This is the first time I've ever posted my writing publicly. I'm young, but I feel like I'm able to send a feeling across, to the reader, through my writing. Any criticism is welcome :3
Music of Love
One day. Three friends. Harmony and music in perfect union that makes you feel as if youâre on top of the world. The sounds from the musicians drift through and around the stands. The merchants sell t-shirts for bands. The smell of barbecue drifts through the air. Teenage girls and boys: yell, scream, dance, laugh, and smile. My friends and I rush to our spot, as we see the artist step up on stage. The music begins to play. Guitar strumming starts. Hearts beating heavily. Nothing, but happiness flows through my veins. Singing from line to line. Everyone cheers. Knowing every line by mind. The moment that feels as though it will never end; yet it already has.
We continue our day stopping at the stands, picking up some glasses with our hands. We move along the walk, talking, and then we stop. Another artist who we love, standing above, yet on another stage. The moment relapses, but itâs finally time that we must go. As we step into the car we speak about our experience. The bands who played, the walks on which we talked, the food, and the sounds. The clock is ticking, which will hopefully stop. On the way home we recognize we barely ate. We get some fast food, why not be a little unhealthy for once. As I stare out the window I can see the black ocean waves beyond the sand. Sipping on my drink as I stare at the sky. Oh why, must nights such as these end. I do not know why.
Benny
Picture by picture I continue to take pictures. I think to myself what would the viewer think. Would the photograph provoke happiness, sadness, or interest? Sipping on my cup of coffee or tea I scan each photo, happy that Iâve been able to create something so fresh and new. The feeling that photography emits is not something simple. It causes you to be slightly perplexed. How can an image cause so much emotion? When I go outside I feel the breeze brush up against my face and arms, I fix my eyes on random trees, bushes, or leaves. Point my camera. Snap. It takes a picture. A white and black cat. A cat I do not remember from before. Somehow in the back of my mind, I find, that I recognize this small white feline. I ignore this and continue to snap pictures. A couple of years later, to be exact five; I stir my coffee or tea and stare at the image laid out in front of me. Itâs the white and black cat, with bright green eyes. His name was Benny. He was mine. No longer with us, that little white feline.
