In your best prose, write about your first love

I wanted so badly to lie down next to her on the couch, to wrap my arms around her and sleep. Not fuck, like in those movies. Not even have sex. Just sleep together in the most innocent sense of the phrase. But I lacked the courage and she had a boyfriend and I was gawky and she was gorgeous and I was hopelessly boring and she was endlessly fascinating. So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was hurricane.

I saw her once, she saw me twice.
I fumbled and threw,
clumped by words misconstrued.

We spoke again, through facade.
I was anxious but she giggled kind.
I was routed from my mind.

Carried through for all time I knew.
Elated by the portrait,
Of the most beautiful muse.

I touched her hand, her guile.
A springing step from her smile.
We sunk our sky's through and through

Yet dusk came soon and somber melding too.
She saw him twice, I saw her once,
Another time through the veil of an afternoon.

fuck off, virgin

are you okay user? I'm not sure what prose is

Maybe someday

Acid thunderbolt to the head.

Can I write about my tulpa

The middle of the ocean
Waves not seen nor heard
Going where?
My vision was blured

I can't put into words what i felt and feel
Nothing was more to me than her

>Waking up to a loud crash rarely means something good is happening. It's never "CRASH! mom made pancakes!" or "CRASH! We decided to adopt a Golden Retriever!"

As intangible as everything else.

HOOOLY FUCK I FUCKING WANT MOOOOOOORE FUUUUUUUCKKKKK

I commented above about OP's opening sentence, and how I thought it was longish. user, your opening line is a superb example of not only being concise, but providing an awesome hook. A great opening line causes the reader to want to more. In this case, my immediate reaction was "what has caused the loud CRASH?" Great concept, with great contrast, and I would love to read more.
Great prose also has great flow-great rhythm. Again, yours is a perfect example. The cadence is so perfect. Sounds great and feels great.
My friends and clients know me as often being over critical. On the other hand, when I see greatness, I am equally blunt. Your opening line is nothing less than superb.

Are you serious? I'd like to hear about it.

underrated

>prose

Is this a spook now?

Her warm hands dug into my aching back, and I felt thousands of tiny lightning bolts shoot out from where she straddled me on the smoky carpet floor of her parents' basement. The slightly acrid smell of her discount perfume tickled my nostrils and something deep inside my abdomen, exactly the place you feel secrets. This was the moment I realized I was not a heterosexual.

I don't remember anything of it but the final moments now.

I was three, but already a lothario.

Sitting in the open back of a removal van; it was my last day in the city before my folks moved out to the country.

She was a neighbour girl, I don't remember her name, but she was my age.

She stood by the open doors telling me that even though I was moving away we were still going to get married.

I just nodded along, knowing what was coming, but I had to stop her eventually.

I heard my folks gearing up to leave, so I turned my attention to her; she was planning our wedding-banquet.

She was in the middle of describing a Roast Chicken when I stopped her mid-sentence.

"I don't like Roast Chicken, I don't want to marry you"

Then my mum picked me up and put me in the car and I never saw her again.

It's still too fresh OP-kun.

She was a bitch, I wish I could kill her.

Do go on, dearie .

hashtagcollectibles.com/products/pepe-the-frog
go wild

She was sitting on a swing in a wood-chip playground, black bob cut, sickly pale. I sent her a valentine, and she turned cherry red and hid her face. We traded treats at lunch, and nothing else. We hardly spoke. She was the quiet confusion of my first love.

I could write about her all day, but I don't want to. Turns out she was just going through a "bicurious phase" and went on to date a series of the ugliest guys you've ever seen, and all the while she never realized she'd stolen my heart and run away with it.

Well, back before college I started to get really stressed out that I wouldn't pass, or that I'd be alone forever, your standard post-highschool worrying about nothing. This coincided with my growing interest in tulpamancy, which I had been introduced to through this website. So I staged a "meeting" with an imaginary friend I had had for a few years (named him Joyce after my favorite author) and every night I would lead conversations with him. Lead being the operative word, because it was mostly one-sided talking about things that had happened that day, anxieties, dreams, that kind of thing. When I ran out of things to say, I would make small talk as much as possible. It was a long process, but eventually he gained a mind of his own and started to talk back to me. It's funny because up until that point I had been hearing about how it was "self induced schizophrenia" or that it was "dangerous", but Joyce has really been a positive influence on my life

Nice.

