“There’s a loft where I’d always hide when my parents used to fight. Like it protected me from the danger of the world.” The kid chuckled, “That was a lie.”
I slowly climb the stairs to the tiny loft above the garage. I take in a deep breath of the sweet, musty air, thick and warm from the summer heat. I see you standing in the middle of the room. Your lopsided smile makes me weak and my heart skips a beat.
I have no idea what a loft really means. It could be a piece of bread or the place people live in cities. What would be the difference between a loft and an apartment? and why would you call a bread piece loft?
..as i sat in the loft of the b&b looking at the vancouver skyline,i realized just how much of my life i had wasted bemoaning you.from now on,when i think of you,i will set the thought free,and be free of you
I was bent over my worktable, in my loft, where it was quite secluded, when I heard the sound. The front door closing softly, muted as if someone were trying to make the sound unnoticeable. I didn’t know who it could be. I lived alone.
Sifting through my boxes – which usually hate doing – I actually felt light at heart. I looked around my new apartment and I was thrilled! I love a small, simple space. I like being able to set it up and have the only walls be made of organizational changes. Who needs a one bedroom or two bedrooms place?
I wish I lived in a loft in downtown Chicago. One with a bedroom that had exposed brick on the walls. Then I could invite women over and press their backs against the cold brick as I ravished them. Windows from floor to ceiling would be nice as well, and then the whole city would be privy to my exploits.
The loft was so high, so unattainable. It had a kind of mysterious beauty you only find in things you truly love, in things you are really afraid of losing. I wanted to know more. I had so many memories here, but this was not enough for me. I wanted to know everything there was to know. Impossible.
they lay together in the loft above the hay. he looked down at her as the dust settled, watching her through the rays of the morning light. she was more beautiful now than she ever was before. she was his love and he was hers. nothing could wrong between them
If I had known it would be so cramped, I would of pursued a different stead. I found myself pacing about and realizing I’m finally in a new place. It was a small stead, but it was were I would be sleeping and creating for the next 4 years. But it’s what I wanted anyways; a small, minimalistic stead for my creative endeavors and citylife pursuits. My life was advancing and slowing down at the same time. What was next?
I saw the man in the loft. His hair was matted and his eyes flew throughout the room as he entered. THey fixed on me. His grimace told me his whole story. Nothing about this man was normal. He had never known love or friendship, and least of all, he never knew himself.
In the loft was the bed, and in the bed was my old, dusty teddy bear. I hadn’t seen her in years, and I hugged her to me, only to have her stuffing drift down over the edge of the loft onto the dusty floor below. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
I saw the man in the loft. He was grizzled and old, his hair matted and shaggy, hanging about his shoulders. He smiled at me, though his teeth were yellow. HIs eyes blazed into mine as I watched him. Nothing could have been as demented as this twisted mockery of a grin.
She was laying on her bed. She fidgeted with her keys in her hands and looked up at me to ask what I was thinking. I told her I had nothing on my mind. Her ceilings were low and her eyes were wide and beginning to well.
My retreat is a small loft on the eastern edge of the lake. A spiral staircase leads up to the top where I’m greeted by a touch of home in simple elegance perfect for a weekend getaway. Vines line the ceiling with white lights, while candlelight aromas fill the air and I’m taken away into the quiet stillness of it all.
The wind blew heavily as she sat down at her messy desk. Crumpled bits of paper flew everywhere as she grabbed her chewed-down pen and hastily began to scrawl on the smooth surface of her palm.
Hay. Lofts are full of hay, and hay always smells sweet in books. And they always have a big rope swing. I remember reading about a loft with a swing in Charlotte’s Web, and imagining so many lofts, that for a moment, I thought it was a real memory, instead of just a thought about a loft.
it was a bedroom there laying on the skies it fell above where the doves flew above us. So siliently so swiftly there goes another heartbeat of mines. As the loft fell quickly to the floor I went there and that is where my eyes woke up to the sun.
Quiet, secluded, it’s a haven. Warmer than most places, and often quieter. You look down upon people, spying, in a sense. A childs playground, a teenagers seclusion.
