Most of the things I write are by hand in a leather bound book that never seems to collect dust. These are some things I wrote that happen to be digital.
There was one window in the classroom—if one was only to count windows in terms of the formal definition. The shades were hardly ever drawn, it being presumptuous primarily that, after years of sunshine and leaks from the fractures in the molding above, they may actually function. The rest of the wall space was covered in old maps, in competition to the one portrait of Mark Twain that made it clear the debates of whether to turn this space into an English classroom (officially) had still not been finalized, even after over fifty years.
The song from inside of her is fragmented now between the choking tears, but she continues along as they gently dance across the room. His deep, braying voice vibrates from his chest where she lets her weak head fall, and together they break into the chorus. And I just can’t live without you, can’t you see it in my eyes…
She is leaning over the scattered papers and cosmetics on her desk into her mirror, where she appears to be examining a nervous scar she plausibly gave herself. While she articulates the word, obviously concerned her sarcasm wasn’t evident, she looks into the reflection lightheartedly.
The unknown world is diminishing with the amount of information and connections between us, and as we broaden our horizons, someone comes up with another horizon to add to it.
Wedding designs for family <3
This is the index description.
“Who am I to you?”
The amount that this question bothered me must have been obvious by the expression that grew across my face.