spring makes me feel free.
Her lips—they were vibrating with foreign pitches, up and down, sounds scraping out and drifting into the twilight air. The pickup bumped along the road, the reflective lake glimmering in the distanc...
Sometimes I wonder what good comes out of the human race.I am a realistic optimist, not an idealist.
The sound of a gunshot ripping through the air is a kind of quiet comfort- a way of inducing revire, appreciation, a relief of sorts.
I want to write a story about an old southern town where prejudices grow strong and fondness is the essence of the heart. Like the time and place of To Kill A Mockingbird. Ill reread that book. I wan...
Originally written January 25, 2011I don’t think I’m really exceptional at anything except for that I can remember things. I can remember exactly what one girl was wearing on Thursday, or recall exac...
Originally written February 4, 2011.He was a quiet kind of man. Quiet, and honest. Perhaps the word is reserved. He’d sit on the carton of apples out back, their dusty planks bowing under his stable ...
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