Dear Writers and Readers,

We noticed some less-than-exemplary behavior on Prose today, which forced us to take action against some users. This is a gentle reminder that, while we try to remain as uncensored as possible, some forms of content are simply intolerable. Please note the following passage from our Terms of Service, under Prohibited Content:

Content that is unlawful, libelous, defamatory, obscene, pornographic, indecent, lewd, suggestive, harassing, threatening, abusive, inflammatory, fraudulent or otherwise objectionable, or invasive of privacy or publicity rights;

In today’s case, harassment was the keyword. We have taken steps to punish infringing users, and prevent future infringements. Note that we will not be adjudicating arguments, disagreements, or squabbles between users, unless we deem the language used to be grossly abusive or inflammatory.

1. We have added a report button to all posts. You’ll find the button in the lower-right options menu (indicated by an ellipsis icon) of every post. If you encounter a post that violates the Terms of Service, please report it.

2. We have instituted a temporary posting restriction policy against first-time offenders. If we find that you have been harassing folks, spamming, or posting any other sort of Prohibited Content, you will be prevented from posting, commenting, and sending messages for a minimum of three days. Repeat offenders will be permanently banned.

3. We have added an internal feature to remove offensive posts. Posts that violate our Terms of Service, or that provoke grossly abusive or toxic comment threads, will be marked as such and removed after 24 hours. During that period, commenting on such posts will be disabled.

Refer to Section 10 of our Terms of Service for all forms of Prohibited Content: https://theprose.com/p/legal/terms

Happy Writes,

The Prose Team

These are the years 

The universe has cradled me

In many ways, I'm still a baby

A child trying to navigate the world

Not old enough to steer myself,

But old enough

But old enough

                 maybe in thirty or forty years

                 i'll have it all figured out

                 but for now i'll write about myself

                 about how, in order to learn to steer,

                 you must first find your vessel

I make my own peace

Count my own numbers

Write my own words

I'm not old enough to

Try to make sense of it all,

But old enough

But old enough 

                i'm not a genius, always wrote about my life 

                wishing i could change it, but i guess i'm learning

                how to feel happy, living off someone else's dreams

                talking with someone else's lips, 

                feeling with someone else's heart

                for now, while i'm still a kid

                i'll continue to live as fully as i can

                and try to create some life inside of myself

Fourteen is the number of years I've been living, 

The amount of love I've been giving, 

And I'm not old enough to give everything, 

But old enough

To love

I gave myself to the world.

Cafés, trains, streets

and me.

Strangers give the best love.

Practical. Magical.

Unknown eyes and discreet smiles

A flirty secret pulling her skirt up

- no touch.

Coffee, cigarettes, the people

and me.

My head tilts back in ecstasy, neck tickled with kisses. Kisses pressed by the chatter.

The words a mess of whos whys whens.

what what what? a controversy.

Society and me - fucking tragic lovers.

Don't bother me with commitment.

[trigger warning for mentions of violence and suicide]

Could you hurt someone because you care? I couldn't.

Could you give up a promise because you love? I did.

I’m writing to never forget, but I don’t want to remember. The letters here, that’d never turn into spoken words, stand as I wish to place them. I can mix them up, form a whole new world out of them, a whole new memory.

There’s no need for that.

It has been a beautiful world, tainted with flaws that are us, it’s been made up of sunshine and storms, just like we are. The memory’s been made of the same pattern. Isn't everything that there is a wide, harshly framed diptych depicting our lives as a mosaic of highs and lows; it makes black and white nonexistent, turning them into all varieties of gray that often cling to the shades of more vivid colors.

You were the brightest piece of stained glass in the growing masterpiece of my life, but the grays surrounding eventually washed over you, and you pulled me to drown in it with you.

Before that day, the only way I'd taste your lips was over a cigarette, and that evening was the last time we shared one. The fog outside seemed equal to the smoke filling our lungs and swaying around us. The after-rain air was something you longed to inhale, instead. I knew you dreamed about it, always did, getting outside and letting the drops wash away the 'imprisoned' off your skin. I dreamed about it, too. Still do.

There was a difference between our dreams. You've gotten off the path, I've remained close to the fence. My hand could have no longer reached yours, but you've kept running and calling my name. Naturally, I followed. Careful, with my flashlight on, I searched for you, found you - so close to the Dream, and got back with but a shadow.

It's hilarious how close we were cramped together, in that toilet stall. Knowing how distant you actually were had my spirit crushed even more; between your physical persona and my leaking dark thoughts. I didn't even attempt to hide an obvious fact - I've been crying ever since I made the promise. My heart's been crying more than my eyes, but now they were almost as red and as full of pain. Not many tears fell, yet I felt them in my throat with every drag I took. Your face, on the contrary, was firm and a mild expression of confidence was stamped over it. I knew you had taken pills, you had told me nights ago you would. It was need, I just wished I could've said goodbye to the actual you. One pill would turn down the volume of your self-awaken fury, take a small bit of its weight off your shoulders, more of these round fuckers would snatch away the You from me, leaving me with a stranger. Strange was the calmness in everything you did then and there, you heartbeat rate didn't seem do increase even when your heel killed the cigarette I had handed you seconds before. Stranger was that stupid smile you put on when you handed me something else, a plastic bag, dragged out of your always crowded pocket. I clenched my fist around it, never expecting The strangest, and I was wrong. Today, I hope you weren't able to taste the tears that had fallen for you, I hope you were able to tell I had fallen for you. That moment, however, couldn't have been worse for steps that would lead into any direction of hope. The strangest happened, yes, when you kissed me.

