JaCorrea Watkins
Stories (5)
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The Story of Addiction Pt. 1
You can’t see, can you? It’s because you’re standing on the edge of nothing. The dark stretches out in every direction—endless and silent. And this time... don’t close your eyes. No. Keep them open. Open them and see exactly where you are.
By JaCorrea Watkinsabout a year ago in Confessions
A Complicated Relationship.
...I watched you that day, turning the pages of a story that felt so familiar to you, yet somehow distant. You didn’t notice it at first—the way your hands lingered on the pages, like you were afraid to let go of them. You were stuck there, weren’t you? Stuck in that first chapter. The one where everything was perfect...
By JaCorrea Watkinsabout a year ago in Writers
Dancing with the Flame.
I saw you. Standing there that night… when you accepted an invitation from the devil herself. She was beautiful... too beautiful, wasn’t she? The kind of beauty that warns you—this is where it begins, and this is where it could end. And still, you took her hand. Not by accident. Not by chance. You chose her.
By JaCorrea Watkinsabout a year ago in Men
The story of the Cracked Mirror Pt. 2
I see you sitting there, still surrounded by the shards of the mirror you shattered. The cold wraps around you—not sharp, but heavy, like the weight of every moment you tried to ignore. Your hand hovers over the makeup on the vanity, but you stop, because you know exactly what you’re doing.
By JaCorrea Watkinsabout a year ago in Confessions
The story of the Cracked mirror. pt. 1
The ballroom hummed with the murmur of masked whispers, silk gliding on polished floors, and a tune that waltzed with the pulse in your veins. I see you there, perched before the mirror like a queen on the edge of coronation. Your eyes flicker with something between confidence and dread as you smooth foundation across your cheeks, an act rehearsed so many times it feels sacred. A smirk curves your lips as you whisper, “Just perfect enough.” Each brushstroke is armor, mascara a battle cry to be unforgettable. Yet, the cracks in the mirror split your reflection — one smile, one sulk, one face that doesn’t seem to care at all.
By JaCorrea Watkinsabout a year ago in Confessions