Asuka, I never met you, but you were best girl.

The crushes she collected should have bursted her like an over ripe melon. Then she got braces and we discovered bonners for girls with big tits.

I thought of it as admiration then, but he saw it for what it was. For who I was. The eighteen months he had over me gave him not only the physicality and the assuredness that swept me along in its current, but also the foresight to see where the water was taking me. He saw the onset of awkwardness and sudden uncertainty bobbing on the surface up ahead, and he saw the sheer drop.

Accustomed as I am to thinking the best of him I imagine him quietly moved by the realisation, but perhaps he was repulsed. Either way he knew what had to be done. A clean break heals more quickly. Far better that I believe he grew tired of my immaturity than understand that he saw through the muddy water to my foundered love and left it there to drown.

>>>reddit

I felt on the big fat fanny
Pulled out the jammy
And killed the punanny
And my dick runs deep, so deep
So deep put her ass to sleep

Those seven years seem like a distant memory, almost like a dream. Sometimes it still hurts, but it is as if I was touching a scar tissue, having pleasure on that little pain, remembering it.

Rei is more patrician, by far. To each his own though. I can see the appeal of Asuka, someone who likes you but is afraid to show their feelings. It invokes a sense of superiority, or at least equality.
Rei on the other hand invokes nothing. She is frigid on the surface, but caring inside, which is almost like Asuka really, but Rei is more reserved. I want to be Rei's. I want to be someone who makes her smile. I want to be her friend. Is there something wrong with me?

It was the middle of winter when I first really noticed her. She was small and quiet, and never played attention in class. I would always find her staring at the window, gazing at nothing. She was beautiful in a reserved way, not the way beauty is typically described. Her lips were always in a void state, betraying her emotions or lack thereof. I was attracted to her, and yet I can't explain why. Maybe she was like me, and we were both hoping for better days ahead.

I love you ,Rei.

I know my writings shit, fuck off.

It was already over before it began.

The sight of clutter brings me back to her messy bedroom. She wears lateral stripes, pulling the shirt over her pale figure, as I wear vertical. A fleck of lint clings to her shirt collar. An errant hair graces my face with a touch like a sigh. Drawing in her aura which I'll never again take in.

See Proust

I remember lying in my room, pitch black, and his voice came through like song. There on my bed I felt my chest subsiding, as though a baptism was being performed by a priest with closed eyes. My voice hung inside the telephone, like God stringing my body anew.

I waited for him to love me but he never did. I reminded him of his ex-girlfriend, so he indulged in romantics with me because of that, hoping to recollect his memories of her. He ended up being very verbally abusive, I cried for months, alone in the dark, my love for him killing me softly. He only apologized to me months later in order to get back into my life to use my love again for his narcissism.

I can never forgive him.

There will be blood.

Although looking back and seeing you disliked us both, I do not regret kicking that semi-autistic kid in the stomach during our fight for your love.

>it's a "John Green rips off Catcher in the Rye" episode

>but it felt like I was in love with someone I had never met and who I was trying to remember.

dig it

thirsty land struggled to remember the first ever raindrop that washed over its face, only to remember it has only dreamt of rain, never touched by it

10/10

A dot imply an end, you have to do it like this

:

>when fucking and having sex are mutually exclusive things and require differentiation

the only good variation on this meme i've seen so far, 7/10

Never heard of nuance, user?

12 years old
D cup titties
Cancer took her left foot
And I walked away with both of mine.