And the two smokes combined, and my lungs burnt with flames I'd never felt inside - blue and red and yellow with no sign of conquering gray. Your fire, however, never seemed to rise from the ashes in your heart. At least, I've never felt its heat. It got to me when you inched back, a thin line of air and breaths separating us, and you spoke. Your lips touched mine only to whisper the instructions, on how should I help you to find a way to Hell. Pretty sweet of you, no? I know I had promised, but I'd promise you anything. You used everything well. In retrospective, I genuinely believed I was helping you escape, out of this place, and out of this world. I felt selfish because of crying, wanting you to stay with me made me feel like I was the worst friend, only thinking about my own happiness, when it was obvious you failed to find yours here. Leaned back against the door, temporarily hiding the typical bathroom graffiti, I kept nodding at your words, smiling not to spoil any of this for you.

"You know this shit can provide you with up to around half an hour of breathing?" You sounded like we're talking over the lunch, or like you're throwing one of your know-it-all comments at one of our teachers. I certainly did look and feel like a confused student, not even trying to understand. Not even wanting to. It only got you going on with the presentation. Drained eyes lowering as you sat down on the toilet seat cover, crossing one leg over the other so you could reach and pull the shoelace from your boot. You got it and pushed it into my hand.

A couple of thousand thoughts flooding my mind, none coming out. I stuck my free hand in one of my own pockets, by far emptier than yours, in search for a lighter to break the numbness of my standing and lost self. Then it struck me I had lend you it at the beginning of the evening. No choice's left but to return all my attention to you, which would be my favorite thing to do if only I wasn't thinking if you're gonna need the lighter there, on the other side. My not so free hand was busy squeezing on the two funnily innocent things, and your lips parted to spill more words to chew on my heart.

"I will fight, don't let me", that's when you pulled me forward. A new cigarette, which I've never get to light up, falling out of my shaky hand on the floor, along with all the fake courage I had stuffed myself with. "I've seen you're strong enough."

"Of course you'll fight, hell! You should have never stopped fighting! You wouldn't even reach this point if you even tried to 'fight' the right way", I broke there, I admit. I wasn't particularly talky, otherwise. Despite the short protest, I settled myself down on your lap, all fucking ready not to let you fight.

"I will think I want to live, don't believe me", that's when you gifted me the last smirk, a smile of rebellious nature only you knew how to pull off so effortlessly. Of course, wiping away my words like I've just kept my mouth shut as I firstly planned to.

One thing I'm thankful for - you did most of it.

Our skin shared the last two gentle touches when you took the plastic bag and shoelace from my hand, I tried hard to cage the feeling in the halls of my mind that'll become empty without you. The smirk disappeared when you pulled the bag over your head. You hurried to tie the shoelace around your neck to keep it in place, and prevent oxygen from sneaking in. Then I realized how the time is really fucked with this one, there's no sweet, quick death when you go for this, and my true pain started when I first saw you struggling for air, not a few minutes in. Plastic sucked in with the remaining air, it outlined the shape of your lips and I frowned upon myself when I reached up to place my hand over them. Other hand was gripping tightly around your wrists, holding all of you down as much as I could with my weight and strength. Now I could feel, and hear your heartbeat, I could almost smell it. The struggle of your blood cells rushing with the remaining oxygen wherever they could, spilling some of it on your hopeless efforts to squirm away. But shit, I almost lost my breath when I noticed you walking closer toward the eternally peaceful state. High on whatever goes through people's veins when they see the grin of Grim, I leaned forward, feeling dumb, but baring my teeth and biting into the plastic, tearing off the most I could manage. I apologize, I recall there was a small bit of your skin, too.

But now, I couldn't think of a situation when you looked more alive.

I don't know which was louder, your curses or gasps for air.

There was nothing thankful in the way you pushed me off, adrenaline pulsing through us both. I had both the torn plastic bag and the shoelace thrown at me, but I couldn't stop smiling like an asshole. There was something hysteric in that smile, though. I was very aware I had broken something unfixable.

"You couldn't even do that right!"

Oh, and it didn't kill you, but these words murdered whatever was growing between you and me.

Your fist flew into my face and I-- it wasn't the first punch, God, it wasn't even the worst one, yet it was the first one that actually hurt.

I remember what I was thinking the moment you shut the door: You will thank me one day. You never have.

That evening was -

· the last time we shared a cigarette· the first time we shared a kiss

· the last time we shared a word.

Did I think you should die? No. 

Did I think I was helping you? Maybe. 

Do I miss you? Absolutely.

Bells chime in jovial song

as life begins her death

and wakes the souls of hearts that

long to share the gift of breath

Yes, all the while the children sleep

and fall into a dream

of ships at sea and stars above

that glow and shine and gleam

And in the early morning 

as the sun begins to rise

a birth of gold and rose begin

to saturate the skies

The time has been renewed 

as the children rise and play

we rise again as one

to embrace the night and day

i am 

my own architect

and my foundation

will not crumble 

without you.