to the boy. She grabbed the photo from his petite hands and stared at it. How long had it been since she had last seen him, 3, 4 years?

“Who is he?” the boy questioned again.

“Your father,” she replied, unaware of how much those two words were going to change their lives. “He's your father,” she repeated, more to herself rather than to him.