They had them in a row of plastic containers, just like they did with nuts, grains, and candies, back in the states. Wafers in all flavors: strawberry, chocolate, vanilla, more exotic ones like mango, green tea, durian, lychee. She wondered how they sculpted the little ridges on top of each wafer, patterns that tessellated. The wafers tiled the containers like rows of wooden planks. Some kid had played around with the wafers, stood two of them on end and constructed a little arch.
I love all types of sweet bread and I would take one to work on mornings. However the new product on the market, called a wafer, do not appeal to me at all.
The chocolate wafer crunched in my mouth, melting. It was delicious. I sighed happily, gazing up at the Eiffel tower just a few blocks down. France was beautiful. It had been on my bucket list for ages, and now I was able to face that dream. Next stop was the Louvre.
although the words I once confessed were undoubtedly true
this poem will be the last that I write about you.
being a diamond in the rough
never helped me skip through impossible odds
instead of sinking.
please lift my “exotic” curse.
you had the privilege of being
smooth from birth, and everything just slid off you
like oil from water.
The spell would be ready soon, but she stood and cast the circle now anyways. As per habit, doing so was easy. East, South, West, North. The directions and elements were called, the spirits and gods invited.This casting would be the greatest she had ever done, and if that meant she would wait in her circle for hours, she would do so. Silently, she stepped towards the altar.
I was relieved to see that my son was included in the casting of the play that I had written. It was a dream come true, not only to get my first play endorse, but to see that my son also was interested in show business.
You’re a man of the spotlight, always cast for the lead
Toeing the line between ambition and greed
A girl on your arm; to accessorize, not love
Money the only thing you’ll ever be proud of.
The movie casting line was humungous. I was halfway in the line, nervously shifting back and forth. This was a major role, my first major role. Would I impress them? Would I make it in? I crossed my fingers and reminded myself to breathe. I had read the script several times, and I knew exactly what I was supposed to do.
Every time I follow Beauty in all the ways it hides and shows and comes and goes, it always leads me to the same Source; each time letting me stay a little longer, understand a little more, cast a little further.
Every time I follow Beauty in all the ways it hides and shows and comes and goes, it always leads me to the same Source; each time letting me to stay a little longer, understand a little more, cast a little further.
there was no serpent,
Their war cries were punctuated by the heavy thuds of rocks being thrown against our walls. The catapults had arrived. But this was not the end, right? I looked to our leader, her armor shining, despite being streaked with blood, and dented by weaponry. She stood on the walls, proud and strong, despite how they were likely to crumble under the assault of stone. It was in that moment that I caught a glimpse of her expression; despair.
The fire had engulf the aeroplane and the pilot was unable to catapult from the plane in time.
like being thrown out of a plane with no strings, no chute
or left stranded in a maze without a map or a route
catapulted into a state in which I haven’t any clue
that’s how it felt when I fell in love with you.
I endlessly fill my free time with activities and commitments to distract me from myself and what i’m missing in my life
put my heart in a catapult and propel it
i want the world to know of my love.
Paint the skies crimson,
let love rain down
and open our
you do not like the song that my skin sings.
the paleness of yours was dependent
on the brownness of mine.
i am only an oriental tune
(played on bamboo sticks and…
and trees with names you don’t care to learn).
what a strange contortion of tongues.
what a bizarre concontion of sounds.
you do not like the song that my skin sings.
I could remember the many times that we had to sing lullaby to our children to get them to sleep.
softly her voice caressed every corner of the room, the familiar tune swaying me to sleep. How could such a thing have so much power? It was so simple, so easy… my eyes felt so heavy, only four notes into the song. Such a soothing voice, pretty soprano, dipping down into the upper reaches of the alto range. My eyes fluttered closed, and muscles began to relax, until with a solid certainty, i was asleep.
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