This small but perfectly-formed rose has hung on the bush through frosts and gales.
It has a secretive air about it, as if it contained some further inner beauty that it’s withholding. 13 more words
I am not sure if it was a good idea to send postcards on the last day, but I couldn’t find a post office earlier. Besides that, all the other participants of the festival went home before me, and now, when I was alone, a short walk to the post office seemed like a serious job. 1,276 more words
I can count on one finger the Vampires who are as new as I am (no, I didn’t do it). Most I know are decades or even centuries old. 459 more words