/u/PistachioPug's posts in /r/TwoSentenceSadness

Year:

Only show posts with narrations

There are two kinds of people in the world, and I'm the wrong kind.

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As a professional editor, I couldn't help cringing whenever my friend launched into that schlocky poem she wrote about her son in Afghanistan, but I figured she'd be more open to my suggestions if I bit my tongue until he finished his tour.

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I'm really too old for these fantasies about having been switched at birth, and my real parents coming back to find me someday.

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If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

48 upvotes

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It was my husband who convinced me having a baby would solve all the problems in our marriage.

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I remember my parents arguing constantly before the divorce, but the memory isn't at all traumatic or frightening.

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The clock stopped at the moment of your death, the flowers died, the sun sank beneath the waves then went supernova and swallowed us whole.

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The first beautiful thing I ever owned was an antique hourglass, which slipped one day through my eight-year-old fingers and shattered on the kitchen floor; I didn't even get a proper last look as my mother bundled me away to safety before she swept the jagged fragments into a dustpan.

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Her first day in the Free World, the defector sipped tea to settle her stomach during her first meeting with her handlers.

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How many times must I fail before I succeed?

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Title	Upvotes	Mark as read	Favorited	Rating	Add to a list
There are two kinds of people in the world, and I'm the wrong kind.	50
As a professional editor, I couldn't help cringing whenever my friend launched into that schlocky poem she wrote about her son in Afghanistan, but I figured she'd be more open to my suggestions if I bit my tongue until he finished his tour.	50
I'm really too old for these fantasies about having been switched at birth, and my real parents coming back to find me someday.	49
If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.	48
It was my husband who convinced me having a baby would solve all the problems in our marriage.	48
I remember my parents arguing constantly before the divorce, but the memory isn't at all traumatic or frightening.	47
The clock stopped at the moment of your death, the flowers died, the sun sank beneath the waves then went supernova and swallowed us whole.	47
The first beautiful thing I ever owned was an antique hourglass, which slipped one day through my eight-year-old fingers and shattered on the kitchen floor; I didn't even get a proper last look as my mother bundled me away to safety before she swept the jagged fragments into a dustpan.	47
Her first day in the Free World, the defector sipped tea to settle her stomach during her first meeting with her handlers.	46
How many times must I fail before I succeed?	46