Offing - aw-fing - (Noun): the more distant part of the sea seen from the shore, beyond the anchoring ground
ezra-neiel asked: i so envy you. >:(
Yay! My books arrived today!
I’m now the proud mama of The Hunger Games and We’re Not Leaving (9/11 responders tell their story)
Mist hides us. From our enemies, from our fears. What we can’t see, is what we should see. What we can see, is not needed. The night is cold, Bringing us back into the spotlight of reality. -Submitted by sail-the-stars
Beverly Jenkins rubbed her eyes as blurry morning light flooded her bedroom. She reached over blindly for her glasses and placed them gently on her nose. The old, fake-wood alarm clock glared at her from the small oak table placed neatly beside her bed. “IT’S SEVEN OH NINE!” the clock seemed to scream at her, the harsh, red numbers casting a slight red glow on her worn floral quilt. Beverly...
Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again. -C.S.Lewis– (via katcheshire)
The truth is most women are weak, be they mortal or immortal. But when they are...– Marius, from The Vampire Lestat (via ajanaee)
My Tribute to Life- Seeing Things How I See Things
I don’t know what to do. Living life is hard to do. Owing all to my lenders hand, Viewing life through an eyeglass upon the land. Everyday, here’s a man, dressed and sharp Yearning to hear the new life’s harp. Often times, I see a stream Using rocks to cover the seam that Kills the life of a new day, Eating up the substance of what may. whilst Lying down in a field of grass it Links...
If the riches of the Indies, or the crowns of all the kingdom of Europe, were...– Francois Fenelon (Submitted by missmagicmorgan)
Falling Apart from What Seems to Be.
I thought I was strong, I thought I knew my way. I thought that I could have my say. But my defense is slowly breaking away And I can’t help but feel exposed. I said wrong, I did wrong and now see that whatever followed haunts me. Even though there’s no response from the other side of the glass, I always seem to assume my position of mediocrity. I wish that I’m not right, no, I pray, So...
Oeuvre - ouw-vruh (Noun): the works of a writer, painter, or the like, taken as a whole.
Celia Sinclair sat down in the last empty seat on the subway and opened her leather bound notebook to a hodgepodge of adjectives. Being eleven years old, she was finally allowed to take the subway home alone from Weston Academy. She was packed between an old man and the wall of the subway car. Celia clicked open her brand new pen and wrote “crowded” as her newest entry. As the subway suddenly...
a-touch-of-the-poet asked: Hi! I'm introducing myself :)
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The cheap wood paneling of this room should not have been painted, kind as the intentions may have been. The once cheery pink has faded to a sad, sickly, purple-grey color, leaving on feeling upset of stomach rather than comforted. I look around, taking in my surroundings and fellows. Everyone does their best to avoid eye contact with me. Some absently stir their stale coffee, others pick at...