I remember that day strangely vividly. I always tend to just stare at my ceiling and think about that day. That day always sat with me. I could never tell whether or not it was good or not. It always resonated as something indescribable. Why did it happen? Destiny never existed to me but was this destiny telling me it existed? Destiny is torture. Destiny sounds happy but it isn’t. It was nothing but an antagonizing moment of something. Why did it happen? Why was it the way that it was? I blinked.
Now, I sit here. I’m staring at my ceiling. I’m holding my eyepatch this time. It’s off, I thought to myself. Not that the feeling in the air was off, but the patch. I had my eyepatch off. I silently pulled it up to my face and stared at it. The black cloth looked nice against my snow pale hands. The strings were entangled in my fingers, stretching down past my wrist. I then touched the skin underneath my eye. Then I started to think again. It was about you. My mind instantly became clouded with thoughts and pictures of you. Then images of that day started to roll in the film that flew past my eye. That day was so unbelievably agonizing yet I find myself thinking about it. Thinking of you. I thought of you. Of you. You. Just you. That day and you. No matter what way I put it, the subject is you. To read more of You, click here.
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