Pretty Girl With Sad Eyes

I wish it would go away, the trembling of my nerves when I wake up and her face is the first thing on my mind.

I remember those days when I first met her.

She was a gem. A Rose amongst Dandelions. 

Little did I know her thorns were razor sharp.

I’d’ve seen them had I not been blinded by her smile, luminous in its deceit. 

The kind of smile that hides her sad eyes.

The eyes that have watched her heart break a thousand times. 

The eyes have watched her hands build a wall so massive Mongols couldn’t get through.

I tried to bring it down but I couldn’t. 

I tried to bring love to her doorstep. Tried to help her feel again, but I failed.

She’ll be hiding behind that wall, like her eyes behind that smile.

Forgetting what it feels like to let someone in.

 

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To Her

I hate when I don’t get a reply from you. I also hate that I haven’t heard your voice in four days. I hate that you live so far from me. I hate that you’re the first person I think of when I get up, but I also like that it reminds me of the good times we’ve shared. I like to read our conversations but I hate that there aren’t more of them to read. I can’t look at the color red or pink without thinking of you. But it makes me miss you. It makes me smile when I think of how affectionate you are when we’re together, but I don’t like how distant you are when we’re apart. I don’t know if to call it an infatuation, or if I’m actually feeling something for you. We’re not committed to each other but the thought of someone else enjoying your presence makes me cringe. The thought of them getting to feel your skin, smell your hair, kiss your lips, and bask in your radiance is difficult to bear. I wish I could just turn a switch and make these feelings go away when you’re not around. It’s painful. I want to skip this part where I’m competing for your attention. You have all of mine, when will I have all of yours?

the truth

“…everyone I know says…I always seem, happy, truth is I’m always depressed, sorry I let you down.”

People go through things they often don’t share with others. It’s important to think about what you say to people because you never know where their real emotions lie. That dark cloud hides in plain sight.

Longreads’ Best of WordPress, Vol. 6

The WordPress.com Blog

Here’s the latest collection of our favorite stories from writers and publishers across all of WordPress. You can find our past collections here — and you can follow Longreads on WordPress.com for more daily reading recommendations.

Keep these stories coming: share links to essays and interviews (over 1,500 words) on Twitter (#longreads) and WordPress.com by tagging your posts longreads.

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1. Criticism and Self-Criticism (S. Li, The Kenyon Review)

Li, an associate professor of English at the New York Institute of Technology in Nanjing, China, recalls being forced by a teacher to criticize her best friend as an adolescent. “Criticism and self-criticism were required practices in every socialist social unit,” Li explains. “In the village school I attended, they took the form of trimester reports constituted by two parts: class criticism of each student and each student’s self-criticism.”

2. A Letter to Mitchell Browne…

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How do people do it?

anilynedyes

That charm. The confidence. Their positive and ambitious demeanor. They make it look so easy. As if its second nature to them. To just walk up to someone, anyone, and instantly become friends. I can’t even get past “what’s your name?” It’s as if I have no idea what I should say next that won’t scare them away. I’m so bad at small talk it’s crippling.
I mean what common things do people talk about? I know what I like but I have no clue what you like and no idea on how to ask you.
Do you like the things I like?
Are we completely relatable?
Or polar opposites?
Do you like me?
Will I like you?
Is seeing each other again because we want to talk to each other a given?
Or will we be those “I’ll see you when I see you” acquaintance’s?

And if you ask…

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Under Pressure

“A screen is not a page and it never will be”

Critical Dispatches

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The bookshelf above my bed is now beyond overloaded and I’m quite certain that it’s going to collapse any day now. We’re at breaking point. One of the screws on the bottom left corner is looking particularly dodgy, and despite my best efforts I can’t get the damn thing tightened back into the wall. I can only hope that if it’s to go then it goes while I’m out at work, otherwise I’m afraid it could kill me.

What a way to go. I wonder which book would do me in, who would be the publisher? Assassinated by Abacus; a Faber & Faber finishing; rubbed out by Random House; massacred by Pan MacMillan; ousted by the Oxford Press. Would it be a hardback that delivers the final blow? 1984 or Brave New World? One of those weighty paperbacks, the copy of Infinite Jest or the Hunter Thompson anthology, would definitely…

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