A word a day keeps the doctor away. Sorry, we don't deal in apples. We try to make 500 words or less flow from a single word, everyday. From anything to everything to nothing, in small doses administered directly from the clutter of our minds. We are inspired by Gone Postal.
Whatever happened to your 54 weeks "project"?
On behalf of all three of us, I’m sad to say that writing on word-day daily has become something of a (swallow) burden to our busy schedules. College really is draining. Right now, I assume we’re all just taking time out from all the academic writing, and the very thought of having to write again—even for fun—really takes a lot out of us. Personally, though, I will try and give you some pieces over at likelyunlikely.
Thank you for your appreciation, though. We’ll get back to word/day someday. :)
- C
We love in different ways, you and I.
I love with words and laughter and little things - little things like dinosaur coin banks and heart-shaped lego pieces. I write you stories, letters, and (oh so ocassionally) poems to let you know how much you mean to me. The number of times I tell you that I love you is never enough to encompass how I feel. The number of letters I have written for you will never be enough to hold all the memories and emotions we’ve shared. I love you with my laughter. It’s my personal form of affirmation. I accept you. I cherish you. You make me happy - happier than anyone else ever can. I listen and I smile. I listen and I laugh. I listen and I listen and I listen and that is how you know you matter to me.
You love with music and skin and big things - big things like concert tickets and dinner dates. You write lyrics and create melodies to conjure up songs for me unlike any other. Again and again and again, I cry because of the beauty you create for me. The soundtrack of my life is being sung in your low voice. You love me with your touch. A brush of a finger against my cheek, the warmth of a hug that leaves me breathless, your palm pressed against mine - these are the symbols of your love. These are the ways I know that you care. I need you. You’re amazing. There is no one else. You hold me and you hold me and you hold me some more - tighter, longer, more longingly. This is how I know I matter to you.
We are different, you and I. I live on communication; you thrive on presence. And sometimes, I wonder if the way we express ourselves will ever be the cause of our destruction. Neither loves each other less - just differently. Sometimes, however, that’s hard to see.
But what’s ultimately important, I suppose, is that we love.
We love. We love. We love - more and more with each passing day.
OHGAD JUST REALIZED YOU HAVE FOB REFERENCES TOO U GUYS. U'RE PERF
Well, we all agree that Fall Out Boy is one of the best bands ever, if not the best band ever, while Eminem is one of the best single artists ever, if not the best single artist ever. Our musical tastes are diverse, but if displayed like a Venn diagram, you will find FOB, Eminem, and Panic! At The Disco in the middle.
I am sort of a straight punk guy, Chandra is a punk metalhead, while Mags is all around, with an emphasis on pop and Fall Out Boy.
-G
We turned right at the corner of a street I’ve named as Secret Drive and I knew exactly what was going to happen. However, that didn’t excite me any less. My heart started beating wildly, as though a thousand drummers were let loose to pound on its walls.
My feet remained firmly on the car mat as you bent over to recline my chair. I lay down along with it and you shifted to the passenger’s seat after switching off the engine. Side by side, we smiled at each other and proceeded.
You traced my neck with your lips as I stayed doe-eyed, watching the streets. You slipped your hands under my shirt and I closed my eyes, hoping we wouldn’t get caught.
I SEE WHAT YOU DID THERE MAD AS RABBITS PRETTY ODD TOO MUCH P!ATD REFERENCE HGAAHHFJSDA
HEHEHEHE.
Actually, you’ll find a lot of music references in all our bios. Our collective taste in music appears to clash. Which is cool.
On a side note, we’re sorry we haven’t been updating! College is keeping us busy and we can’t commit to posting every single day. We’ll do our best.
- C
The grand stuff is great, don’t get me wrong. I don’t think I’ll ever forget your sweet gestures or our firsts and lasts and all the big stuff. They take special places in my heart but I think it’s the small stuff that matters the most. The little things that happen regularly and that may be taken for granted.
Stuff like how you walk with me to classes and to give me a hug each time you leave. Our rainy night drives and the comfortable silences we share. The days when we goof off and do nothing in particular. Daily conversations - the deep and profound ones as well as the stupid and shallow ones. Words like “love” and “mine” and “okay.” The rush of electricity whenever we touch. Lunches and dinners on tight budgets.
Stuff like how you’re there everyday, still full of love, ready to hold my hand through whatever and to keep me safe.
That’s what matters, I believe. That’s the kind of stuff that reminds me, “gee, am I lucky.”
And when you do decide to go, I have but one favor to ask of you: leave me in peace - not in pieces.
“Don’t scratch it. It’ll spread,” you said snatching my hand away from the glowing red ant bite on my arm and cupping it into your own palms.
I didn’t believe in your claim - not one bit. How was picking at an annoying little itch going to cause the bite to spread? Preposterous.
Once you let go of me - or of my hand, I should say - and walked ahead, I started scratching again. I dug my claws into my skin until it bled. I scraped off the itching sensation leaving my skin perforated with tiny holes that were overflowing with blood and pain. My arm was red. The bite did not spread but the irritation did and so did the marks. I ended up wounding myself more than the ant did. I ended up hurting myself more than you meant to hurt me as you walked away.
I guess the rule of not picking at injuries doesn’t only apply for ant bites.
Tagged under: fiction i haven't written in so long mags short this is bad ant word/day
I think this project is a wonderful idea and I realized that I'd like to start something similar, although honestly it would be a lot more motivating to work with a couple of other people. I'm pushing my luck here. Are you guys accepting any other people as co-writers?
We might, but we like to know who we’re working with, first. If you go non-anon, we might consider. Otherwise, just work on your own and tag us. :)
(says the guy who hasn’t written anything since Blanket.)
-G
It’s like every insult’s screamed through a microphone and every blow’s made with a set of brass knuckles. It’s like every cut is twice as deep and every insecurity has tripled. It’s like I’m drowning in water that’s knee-deep, incapable of just standing up.
The littlest things get blown out of proportion. The littlest things can cause me to break.
Today, I feel fragile.
