Teen Ink

Art/Photo


Window

Art/Photo
By rawritskendra BRONZE
Madawaska, Maine
rawritskendra BRONZE, Madawaska, Maine
4 articles 4 photos 3 comments

Favorite Quote:
Your heart is the most beautiful part, so use it. (Justin Timberlake; KCA's 2011)

Art/Photo
By Andrea Schuchardt BRONZE
Stanardsville, Virginia
Andrea Schuchardt BRONZE, Stanardsville, Virginia
1 article 18 photos 2 comments
Art/Photo
By M.C.B. BRONZE
Augusta, Georgia
M.C.B. BRONZE, Augusta, Georgia
1 article 1 photo 2 comments
Art/Photo
By (kristin) BRONZE
Hammond, Louisiana
(kristin) BRONZE, Hammond, Louisiana
1 article 1 photo 2 comments
Art/Photo
Angeles♥, Houston, Texas
0 articles 3 photos 0 comments
Art/Photo
By Sparrows SILVER
Houston, Texas
Sparrows SILVER, Houston, Texas
9 articles 6 photos 3 comments
Art/Photo
By ElenaMed SILVER
Stafford, Virginia
ElenaMed SILVER, Stafford, Virginia
7 articles 8 photos 4 comments
Art/Photo
By blackrosebush BRONZE
Edgewood, Kentucky
blackrosebush BRONZE, Edgewood, Kentucky
2 articles 25 photos 8 comments
Art/Photo
By Anonymous
Art/Photo
DanielleRenae, Nixa, Missouri
0 articles 30 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.