The Book Of Laughter And Forgetting Novels & Stories

Things forgotten suddenly met me when I was asked that time the question my memory couldn’t wield a cut grass, a mercury dime I only held on for was dear life in general— something more present than schoolchildren & the charts they count are no more no less my simple kind: silence felled & human signs felt & this feeling screamed when I wanted to speak about the world we live in & how those prescriptive maths would have kissed happiness in passing, though my views may be wrong, they may even be non-academic since the essence of it all is to patiently wait & watch the lilies grow & remember how to laugh once again on the side of the bridge drinking the everyday from an empty Coke can & while

he answered grinning at me. "Then good luck. I hope you succeed. Can you please bring some books when you get back? There are no entertainments available aside from the TV and I still can't walk and locked up in this room, though," I suggested with pleading eyes matching it with tangled fingers. "I'll try," he said then went out of the room. "Bye, Ashyy," now I was left alone. 💙💙💙 Grazzi Vergiance! Vote and Comment. Enjoy reading! :)

Trevor doesn’t believe in such fairytales, I think, as the bitter taste of bile rises deep in my throat and makes me shake my head. “We want different things,” I say to my best friend. “There’s no use wanting someone who won’t let himself feel the same way.” The solemn echo of my words settles deep inside my heart. All I had to do was forget about Trevor now and hope it’ll get easier to forget the memories we shared as the days rolled by. *** Forgetting is harder than I anticipated it to be. I tossed around on my bed that evening after closing Espresso Books for the day and found myself itching with the urge to call him and listen to the velvety smooth timbre of his voice.

She wished that he would live peacefully without her. Then she blew out the candle. She cleared out the final traces of her existence in the house. All that was left behind in the house she had spent more than a decade in were three items: a bank card with ten million dollars deposited inside that was meant to repay Cleo’s kindness over the years, a wedding gift meant to wish him a wonderful life with his lover and at last, a letter of farewell. “Uncle Cleo, I give up. I wish you nothing but happiness.”

I panicked as he raised the urn high above his head, trying to stop him. “Xavier, this is your mom’s ashes! I’m not lying to you. If anything happens to them, you’ll regret it.” He snickered, and at that moment, I understood what his laughter meant because he threw the urn to the ground with all his strength. I lunged forward but couldn’t catch it. All I could do was watch helplessly as the urn shattered, spilling most of the ashes across the ground. My knees scraped the ground in the process, leaving me bleeding.

You were always reaching for something solid, and I was just water—shifting, slipping, drowning everything good in me. I don’t expect forgiveness. I don’t even expect you to read this. But I need you to know I remember. Everything. Your laugh. Your eyes. The way you whispered my name like a secret you wanted to keep. I remember you. And I’m sorry for forgetting you when it mattered most. I folded the letter slowly. Pressed it between the pages of my old journal. I didn’t cry. I didn’t rage. I just stared at the words until they stopped meaning anything.

" What happened tomorrow, no one could know. Maybe I would wake up and forget all about it. I may forget that the love of my life cheated on me, forget that he took his mistress for a maternity checkup. I may forget their intimacy, forget that same bracelet Abril and I had. I may forget the pain of losing my babies, forget about... I may forget about my parents, forget about Vivian. I may even become so mad that I didn't realize I forgot about it. About what happened tomorrow, who knew?

Sometimes staying in the darkness is much better. While I was wiping the window full of dust, it was funny that there’s still a lot of it even though I clean this house every day. As if the world is telling me that no matter how much I clean, it will be the same tomorrow. I’m talking about my memories. If you forget them now, you’ll still try to forget them again tomorrow. But then, just like how you get used to wiping windows, you get used to forgetting everything. Just like how I forget to be happy whenever they come back, and forget to be sad whenever they leave me alone in this house. “Too dusty,” I sighed as I continued wiping the last window. I also forgot the guilt I always feel whene

So the photos in that book are the last pieces of her. Without them, I fear I’ll forget her face. Her voice is already a distant memory. Her smile, her fake-serious expression when she caught me doing something I shouldn’t, and she was doing her best not to burst into giggles… those sticks. Her laugh, too. I hope I never forget them. I slide my feet back into my shoes and grab my keys. I blow by Knox and Miles and storm outside. I should be tired. Physically. But the photo album missing has given me a second wind, and I pull up my app to find Violet.

To top all of that, his voice was deep and husky, a huge turn on. "What is a pretty girl like you doing here outside, alone and drunk?" he retorted. I threw my head back and laughed. "I'm here to forget everything for a while." I mumbled after I was done laughing. I don't know why I was laughing, the whiskey is probably working. It did the thinking, the talking, and now the laughing. I wondered what's next. "And what do you want to forget?" he asked in a whisper.