𝟯𝟲. white flag

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Don't feel stupid for wanting it too much.
It's your heart that has chosen, there's no need to surrender every hope and dream your heart beats towards because of an obstacle in your pathway.

To peel away expectations of who and where you're supposed to be.
Waiting for their own permission to simply allow yourself to live the life you want.

Within a single moment where you humbly surrender, soften the outer shell.
Soften the walls and choose yourself.

A dream is the thing with feathers.
The feathers that perch into the soul, singing tunes without the words, and never stops,

So you ask yourself.
What is it to dream?

To close your eyes and let your imagination fly away, while twisting with the splashes of colour that trace your mind.
Letting the colours of your heart take control and paint the dream you once dreamed in the palm of your hand and along your flesh.

Hold on to it tightly, my love.
Nurture it.

Yet allow it all the room in the world to grow, yet when you finally reach your dream, open you palm to let the colours go.


"Hello?" she echoed into the phone, hearing a soft chuckle respond back as the chuckle sent streams of memory down her back.

Her heart leaping at the opportunity of the caller.

"Hi Pumpkin" it responded back to her making her eyes want to cry a million tears.
Yet only feeling the one single stream down after wasting the rest on the blonde boy that she left still staring up at the stars.

Her throat going dry as she felt her knees grow weak and her mind fuzz over.
As everything she'd grown up to think would be a lie.

Her whole life would be a lie.

"Dad?" she whispered back into the cold phone that rested along her cheek.
The curve of the electronic that dove into her jawline resting ever so gently against her skin.

Hearing the soft scrapes of static that break into her ear, letting it ring out as the light tear slowly trailed its way down her reddened cheek.

Her skin becoming more hot, with her clammy palms feeding into the phones plastic.

"Hi baby" his voice echoed through her head as it was cut off by the short ring of static that bled its way into her mind.

𝗣𝗢𝗟𝗔𝗥𝗢𝗜𝗗,  ʲʲ ᵐᵃʸᵇᵃⁿᵏWhere stories live. Discover now