annoying - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
You're perfectly annoying but that's okay, because it's as much a reflection of me as anything else. Those days everything goes right I find you so cute, and those days the world bites me I want to bite you. So really, it's the pressure and stress that messes us up, you and me. Because when I see you properly I soon find that you are annoyingly perfect.
There was a time I loved gore, loved the sight of blood, yet now it makes me so sick I freeze. I see the dead bodies and my mind stops working. The evil deeds in movies, dark thoughts of any kind, bring total paralysis. It's annoying, all I'm left with are good thoughts like how to help others and be nice. I guess I'm destined to be the perfect child after all.
When the flash of annoyance comes so does a bad idea. Isn't it always the way? In that moment I funnel all my strength into my feet and use it to walk out of the door with my mouth shut and hands relaxed. In the long run it's better that way. If I speak in anger I will be crying by bedtime, perhaps for a long time to come. When I'm steady, when I remember that she is the one I love, I will talk. Until then, it's the open door, the ground beneath my feet and the wind in my tousled silver mane. She needs an adventure, needs to spread her wings and test her abilities. I understand. Doesn't mean I have to like it.
Poppa's face flushes red. I know what has angered him. He worries if I come home in the dark, worries that I might be harmed. That's fathers for you, always worried sick, always afraid their "little girl" will be harmed. His annoyance is love in disguise, I know. I keep telling him I'm all grown up, that I can take care of myself. He just nods and says, "You come home in the light, girl, in natural sunlight. Then I'll sleep well. Angels like you are hard to come by. Impossible to replace." Then without another word he climbs the stairs in his fluffy bed socks.
Yes, I'm annoyed. I'm trying to help you and you hide. I send you love and you cower. I speak truth and you peek at me from behind your own eyes, as if you wear your own face as a mask. Who taught you to run from what your soul needs? Does this charlatan speak to you often, hiding his cloven feet and forked tongue?
I love you more than there are drops in the ocean. Sweet child, run towards home, run as fast as you can with winged feet. I will follow, I promise. I am a strong runner; my will is iron, and you're going to need a head start, so go. You know the way by heart.
Just as you can be annoyed, so can I. Just like you, I can apportion blame in the wrong place. I'm sorry. The guilt was an anchor about your neck, pulling you deep into the brine. I didn't know the beast was whispering threats from the bedroom closet and from beneath the bed. I didn't know that he sunk claws into your neck, whispering bad ideas when you were vulnerable and in need of my protection. I was always there telling you I love you, yet in your age of media fear is everywhere, making you deaf to the healing words you craved. I'm here now. I never left. I love you and send you my grace.
We all make mistakes, we all err, I've seen you annoyed many times. It's true that this time is worse, but we all learn and move on. I feel the frustration radiating from you, the pain you feel in your endless empathy for others. It's time to learn how to forgive yourself, learn to accept the grace you extend so perfectly. Love is a two way street, if you want to feel it you must unlock your own door. You keep the key to your own heart, so the choice, my love, is always yours.
Like a homemade sweater she was, beautifully composed and thoughtful in appearance, but itchy and irritable in comfort. Yet you just couldn’t help but love and put up with it.
His presence seemed to buzz around me like a fly that you can never swat. Every word, movement and breath he performed seemed to infuriate me to no end.
I could feel the wet spitballs accumulating in my hair. The arrival of each was announced by the gentle 'phut' of wind travelling through a straw. I casually ran my fingers to knock them out and heard his barely stifled snickering guffaw. If he wasn't my brother I'd rat him out to the teacher. But this I'd have to chalk up with all of his other annoying habits. I'd pay him out one day, serve my revenge on a platter good and cold.