Valentines Day..

Valentines Day is for that special someone, you get them a present, plan a special day and spend it with them. The whole day with them. Only my special person is in a different country this makes it feel like we are on separate planets at opposite ends of the universe. It kills me when we speak, knowing that I cant ever hug him or touch his face, never being able to actually kiss those lips that look so soft. My Valentines Day wont ever be so special until I actually get to see him properly. I’m an idiot, always have been I have strong feelings for a man who I shouldn’t have. Everything I have been raised is against this relationship, I’m stupid to ever think that I want him, I want him to be my Valentine. I’ve always thought Valentines Day was ridiculous, now it seems very different.

More descriptive writing…<3

Colour is a miracle, without colour the world would be dull. There are three words that I think bring out fireworks and a whole range of colour: “I love you”. But what is love?  Is it the redness of the rose petals he spreads across the dining room table on Valentines Day? Is it the way he sleeps with his mouth slightly open? Or is it just how he acts when you talk about another man? Does he hate it as much as me when we fight? I don’t think so, he seems to love hurting me, breaking me.
If those three words, 8 letters are never said in your life then there is no colour, none of your own personal fireworks. You wouldn’t be able to see the beautiful rainbows after a sunny/rainy day. But even when that love never changes but you are both too far apart, you mention the word “friends” he flips out. Says things that he has kept bottled up and you find yourself broken. The petals of that luxurious red rose seem to rinkle up, the redness seems to go black and the thorns of the relationship take over. That luxurious red rose from Valentines Day is now a Black rose bringing up the Man. The man who broke me.

Descriptive writing..

Its dark, I can hear something dripping, water from the tap? maybe. I would’ve thought it had all evaporated by now. There’s been no rain for weeks maybe even months now. Yeah I’m right, no water I must be hearing things the tap feels warm, that’s not normal around here nothing about this weather is normal for this village.
Even when the night comes by it still feels like the sun is in the sky-it may look beautiful but it is there every minute of every day, taunting us, pushing us to our limits. No water, no moisture on the ground, everywhere is dry. People from elsewhere may think we’re lucky to have this amazingly scorching weather, a dream come true to have the sun sizzling onto our pale skin to add some colour instead of staying pale in the wet, cold weather we are used to at this time of year. But to us it’s hell on Earth, our little village has been in a droit for so long I’ve stopped bothering to count or keep track of the days, my hope and faith broke away a long time ago well at least it feels like a long time ago. The sun is taking us away, one by one, we’re like flies that are attracted to light bulbs, each one dying as it touches the object we use for electricity-light, electrocuting itself. We should of actually have seen this coming, we invented the light bulb over the years so many flies have died because of the light bulb well now we are the flies and the sun is the light bulb, but why would God want to destroy his creation? Is this our purpose? Who knows.
We’re so isolated out here, hundreds of miles away from the nearest village let alone we can’t drive there seeing as the fuel has evaporated along with the water, we can’t walk there because we would die of thirst and we have already ran out of Cola and other Pop drinks.
Even a cactus can’t survive without feeding on water from the soil but I can tell you one thing about cactuses they are bloody amazing to look at, the green of the waxy leaves the kind of green you would see on a freshly picked juicy green apple-my mouth is watering at just HOLDING a fresh green apple, tasting it would be a miracle. The pricks you get when you touch the cacti’s spines like little sewing needles pricking you ever so gently. I don’t have a bloody clue how cactuses survive in the desert, when I’m going stir-crazy in a droit…