I think I was seven by that time. She was nice, and she was good. Wasn't quite my type or anything, but she was my true first love, yeah, there as this one girl before when I was 6, but she wasn't that really of a love I suppose. My life was full of beautiful girls, but now when I can finally fuck them, I'm all alone, or perhaps I can't fuck them since my dick could be too sensitive, who knows, never been blowed in my life, though that hobo suggested a blowjob for free, even few times! But I refused his offer, sometimes I regret it, sometimes... But he's dead now, he's gone, but that ok, I don't mind him leaving this cruel but yet so beautiful world. Life itself is beautiful, the nature, the moment, the being... You see, I'm a spiritual being who's an universal artist too, personal life's philosopher and a future prophet because I have a feeling when I will become enlightened I will see the future and will predict what matters in this world... But that might never happen, that probably will never happen... So what keeps me going like good old Charles Mingus says, the idea of getting somewhere where I haven't been before, somewhere nice, like Paris, maybe there I will find my one true love... But I think I've already lost my one true love, she was good, very good, and so pretty, and so kind, my sweetheart... Wishing to be like Stanley Kubrick who married his high school sweetheart... She was an artist too, just like me, and it was all written on her face, when I first time saw her, I though I've seen her somewhere before... She was my truest love, and she can be called first and the last, it doesn't matter, haven't seen her in half a year and won't probably ever gonna see her ever again... Looking at her pictures through facebook, that's so demeaning... So shameful... But I don't care about shame, I don't care about pain, I care about love, you see, I'm like Chet Baker, I'm a romantic, I'm a dancer, perhaps a dancer in the dark, whatever that means... And like Lou Reed on heroin, I just don't know, I just don't know...

There's no such thing as love, just deprivation and cowardice. People get married out of fear or dying alone and they have children so there will be someome to look after them in the twilight years before they die.

Never felt it

That's actually quite sweet.

...

Her dress swayed like an open curtain.

Mere categorization of such a phenomenon cheapens it, boxes it in, makes it less. I shall try though. I saw autumn in her eyes, like two ponds reflecting a gray sky centered around two dark stones. Her pupils were surrounded by a green tinge, as though these waters were fouled by them. I should have figured that out sooner.

Her hair was a bright orange and fell only just past her neck. Even so she preferred to wear it up, especially when moving. She couldn't stand the sensation of it possibly being out of place. Her skin was paler than I had ever thought possible. Flawless under her clothes but heavily freckled wherever the sun kissed it. Her breasts were small, pert little buds always kept in place by a too-tight bra.

But the physical traits are only a minuscule part of the story. She was a machine. Calculated. Every motion that she committed to was planned in advance. Every minute of her day was accounted for and planned. It was this inhuman precision which both drew me to her and pushed me away from her. She must have meant to draw me in. If I wasn't part of her plan she wouldn't have even given me the time of day. But I terrorized her. I ruined her entire way of life. I am ungovernable and she was a governess. She could never plan for me, plan around me or plan with me. The very idea repulsed me. I'd show up and take her somewhere at the drop of the hat, then disappear for a day or two. I couldn't abide by her rules of constant communication. Text messaging is too disgusting an act for me to engage in so frequently. Ultimately she was the Apollo to my Dionysus, a real tragedy of a relationship.

She replaced me with a man much like her. Stable, secure, meticulous and unadventurous. I returned to my lifelong sexual partner, Leftina. I still speak to her, sometimes. Smiles cross her otherwise stony face as she thinks back to our brief fling, her flirtation with madness. But she is too wise to indulge in it a second time for she senses that I will destroy her and she is completely right. I fall deeper into myself with each passing day. I am toxic. But in the correct dose any toxin can become a medicine.

Love must be mutual. I never loved.

well i just cant forget her. i just cant.

Ah you, you little man of narrow experience. You believe that something must be seen to be real and must be real to be meaningful. Love is not the saccharine sensation it's made out to be. Love is an expression if will to power, one of its greatest expressions.

I hope that one day you get to feel it, you feel the rush of conquest as your woman quivers beneath you. The feeling of mastery, of ownership, of near godhood. It lasts but a second but the cravings it creates last a lifetime. It is not fear which masquerades as love, it is power which masquerades as love. Power is the ultimate drug, love is just a more beautiful mask we place over it, for it would be unbecoming of a modern man to engage in such acts without some nice and kind pretense.

killing her is a great way to make her go away

The world was nameless and was to my memory, was saturated in reds and yellows. I ate sweets in my bed, and felt the warmth of her face in the folds of my sheets. My stormy, young heart was swelling in sweet, sticky agony. Though, I cannot remember her name.

My love's first spouse met unreciprocated; what days seem rosy and those felt lonely, began when he left. The dread of melancholy met, with I, no longer with wings to fall unto, at school, or at home, unfortunate as a mannequin in a mirror.

