my wallflower life

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505 AM

The soft curve of the waist, the smooth silky skin. Small dimples on the lower back, and perfect hand hold. The cascading waves of honey, reflecting the golden rays of light. Pools of water watching my every move, sending messages without sound. part one The click of my entrance, placing the thin plastic card on the table I smile as I see her, the way her body perfecting fits in mine, a kiss of her soft lips. The bed, unmade, has littered with drawings and articles, a personal project of hers. She leaves momentarily as I gaze upon a sketch, I take it. The window on the fifth floor offers a spectacular view of the city, the bustling people among yellow cabs like ants making their rounds. I can smell her perfume now, I know she has slipped on the red dress I bought her as a gift, for coming to see me, I momentarily close my eyes, I can see the way her body bends and shifts, fitting perfectly, like she does on me. ‘Ready?’ calls her voice, seductive yet soft, the perf

'kates' the words she never says

A singular person is multiple things, it is psychologically impossible for us to be just, one, thing. Humans are complex, ever-changing and evolving. But what do I know? I’m just some nobody who is constantly thinking about things that can never be. I know that there’s kate, me, there’s the kate that listens to music in the dark thinking about what she will do tomorrow and the next day and the next day…and the next, and kate who will always go back to listening to my favourite 80’s anthems, wishing she could have seen the people she adores so much. Who’s to say we can only be one person? Confined to the physicality’s of the world. There’s the kate who will forever want to be an actress, or an astronaut and live in space, or or, the kate that wants to be really smart and reads Stephen hawking in hopes that one day she’ll be a theoretical physicist. The one who wishes she could write like Jane Austen and John Green and Sally Rooney. The one who wa

'James' written words by a wallflower

You can’t just expect people to fall at your beck and call James, she said. I know now she was right, deep down I think I knew then, but I guess I just chose to ignore that part of my brain, those thoughts that maybe I wasn’t who I thought I was and maybe I was, or am, a terrible person for it. I had always told myself I would move to California one day, and now being here, driving down the state route one highway, I feel like I have finally made it. Destined to be here, not stuck in some small town for the rest of my life. My torn copy of Jane Eyre sits beside me, the pages torn and dogeared, notes riddled between the lines, and my favourite passages circled. You know, I think we are really going to love it here Dude I say. From the crowded backseat Dude my gold lab pops his head between the front seats and pants. Smiling I reach over at scratch his head, I was laughing now, I remember almost perfectly. It was as if the stars had finally aligned for me, I glanced over at Dude

02:26 am inspiration strikes?

As I walk down the street, my breath a painting above the dark sky, my fingers itch with temptation. What will I do? Where will I go? I don’t know the answers to these questions. I know but two small things; what I want and what I need. But are these right? That I’m not sure of. Love Greed Home Death Passion… I know these things, and I know who I am. The basic person thrives for goodness, but is it truly achievable? We are all flawed, in one way or another. I don’t know a person’s secrets, their passion. Their flaws. Do you?

28/11/18

Hey everyone, I wanted to start by apologizing, I know I was supposed to get a Halloween themed story up during October. Truthfully, I did start one, but I ended up completely hating the idea and scrapped it, maybe I will revise it and go back to it in the future, but for now please don’t expect it. Next, I want to say sorry for the lack of content on the blog, if I am being completely honest and raw here, I have been in a bit of a slump, I have ideas, but I just cannot bring myself to write them, I feel like nothing is going to be good enough. I read so many beautiful things, words that flow through me like air and I don’t know if I will ever be able to write like that, to compare to the great works of literature. I know I am always my own worst critic, but I feel like I need to take a step back and deal with my personal problems, to heal myself and not have so many priorities on my plate. For those of my readers who don’t know, I have moved and am finding it extremely difficult

"Your Misery, Then Mine" A short story by Katlynn Chrans // trigger warning

Your Misery, Then Mine; By Katlynn Chrans I am going to tell you the story of a boy. I am also going to tell you a story of why we shouldn’t judge people when we don’t know their circumstances. Please listen from a place in your heart. As the anniversary of my uncle’s death closes near I have decided to come back to the topic of suicide, however, this time I will be writing from the outside. I have seen a post about the story of a boy who runs home from the bus every day, it is only short, but very beautiful and sad. So..I have decided to elaborate, give the boy a name, and a story. I have no clue if it was a fictional or true post, but the message is still received. I hope you enjoy. We sat, impatient and desperately trying to hold our laughter back, as the bus slowed to a stop he sprang from the edge of his seat, just like he always did. Oh, how he flew down the path, we all laughed and laughed, until our sides hurt, and tears sprung in our eyes.