Teen Ink

Art/Photo


york

Art/Photo
By annabanana
Bethesda, Maryland
annabanana, Bethesda, Maryland
0 articles 11 photos 0 comments
Art/Photo
hallie shatravka, New York, New York
0 articles 4 photos 0 comments
Art/Photo
By Trisha BRONZE
Fresh Meadows, New York
Trisha BRONZE, Fresh Meadows, New York
1 article 2 photos 0 comments
Art/Photo
macbethonherkite BRONZE, Cupertino, California
2 articles 3 photos 0 comments
Autumn Jermacans, Reading, Pennsylvania
0 articles 12 photos 0 comments
Art/Photo
NYC
By Autumn Jermacans
Reading, Pennsylvania
Autumn Jermacans, Reading, Pennsylvania
0 articles 12 photos 0 comments
Art/Photo
By Autumn Jermacans
Reading, Pennsylvania
Autumn Jermacans, Reading, Pennsylvania
0 articles 12 photos 0 comments
Art/Photo
By Meredith Clark
Hopkinton, Massachusetts
Meredith Clark, Hopkinton, Massachusetts
0 articles 27 photos 0 comments
Art/Photo
By Scuffles
Pocono Lake, Pennsylvania
Scuffles, Pocono Lake, Pennsylvania
0 articles 3 photos 1 comment

Favorite Quote:
You know me better than I know myself

Art/Photo
By Meredith Clark
Hopkinton, Massachusetts
Meredith Clark, Hopkinton, Massachusetts
0 articles 27 photos 0 comments
Art/Photo
By emmabr BRONZE
Columbia, Maryland
emmabr BRONZE, Columbia, Maryland
1 article 33 photos 3 comments

Favorite Quote:
Outside the station, she stands with her child on the side of the street, taking pictures of cars.

You think she's insane. Until, one day, you notice that she's taking pictures of the license plates of the cars her child gets into.

Because you look. But you do not see.

And she walks out the shop with bags full of cat food. You think she's some crazy cat lady until you find out, she has no cats.

Because you eat. But you do not taste.

It's been a while since their last album but he assures you, he's doing just fine these days, white flecks in his nostrils. Then he asks you if he can spend the night on your couch, even though it stinks.

Because you sniff. But you do not smell.

And they say "Just OK" when you ask them how school was. Then you wonder what they're hiding until you find their diary and the last entry reads "I wish you'd give me some privacy."

Because you listen. But you do not hear.

And they've got a bruise over their eye and you run the tips of your fingers over it and ask them how it happened. You believe them. Until it happens again.

Because you touch. But you do not feel.

And they walk past you everyday, one million stories, each waiting to be told. Waiting for you to ask.

Because you live. But very few, love.