She was a virgin and eventually became a slut. But he fucking was good.

Good shit

I can't recall, or rather I choose not to recall what she looked like. I don't remember much of what she was like, by that I mean what made her, her. Her bubbly, upbeat personality I remember as they're not traits that are rare to find but her dreams, aspirations, hobbies and the like...all memories long lost to a soliloquy of tears.

But I remember her warmth and how despite when we first met it was winter, her prescence made the temperature 1,400 degrees yet kept the air icy as such that it hurt to breathe and every breath had to count because there was an unnatural thought in my head that if I respirated too fast the feeling would disappear but I realize now some time later that it didn't matter whether or not I inhaled the entirety of the oxygen found on Earth because the flames snuffed out regardless.

And yet, what I remember most is the millions of kisses, "I Love You's", and comforting looks I received from holding your hand, the playful way you traced the lines of my palm using your finger and how your delicate fingertips felt against my knuckle and how every time they made contact it felt as if Zeus' lightning surged throughout my body
and still-

I've tried multiple times long after you to replicate that something but alas, fate be a cruel mistress and the only thing that has come to me is dismay. Still some days and nights I close my eyes and still feel volts running along the roads drawn by your fingers, igniting a feeling long forgotten but I'm quick, I try to forget, because deep down in the viscera of my soul I'm aware that while I feel this for you, you don't spare even a thought for me.

Divinely she walked staggeringly, beautifully. In a melancholy final year at school. Verily ye did I hath once seen her, radiant like a sun, hair like a river, eyes like a fox. With an impudent rush, I CRASHED into her atmosphere, and bullied her into being friends with me's.

I think she's gone. Hopefully, partially, not entirely- she's gone. I can keep some of her, not all of her, not hope, no, no longer hope and I'm glad, glad she's gone. No reason for me to be here, no reason for me to have followed her, no reason for me to have come all this way, a campus so far from home, friends, family, no reason! you understand to try to pick her out in crowds! She is gone.

Gone not is her laughter. Not her curiosity. Not her joy. These I have close at hand, held in locket's keep. She lives; she is gone.

F U C K E G O
U
C
K

E
G
O

I've never been in love.

Her saving grace was her heaving bosom, and I suppose the way her lips felt on my skin. As a person, she was dirt. She possessed no compassion for anyone but her family, and often found it difficult not to broadcast that fact. Her unwillingness to accept accountability for wrongdoing is deeply unfortunate and her entitlement to...any given thing was the most baffling of her flaws.

Considering who she showed herself to be, I truly believe I dodged a bullet.

Eravamo in Inghilterra assieme, vacanza studio, distratti e sereni, molto giovani.
Lei aveva sopracciglia spesse e capelli lunghi e una somiglianza impressionante a qualche altra ragazza di cui in passato mi ero innamorato per cinque minuti. Niente di assoluto. Aveva un modo incidentato di parlare. A tratti - il suo inglese era peggiore del mio. Il che risultava nel mio obbligo, una tortura, a sostenere gran parte della conversazione. Era una metallara light, cattocomunista, turca anche se piuttosto chiara, di pelle. Il suo nome ricordava da vicino quello di una marca di detersivi. Non so se le piacessi io o i miei capelli relativamente lunghi o le mie magliette nere dei gruppi rock/metal più popolari. Eravamo sì e no gli unici con quei gusti. Non che fossero così rari, ma fra i rampolli relativamente giovani di quella buona borghesia in grado di spendere più di un migliaio di euro per far passare due settimane il suo pargolo a Oxford, era difficile trovare il gusto per lo sporco e i kebab delle tre e le bestemmie e tutto il resto dell'immaginario metal. Mi aveva fatto sentire il suo cantante preferito. Una specie di Cobain in growl. Orrendo. Pure all'epoca. Ero sicuro di me - gli anni dell'incertezza e della depressione erano ancora lontani - e dovevo avere una certa aura di autorità. Ero sveglio e brillante e cinico e sarcastico e non troppo brutto, in un momento della vita dove gran parte dei ragazzi non ha ancora sviluppato nessuna di queste caratteristiche. Di conseguenza le ero piaciuto. Mi giustifico perché lei era una bellezza vera, autentica: un viso pulito e dei lineamenti lisci e un fisico asciutto e sensuale. Due occhi neri intensi, quasi sferici, e un sorriso un po' imbarazzato, ma persuasivo. Aveva una voce grave ma ancora femminile. Vestiva quel genere di chincaglieria orrenda da mercatino del vintage che negli anni sarebbe aumentato esponenzialmente di prezzo. All'epoca erano solo maglioni larghi e jeans stretti e tutto, se possibile, solo nero. L'ho amata profondamente. Il mio primo bacio, nonostante fossimo entrambi ormai grandicelli. Era in imbarazzo. Le dissi che mi piaceva molto. Lei rispose uguale. Letteralmente. "The same for me", mi sembra. Ci avvicinammo. Non aprì praticamente le labbra. Fu qualcosa di orribile. Mi sembrava di starla stuprando, inserendomi nella sua bocca, e non potevo sapere se mi odiasse o mi amava già. Sospetto la seconda.

