writer's block is profound
In the storm
In. The store
In. The story
In. The stone
In. The bones. Wordswordswordswordswords in the way she grabbed
a new wheel of brie, picked up the slices of bread that she had so
carefully arranged on the bricks, and whispered... snack time.
I wish I could sit down in here.
I wish I could sit and think.
Know thyself we well his and hers.
6 6 6 six six six running out of ink.
if i were a bird, would i stop being afraid of heights?
"alli love you baby."
These were the last word she wrote, not only because had never used
a typewriter, but because she had nothing else to say before
leaving him.
The bus door closed behind her.
I wonder if typewriters could communicate through hashtags, and if they could, which ones would #trend.
What was your first thought this morning?
For a reason, to use my fingers in a way that helps not hurts the world with my words. I ask this because don't we all kind of hurt even though we want to help. Ok I'm lying. But honestly I hope if anyone reads this they laugh and smile knowing someone wanted them to feel happy and alive and free. That is all. Sending my love and good vibes to the world ...New York City
This love is not easy Ghalib. It is a river of fire, and you must swim, swim... I feel like the universe sent me here.
You have nothing to fear