Creative Writing


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  • I don’t remember how long we had been on the island. It was just me and my person, whom I loved very much. I always told her that I loved her, but I don’t think she could understand what I was saying. It’s okay, though, because she would always tell me she loved me, too.
  • Every morning we would wake up and walk around to new places, and through places we’d seen a million times. Sometimes, my person will see rocks on the ground that she thinks are beautiful, and she keeps them in a jar. Usually, when I get tired and go to lay down at night, my person will go walk around a little more before she comes to lay down with me under our tent. I always wait outside the door for her.
  • One day, though, she never came back to the tent. Now it’s just me.
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