This was an attempt at happiness,
A feeble thread
And a soundless firework.
With roads diverging
After sudden crossroads.
A lingering scent
In the clothes no longer worn
Locked in boxes no longer opened,
Under piles of heavy weight
To make it die,
And melt
And dissipate.
Out of all our senses
The smell is the toughest.
Necuvintele lui sunt negandurile mele...
“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” ― Ernest Hemingway
Young babe that has an insatiable lust for life. Writer, rock'n roller, wild at heart, pledge for a cause and stop when you've obtained glory.
Un phoenix renăscut prin cuvinte din cenuşa amintirilor
Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the little voice at the end of the day that says I’ll try again tomorrow. ~Mary Anne Radmacher
Zile și zile
I teach you and you teach me!
