Memories of the Time Before

"I was listening to Where Have All the Rude Boys Gone in the car, and for a brief moment it took me back to a place. A place where my biggest problems were whether or not you were going to hold my hand that day, or if my black nailpolish was chipped just right. A place where a look could hold a thousand words, and doodles in a little red book could make or break me. A place where my diary was my only drug, and the tv was where some of my best friends lived. A place where sitting in a car on a dark night, smoking a black clove cigerette, with my black nails, and black fishnet gloves was the epitome of poetic perfection. A place where metaphors were used, abused, and taken too far. A place where 'he said, she said' was how we got our information. A place where friendships changed at the drop of a hat, but always came back together again. And most importantly, a place where love wasn't about substance, or consequence, but about passion and pain and beauty."
Posted in Stories
by TabulaRasa


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