My Incomplete Writing- Part One
Current mood:  nostalgic

This is the first collection of my unfinished writing from high school. includes: poems, quotes, character description, short stories, etc.
Please be kind as most of these pieces are based off of my life and experiences, and were written between 2015-17. 
Plus, maybe someday ill find the inspiration to create a completed piece out of one or some of these ideas! 

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A simple white brick, with its paint peeling off, against the other regular red-ish browns, his creativity circulated throughout his veins.
He definitely was no artist, but instead art itself. 
I laid on the couch, feeling myself slowly getting swallowed by its crevasse as he held my hand and sat down on the small leftover area. Leaning back against the arm of the couch, he left his legs still falling over the side and tightened his grip on my hand. 
I don’t want to get up. I don’t want to leave. 
His arms began to twitch as he struggled and wiggled into a comfortable position. His bright grey eyes glowed blue in the light anytime he looked over at me and yet he only stayed that way for mere seconds, it filled me with days of warmth. Once he finally finished wiggling his way to comfort, he let the seconds he looked to me grow until leaning in to kiss my dried-up lips. 
He was a seemingly ordinary flower, a pure white rose, that grew in a garden surrounded in red. 
I enjoyed the moment, as my face flushed, before I lifted my head and laid on his chest. That’s when he let go of my hand, and traced his fingers against the skin of my arm before leading down to my thighs. 

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It’s amazing how something can be so blue and yet absolutely colourless. 
Bruises covered my legs, creating a pearlescent appearance as all the cool-colors blended themselves into my pale skin. 

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A writer is like a collector-- the gathering and brainstorming to add onto the piles of ideas they have set aside for the day they can add more detail, more inspiration, or just more of anything that can make them turn to something with real interest amongst others.
They will have inspiration to write, but still just sit staring at a page in agony because there isn’t a right set of words they can throw together that will describe the thing or person they are trying to write about.
Writers learn the mundane things they add to their characters from real people. 
Maybe someday, there will be a stranger in the corner of their eye at a restaurant that clearly has fear plastered on their face as they rip their napkin into little confetti pieces. Maybe across from them is a close relative that doesn’t notice they tend to spit out everywhere while they talk, and it’s getting all over the food that was set out in front of them. 
Another day, it’s the couple at a movie theater that sat all the way at the top and are cuddled so close together; fitting as if they were really just puzzle pieces. The emotions that flow out of the smile on the girl’s face that doesn’t even slightly diminish throughout the entire movie.
Writers can also be actual collectors-- keeping ahold of meaningless things they’ve gotten overtime, like a plain, old, movie ticket from a date they went on months ago; because the emotions attached to it is a reminder of the moment, as if looking at it is like watching a video of the whole thing.

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She was an angel, golden and glowing.
Totally sparkling from head to toe in complete and utter peace. Anyone that met her could immediately tell that she was good; A light at the end of a tunnel, a colourful sunset filling the sky after a hard day, a rainbow that came after the rain. However, nobody could tell that she was the tunnel. She was the hard, long day that brought those around stress, and she was definitely the storm destroying everything in its path. 
She was an angel, craving chaos.
She made the days start out in the chaos she desperately desired, like there was a dark piece hidden inside this angel everyone saw. This demon inside her, gave pain, and heartache to the one person that it shouldn’t have. In all fairness, this person she broke in secret was a demon in others eyes. 
This boy, just a dark shade of grey.
For most of his life, everyone knew to stay away. He brought around a huge darkness, a cloud that cloaked over the sky like a blanket as he walked by. Most of his pleasure came solely from the heartbreak that he brought others. But, once he met her he did everything to make sure he brought her nothing but love. She made the world brighter for him, as she was shiny lights that lit up a pathway.. for the most part. Yet still, nobody could see him as anything other than the demon he was. Little did they know, all he wanted now was something simple, something calm. 
He was a demon seeking peace.