Being in the loft always immediately brought his mind to Laura Croft: Tomb Raider. Well, to be fair, a lot of things immediately brought her to his mind.
i own a loft in ny city. i love it. it is the shit. i smoke weed and create. i write i paint i draw. i love. i live the life i want to live in my loft. and it is good.
it’s high and quiet. always warmer. Safe and tall. I was in a loft in Mammoth, it was nice. I shared it with my sister, and cousin. We were secluded from everyone, we had secrets.
he wanted to be an astronaut. it was a lofty achievement. day in and day out, he was mocked all of his life. but when he stuck our flag into that unimaginable surface he knew his dreams had been fulfilled.
There was an empty loft in the middle of New York City that had to be furnished from IKEA and we went and we found these amazing sheets and matching pillows and a futon and we got all of it for under one hundred dollars and the loft looked something like a J. Crew. And it didn’t matter that the loft was really big because there was such beautiful furniture and everybody wanted to party there.
It was a beautiful loft. Always kind, generous, never drafty. It gave us our own little space to be together, to be just us. Forever under the stars, naked, vulnerable. Us. Together.
she can see through the wooden beams of the railing. he’s sitting on the carpeted floor. he’s looking at her too. and though they are barely 12 feet apart it feels like miles. she’s hovering near the ceiling, itching to get out of this claustrophobic town, while he idly intertwines his fingers with the frayed ends of the carpets. she’s afraid he’ll never want to leave
I aspire to all these lofty goals, but maybe i just end up spending my time locked up in a loft, above the bustle and kitchen, alone with my plate of cheese slices and apples and big dusty windows eye level to the mountains. Aren’t we fancy.
“There’s a loft where I’d always hide when my parents used to fight. Like it protected me from the danger of the world.” The kid chuckled, “That was a lie.”
I slowly climb the stairs to the tiny loft above the garage. I take in a deep breath of the sweet, musty air, thick and warm from the summer heat. I see you standing in the middle of the room. Your lopsided smile makes me weak and my heart skips a beat.
I have no idea what a loft really means. It could be a piece of bread or the place people live in cities. What would be the difference between a loft and an apartment? and why would you call a bread piece loft?
We discovered him in the loft. After searching all day, he was simply sleeping; oblivious to our frantic state.
..as i sat in the loft of the b&b looking at the vancouver skyline,i realized just how much of my life i had wasted bemoaning you.from now on,when i think of you,i will set the thought free,and be free of you
I was bent over my worktable, in my loft, where it was quite secluded, when I heard the sound. The front door closing softly, muted as if someone were trying to make the sound unnoticeable. I didn’t know who it could be. I lived alone.
Sifting through my boxes – which usually hate doing – I actually felt light at heart. I looked around my new apartment and I was thrilled! I love a small, simple space. I like being able to set it up and have the only walls be made of organizational changes. Who needs a one bedroom or two bedrooms place?
Sitting so high and looking out down low
With your attitude put on, but just for show
et sted oppunder taket. mørkt, klamt, men likevel luftig. spindelvev, støv i hjørnene. en gammel kiste midt på gulvet.
A place of retreat. Positive isolation, need for solitude. A moment of reflection, a time to connect. No responsibilities, escape – freedom.
•A loft can be an upper storey or attic or basement in a building, directly under the roof.
such goals
i made little beds for them
up in the unfinished attic
where there may not have been
anything but light
now i unpack them
peel away the paper
they are still so fresh
i want my own loft. a place all to myself. decorated with orange walls, plants, and white lamps. a clear bright place to live a clear and bright life.
I wish I lived in a loft in downtown Chicago. One with a bedroom that had exposed brick on the walls. Then I could invite women over and press their backs against the cold brick as I ravished them. Windows from floor to ceiling would be nice as well, and then the whole city would be privy to my exploits.
love undivided attention
he traveled up the stairs to the loft, to find what there was to find. so many memories and things forgotten. now what?
The loft was so high, so unattainable. It had a kind of mysterious beauty you only find in things you truly love, in things you are really afraid of losing. I wanted to know more. I had so many memories here, but this was not enough for me. I wanted to know everything there was to know. Impossible.
a pace to go where everyone around doesn’t know you… a place hide a place to get away…peaceful maybe?
I can’t think of anything. It is sad. My mind is blank and empty. If only I was creative to write about loft. Hmm…what has the world come to?
they lay together in the loft above the hay. he looked down at her as the dust settled, watching her through the rays of the morning light. she was more beautiful now than she ever was before. she was his love and he was hers. nothing could wrong between them
college dorm life. All guys house. loft bunk beds. empty apartments. space above another space… party.