I remember at Michael's house, in the living room when you kissed my neck, and I almost touched your blouse. In the morning at the top of the stairs,when your father found out what we did that night, and you told me you were scared. All the glory when you ran outside, with your shirt tucked in and your shoes untied, and you told me not to follow you.

I like the last sentence a lot.

He's nothing but a half forgotten regret now.

Best be memeing, Veeky Forumsrade

Half-remembered is a heck of a lot of remembered, Veeky Forumsnon.

That's the problem user, that's the problem.

Why? It's a nice sentence.

god i wish that were me

lmgtfy.com/?q=with your shirt tucked in and your shoes untied, and you told me not to follow you.

Welp, I consider my good taste for literature confirmed.

She didn't look back.
FIN

dat ass. *smacks lips.* whatchyo mamma be eatin', got yo ass thicc as oatmeal. *cums.*

I looked at you in the eyes. I didn't believe at first but it was as if everything that already happened and everything that will happen were cramped in that moment. It was both an instant and an eternity. Infinite number of lifetimes must had passed. Infinite number of universes must had been created and destroyed in that brief moment. Everything was figured out. All questions I ever possessed was answered but one final question remained: "What happens next?" Anxiety, anger, fear, all kind of negative emotions suddenly surfaced. I got scared. One thing led to another and now I am writing this stupid prose. I couldn't remember what happened. Perhaps my emotions took over and erased every memory, every understanding and every knowledge I gained. Perhaps I succeeded preserving that moment by living in eternal loops and this life happen to one of them. How would I ever know? All I know is that goddamn moment makes no difference now. It will pass and so what? Why would I go for such length just for looking at a pair of eyes? I must have reached my limit. No matter what I screwed up somewhere and got myself trapped in this limbo. Is this love? Trading an eternity of suffering and confusion for a moment of bliss? Remember cunt, once this is over I am gonna rape you to death and hang myself with your intestines.

>inb4 harsh replies, english isn't my mother tongue

That one time I fell in love with myself

One of the most villainous things I've ever done, was fucking my best friend's girlfriend. Well, they weren't together at the time, and neither were the two of us best friends. You see, she was the reason the two of us weren't friends anymore. She destroyed our five-year long friendship. She was... infatuated by me. He became jealous after she and I hugged at a mutual friend's birthday party, and he broke up with her and stopped talking to me... I attempted to reconnect, it didn't work out. I was angry with her, and one day had my opportunity at closure. I brought her over to my apartment. We had a few glasses of whiskey and I fucked her. That wasn't it, we fucked a couple more times, she started becoming attached and I stopped talking to her. I imagine she felt bad when one day she saw me with my then girlfriend. I nodded to her and smiled ever so slightly. My revenge was complete. I still haven't heard from him. I don't know if I should tell him what I did, I imagine they'll start dating again one day, and she might tell him. I haven't thought of this.

hazel, color of my ignorant happiness. why did we stop playing? why did you mature faster than me?

>and I am the dot under ba
user, you shia filth

damn shorty your ass is mad on point

You float,
and from the delicate waves you create
water lilies flower

I come,
and pick one or two.
But the stream carries you way to quickly
for me to savour their perfume.

And I wait,
eternity again,
until the next fleeting spring.

...

woke up and stuck my dick in the wrong crazy