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Shady heart

To be honest
I looked forward for you
Said you didn’t want to waste your time
And I thought you wouldn’t want to waste mine… 29 more words



I am afraid to write about you
Cause when I do I know it’s quicksand
Words pull me towards needing you
Wanting you, but that isn’t too bad… 11 more words



I dread the thought of
We ending up in a similar story
Where the only thing that makes sense
Is to move on
I miss the way you look at me… 28 more words


I am not person enough to be a writer. For what I am is not individual. I am parts in performance-incomplete sketches in motion-not even alone am I complete, for my true audience is myself. 52 more words

A Few Words


Once upon a time, there was a little girl, sitting on a bed, cuddled in a big blanket, next to her grandmother, a lovely woman of Polish descent who got married quite young to the love of her life, a strong, handsome engineer named Marcus, who not only made her life that much better with his company, but also gave her the greatest gift of all: a family, consisting of three little daughters, named Alice, Elizabeth and Joan, who were tiny little devils and made her and Marcus’ life a bit harder, but a whole lot better, because it allowed them to go and have picnics and holidays in her mother’s village in the summer, where the girls could run and jump and laugh and spend rainy nights inside talking about nothing and everything, cuddled together in a big blanket, drinking a warm cup of milk and stopping from time to time to hear the thunder and the drops of rain hit the rooftop, each one of them deep into her own thoughts, some darker, some lighter, some sadder, but none of which they wouldn’t want to share with each other five minutes later, talking of old memories and making new ones, because they knew, young as they were, that time has a habit of pulling people apart in a way that even the worst of fights can’t, and they were proved right, because as time went on and their lives grew apart, those frequent nights became once-a-month phone calls, and those once-a-month phone calls gradually became a total, frozen silence, one which was very hard to break, thawed only on one occasion, when Marcus passed away, an event which brought the girls, with their sons and daughters, back home to pay tribute to their dad, to untie the tangled knots which occupied their throats and clear the clouds that were in their heads and to start, unfettered, talking to each other again about nothing and everything, cuddled together in a big blanket, drinking a warm cup of milk on a rainy night, with their children by their side, listening intently to their mothers’ stories. 

A Few Words

Just keep swimming!

Feeling compelled to write even though I have no idea what to say. How delightful for everyone! How’s my day been so far? I got up at 9.30am which is, believe it or not, an improvement on the recent state of affairs, where I’ve basically gone nocturnal and require Netflix nonsense just to wash over me and coax me to sleep, eventually crashing in the early hours of the morning. 871 more words


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We Travel NOT to Escape Life

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