descriptive figure

A Story by Grahm Thoman

chose a random picture off of google, resulting with miley cryrus aqnd then creating a story or backround around the picture.

She is pristine and strong as her jaw could cut, the light reflecting bronze ever so slightly. The browns and blondes flow through her hair as wind passes through a tunnel; full and fast. Lines sculpted onto her forehead from stress, grooving in and out as if there were a hillside along her skin. The curve of her rounded back can only hide so much pain inside; she hugs herself tighter trying not to release. The shadow of her collarbone dramatic and deep, the bone had been more exposed in the last week for she hadn’t left this spot for days on days.

So bright and curious her features should show, without care and happy; filled with light. Occupying her time with random laughter and the extended smiles as she runs with energy.

Yet you sit here alone.

Left to your thoughts, leaving not a crack set onto your fierce depression. Sitting to be left on your lonesome can never be what you’ve asked for, such emptiness upon the youth of your face.

The people stream by and you sit as stone, never to move or open to anyone’s kindness. Who am I kidding, what kindness as anyone offered to you? Never to be shown a smile or a gleam of hope, not a hand to pull you up or hold you tight. To sit and stare as they pass you by with only a glance of meaningless pity.

It is as it seems: you’ve never been cared for, loved for, or taken to attention of any sort.

She sat there as time moved on, never complaining or acting upon so much raw hurt. They all passed by with not a glance. They allow things to go unnoticed, to ignore is better to involve with conflict. To show kindness is just to allow weakness?

To be so beautiful; time and time again to go left to wither.

Hands grasping knees to shield her pain from others.

The skin aglow with unspoken remorse.

She is simple and unmoving; left to rot as we go on.