I write kind of odd, so try to get into it and please review it!
(especially Pink-Umbrella, I NEED to know what you think)
I don't own a thing its all the great work of Baz.
"The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return." But what if that love died? he thought. How am I supposed to go on? Yes, I published my book, yes it made money, but is that worth without her? He had no one to share his money with, no one to buy things for, and above all no one to love. Love, what is this word so many use every day? It's just what man put on an emotion he could not understand. While he used to believe in it so whole-heatedly Christian knew it had died, in his arms that night. How long he had held her body he did not know, all he knew was he would not let go, could not let go. He had to hold on, for her.
"Itdoe nutmatter anymore." He slurred to himself as he took another long swig from the bottle of absinthe he held limply in his hands.
"She's gone and there's nothing I can do about it." He thought, speaking much clearer in his head.
He would never love a woman as he had loved her, yes; he had slept with them all since her death. Trying to find the one that could take her place, but none did, all they did was deepen the pain he felt for her. Even the ones who had come back, who had said they loved him, they didn't really love him. They loved his money, his quickly fading looks, not him, not as she had loved him. Soon, they stopped coming back, they knew he didn't care for them and his looks were not what they used to be, now that his diet consisted of absinthe all day, every day. He sat on his bed, alone in his garret, thinking.
"I didn't want to end up like this", Christian thought "I wanted to write, leave this place and never look back. "
But after he published his book he could not think of any thing to write, all he could think about was Satine, and he had already written a book about that. Hence he fell deeper into his addiction and could not get out.
"She wouldn't want to see you like this," he thought "butoo ares?" he said aloud "ssshhhhees, sshhees, shes...."
He had meant to say "gone" but the tears started to flow and he collapsed onto the floor, from the grief? Maybe, but as the absinthe bottle in his had rolled away and hit several others near him he realized there was an evil inside him, an evil that was killing him, just as it had done her.
Good? Bad? You be the judge, PLEASE REVIEW! ~me
"The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return." But what if that love died? he thought. How am I supposed to go on? Yes, I published my book, yes it made money, but is that worth without her? He had no one to share his money with, no one to buy things for, and above all no one to love. Love, what is this word so many use every day? It's just what man put on an emotion he could not understand. While he used to believe in it so whole-heatedly Christian knew it had died, in his arms that night. How long he had held her body he did not know, all he knew was he would not let go, could not let go. He had to hold on, for her.
"Itdoe nutmatter anymore." He slurred to himself as he took another long swig from the bottle of absinthe he held limply in his hands.
"She's gone and there's nothing I can do about it." He thought, speaking much clearer in his head.
He would never love a woman as he had loved her, yes; he had slept with them all since her death. Trying to find the one that could take her place, but none did, all they did was deepen the pain he felt for her. Even the ones who had come back, who had said they loved him, they didn't really love him. They loved his money, his quickly fading looks, not him, not as she had loved him. Soon, they stopped coming back, they knew he didn't care for them and his looks were not what they used to be, now that his diet consisted of absinthe all day, every day. He sat on his bed, alone in his garret, thinking.
"I didn't want to end up like this", Christian thought "I wanted to write, leave this place and never look back. "
But after he published his book he could not think of any thing to write, all he could think about was Satine, and he had already written a book about that. Hence he fell deeper into his addiction and could not get out.
"She wouldn't want to see you like this," he thought "butoo ares?" he said aloud "ssshhhhees, sshhees, shes...."
He had meant to say "gone" but the tears started to flow and he collapsed onto the floor, from the grief? Maybe, but as the absinthe bottle in his had rolled away and hit several others near him he realized there was an evil inside him, an evil that was killing him, just as it had done her.
Good? Bad? You be the judge, PLEASE REVIEW! ~me