Annabelle spun around the dance floor with Zeldan. Both of them had been friends for quite a bit of time now, but every day, they seemed to become more distant with each other. Cause and Effect, their professor had taught them; there must always be a reason in order for something to happen. Dancing with Zeldan at prom was never something Annabelle thought she would do, but it was quite calming on her nerves. Even though she was not particularly shy, and knew most people at the Senior party, Annabelle felt more at peace with Zeldan to hold on to. Flashing lights dawned the floor as the music blasted around them. " Good, Belle? "

" Hm? "

" I said, are you okay? " 

" Just... a little sad this is our last year together. " Keeping her eyes on their feet as tears threatened to pour, Annabelle continued to sway with her friend. 

" 'Lax, Belle. Mantingueu el cap recte. "

" Not sure I can, Zeldan. " Openly sharing quotes in his original language was something Zeldan did quite often. Passing her weight from the left leg to the right leg over and over again, Annabelle stayed with the rhythm of the slow music in the background. Quiet was the air around them as the rumblings of fellow students faded away. Replaying Zeldan's words in her head - keep your head high - Annabelle couldn't help but feel even more upset. Soon, they would be out in the real world, without each other. They were going to different universities, Zeldan and Annabelle. 

Unable to reprimand her for feeling exactly as he was, Zeldan stayed silent. Various messages passed between them, each telling the same old story. Without another word, the two friends let go of each other. Xenial their words and actions would be from there on out. Youthful their hearts, now old as they part; their eyes meet one last time. Zeldan and Annabelle: friends no more, would start a whole new life as strangers.

(Find me on writetheworld.com or commaful.com under the same username. The starting letter of each sentence is a different letter of the alphabet. Thought it would be fun to do, but it actually fairly hard)

*Starts singing L.O.V.E by Nat Cole*

L is for the way you look at me.

O is for the only one I see

V is very, very extraordinary

E is even more than anyone that you adore

To me, there are two types of love. There's a romantic love which is most often what people refer to and then there's a more friendship style of love. There is more to both of these types of love that some people don't really think about.

The platonic love, the kind between friends, can turn into a romantic love depending on the situation and I feel like a romantic love can turn into a platonic love. I believe that it is possible to stop loving someone that way.

Is there such a thing as love as first sight though? I would have to argue that there isn't. You can't love someone that you've only ever seen. (Rethinks every fangirling decision ever)But I do think that it's possible to love a person when you first talk to them. Their looks may be an added plus and you may be attracted to them but it's not until you can get to know that person that you can actually fall in love with them... their personality... their soul.

I feel like true love is something that is given to everyone whether it be platonic or romantic. Everybody has enough love to go around even if they may hold it inside and be unable to show. I believe that some people need to learn how to open up and love people.

I also believe that you do not have to see a person's appearance to fall in love with them rather its platonic or romantic.

So over all... that's my opinion on the subject of love. Not that I'm experienced 'cause I'm not. But I hope you enjoyed my little.... unprofessional essay on LOVE.

.

I thought of you , because...

I used to dream of sunlight on my skin

the heat of days yet to come

so longing for the sun

as winter’s lingering touch filled my nights

and now it seems .

that I used to dream of you

.

Hi everyone! I just wanted to say that I joined Prose a few months ago and I love it! Thank you for all the support! I really want to be an author and would like to know any tips, tricks or advice on how to start and what to do. I want it more than anything :). I am going to college soon and am starting to think about my future so any help will be greatly appreciated. Thank you!!

.....

It’s curious, isn’t it. When you’re alone in an empty room, how your voice is so big. So loud. Shattering the silence. And then the silence grows teeth and sinks them into you, one part at a time so you can squirm and plead and shout.

Please, someone. Anyone. Hear me. See me. Talk to me. Tell me what I want to hear. Hold me. Please.

And finally your voice, jagged and raw and scraping, gives out. You’re alone with your thoughts, your voices, telling you what you don’t want to know, don't want to remember because it’s driving you mad. Completely insane.

But eventually, you embrace the crazy. Because it’s better than the silence.

Did you ever wonder about the inhabitants of Silverwood Asylum? They went crazy because they were locked up. Maybe some of them were crazy before- who knows- but slowly you get sucked in, the more you’re in a place like this. A grey padded cell, surrounded by other people’s splinters and shards constantly clamoring.

That’s where I am, by the way. Even though you don’t care. I’m on my knees in the corner, scribbling this in blood after I realized my teeth and my skin belonged together.

I almost forgot the mose important part of this morbid draft: I’m innocent. Pinky promise. I didn’t kill my family, no matter what they say. And they say an awful lot. I can still remember the whispers in the courtroom as metal pinched my wrists, grief and anger digging talons into my guts until I collapsed, screaming. Crying. For someone to believe me. I remember the murderer, smug and smiling, as they dragged me away.

He stopped smiling when I clawed one of his eyes out.

They found me guilty after that, sent me here to live out the rest of my days in “comfort.” Oh, yes. The “comfort” of cold, gray Purgatory, or maybe this is Hell itself. Only trouble is, this can’t be Hell because there are no politicians.

I’m just... here.

Wasting away in a haze of grey. Irrevelant. But my voice still echoes. People still hear it if they're willing to listen.

I am not going quietly.