If I had known it would be so cramped, I would of pursued a different stead. I found myself pacing about and realizing I’m finally in a new place. It was a small stead, but it was were I would be sleeping and creating for the next 4 years. But it’s what I wanted anyways; a small, minimalistic stead for my creative endeavors and citylife pursuits. My life was advancing and slowing down at the same time. What was next?
I saw the man in the loft. His hair was matted and his eyes flew throughout the room as he entered. THey fixed on me. His grimace told me his whole story. Nothing about this man was normal. He had never known love or friendship, and least of all, he never knew himself.
In the loft was the bed, and in the bed was my old, dusty teddy bear. I hadn’t seen her in years, and I hugged her to me, only to have her stuffing drift down over the edge of the loft onto the dusty floor below. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
I saw the man in the loft. He was grizzled and old, his hair matted and shaggy, hanging about his shoulders. He smiled at me, though his teeth were yellow. HIs eyes blazed into mine as I watched him. Nothing could have been as demented as this twisted mockery of a grin.
She was laying on her bed. She fidgeted with her keys in her hands and looked up at me to ask what I was thinking. I told her I had nothing on my mind. Her ceilings were low and her eyes were wide and beginning to well.
Loft is a place that could be a home.
Loft is a fagg.
Loft sounds funny.
Lofts is an amazing place darling.
Lofty.
Bigggggggg.
Smaaalll?
My retreat is a small loft on the eastern edge of the lake. A spiral staircase leads up to the top where I’m greeted by a touch of home in simple elegance perfect for a weekend getaway. Vines line the ceiling with white lights, while candlelight aromas fill the air and I’m taken away into the quiet stillness of it all.
The wind blew heavily as she sat down at her messy desk. Crumpled bits of paper flew everywhere as she grabbed her chewed-down pen and hastily began to scrawl on the smooth surface of her palm.
Hay. Lofts are full of hay, and hay always smells sweet in books. And they always have a big rope swing. I remember reading about a loft with a swing in Charlotte’s Web, and imagining so many lofts, that for a moment, I thought it was a real memory, instead of just a thought about a loft.
it was a bedroom there laying on the skies it fell above where the doves flew above us. So siliently so swiftly there goes another heartbeat of mines. As the loft fell quickly to the floor I went there and that is where my eyes woke up to the sun.
Quiet, secluded, it’s a haven. Warmer than most places, and often quieter. You look down upon people, spying, in a sense. A childs playground, a teenagers seclusion.
Being in the loft always immediately brought his mind to Laura Croft: Tomb Raider. Well, to be fair, a lot of things immediately brought her to his mind.
i own a loft in ny city. i love it. it is the shit. i smoke weed and create. i write i paint i draw. i love. i live the life i want to live in my loft. and it is good.
it’s high and quiet. always warmer. Safe and tall. I was in a loft in Mammoth, it was nice. I shared it with my sister, and cousin. We were secluded from everyone, we had secrets.
he wanted to be an astronaut. it was a lofty achievement. day in and day out, he was mocked all of his life. but when he stuck our flag into that unimaginable surface he knew his dreams had been fulfilled.
There was an empty loft in the middle of New York City that had to be furnished from IKEA and we went and we found these amazing sheets and matching pillows and a futon and we got all of it for under one hundred dollars and the loft looked something like a J. Crew. And it didn’t matter that the loft was really big because there was such beautiful furniture and everybody wanted to party there.
It was a beautiful loft. Always kind, generous, never drafty. It gave us our own little space to be together, to be just us. Forever under the stars, naked, vulnerable. Us. Together.
she can see through the wooden beams of the railing. he’s sitting on the carpeted floor. he’s looking at her too. and though they are barely 12 feet apart it feels like miles. she’s hovering near the ceiling, itching to get out of this claustrophobic town, while he idly intertwines his fingers with the frayed ends of the carpets. she’s afraid he’ll never want to leave
I aspire to all these lofty goals, but maybe i just end up spending my time locked up in a loft, above the bustle and kitchen, alone with my plate of cheese slices and apples and big dusty windows eye level to the mountains. Aren’t we fancy.