I just want him to pour his heart into me. I want to live in his heart. I want him to hold me and call me his and never ever ever give up on me. I want him to never forget how I did the same for him. How I poured my emotions and life and everything into the idea of being with him someday. I poured my soul, not just my heart. And all I’m asking for is his heart.
Standing there, alone in the middle of nowhere …. Watching the burning ash from the gray sky ….Feeling like a desert.. like a completely dried soul.. asking yourself:
To do something for someone. To be FOR… pardon my French… To do the act of unveiling an amount to someone In any manner that can alleviate some sort of craving that one has
Stable hands made sure that it was fine. The pot was ceramic and if he wasn’t mistaken, it belonged to his grandmother. He’d never used it before, not until today. Brewing the tea he kept his hands stable as he gently poured the warm liquid into each of their cups. If he was to impress him, the man his parents wanted him to court, he’d have to do better than the shoddy shit he’d made the day prior. He took a deep breath in and as the golden liquid dripped out in an orderly fashion into the teacup he smiled. Perfect. He’d have a good chance yet.
I watched her as she stroked my thigh. She stroked it with such softness and sincerity. It was a pleasure to watch her so intent on my skin. Her fingers traced my skin until the hair trickled up. I watched her pour her admiration to me in the subtlest of ways.
I was glad of it. I could see the hills rolling around us, and the other mud huts dotting them. I could see we were surrounded. And I was glad of it. Glad to have the tears of the heavens angrily diving into the tin roof above us and on the earth around us.
pour some chocolate syrup on those waffles with some whip creamand some lemon glaze and maybe cherry jam and some ffresh cherries. Damn i want waffles. will so anything for them really
I poured my heart out. She still rejected me. I’m not good enough. I was never a good enough person. It just took my heart laying still before her for her to finally decide to take mercy on me.
Worrying thoughts ran through my mind, pouring into my soul, and flooding into my heart. I knew I had to tell the truth but I didn’t know how he was going to take it. Would he understand? Or would I lose him forever.
it was pouring rain out side, I rushed in throwing my coat onto the floor and kicking my boots off, I was late and I almost missed my favorite tv show! TGIF!
I pour my emotions out. They flood out in heaps, some like glue, sticky with tag along memories and once upon a time day dreams. they rush like a raging river. violent yet elegant. drained me of everything i have.
Milk streaming down from the clouds, clouds ripping apart, clouds torn at the seams as liquid falls falls falls down into the streets, gathering in gutters, pooling in the cracks of the sidewalk, drizzling down through the alleys where you always used to sit, head bowed, toque out, waiting for money that never came.
I am a bartender and I pour drinks all day long. I pour green and blue libations. People always ask me to pour them a strong drink, I do but its never enough. The reason is because what we pour ourselves at home and what we can pour in a bar is completely different. It is always going to be a less strong drink, But I promise you that it will always be a quality and tasty drink when I pour it for you. I love my job..
The lemonade was sweet and cold on the hot summer day. The glass the Susan held dripped in her damp palms and she wiped her sweating face. It was Mississippi, 1938. 14-year-old Susan’s life was about to start.
“Get inside, Susan!” her mother screamed.
So much for that thought, Susan sighed inwardly.
The rain battered on my window as if it was trying to tell me something. It poured harder and became the more urgent. The rain stopped and it was too late to make a difference.
i pour myself into my work, my family, my husband, and still nothing is given in return. i work my ass of til the mornings turn to evening and nothing is given in return. what will i finally get in return.
“Just shut up and pour me another beer!” shouted the grizzled old miner. “I’ve had enough of yer witterin;”
The young bar maid hoisted up her lowslung top and poured him a beer, taking care not to raise too big a head of froth because she knew from experience what would happen if she were careless.
I poured my heart out on the page, consistent with my tears. Every sentence, was a breath, a blink and one more tear, flowing down my face. I hate him, I hate him, I miss him I miss him. It isn’t fair. Then, for a second, the brief feeling of, woe is me is gone. I am no longer red in the face, or wet at the eyes. It seems like a second, but I was gone for longer, in the hole. And now I am back. I read in a recent stdy that humans only feel intense emotions for 11 minutes at a time, after that 11 minutes it is self inflicted. I believe that. x
pour me a glass of wine. its been a long day. i need to relax. so many thoughts, so many decisions to be made. and all by such a young girl. only 19 years of age. starting out too young these days. no one to rely on but yourself and the wind.
Pour… pouring my heart out to people. I feel as if it’s something I’m never able to do… because I feel like a bottomless cup, and people are constantly pouring into ME. I never overflow… so no one can sense how difficult it is for me to continue receiving their ceaseless flow of stories that are irrelevant and detrimental to my life.
I poured the milk out of the bottle. It was clotted and smelled soured. It went into my tea and I nearly puked. NOthing grosser than pouring soured milk out of a bottle when you’re hungover.
pour, on everybody’s mind. who is richer then who. yet the people how have the least money are usually the happiest. money is everything its controls people bodies minds souls. there beating heart reviles around becoming pour.
I pour my cup of tea as the weary wind lessens, and the sound of sweet purring interrupts my action. The tea is pungent, with citrusy notes of lemon and rosemary, a satisfactory creation of mine.
I watched the lemonade pour from the pitcher. The condensation dripped down onto the table. I smelled the citrus juice in the ice cold drink and my mouth started to water. The ice cubes clinked together in the glass. I looked up at Sandra. She smiled, but the gesture never touched her eyes.
i like pouring myself milk in my cereal because it usually tastes really good. i like pouring buttermilk in nothing, buttermilk is nasty. when i pour out my soul i will be dead because no one shall ever see me cry; weakness indeed. i like pouring
pouring the milk in the morning for breakfast gets my day going.
I love a heavy down pour.
The lava pouring out of the orifice gave a beautiful effect to the ground.
I pour my heart out to you. I love you endlessly. All I feel about you is love. Pouring out my emotions to you is hard, but it needs to be done. I love you, you love me, and truth and trust is what counts. I want to pour my heart out to you. Always and forever.
Pour. Pour everything you’ve got into whatever it is that you do.
I just want him to pour his heart into me. I want to live in his heart. I want him to hold me and call me his and never ever ever give up on me. I want him to never forget how I did the same for him. How I poured my emotions and life and everything into the idea of being with him someday. I poured my soul, not just my heart. And all I’m asking for is his heart.
Standing there, alone in the middle of nowhere …. Watching the burning ash from the gray sky ….Feeling like a desert.. like a completely dried soul.. asking yourself:
When will it pour?
she poured her heart out into her creation.
Momma poured the syrup into the tin.
It may seem easy and relaxing, but it’s not. It’s a battle. A nerve-racking battle. It will make your hands tremble at the prospects of overpouring.
It’s a battle.
To do something for someone. To be FOR… pardon my French… To do the act of unveiling an amount to someone In any manner that can alleviate some sort of craving that one has
Stable hands made sure that it was fine. The pot was ceramic and if he wasn’t mistaken, it belonged to his grandmother. He’d never used it before, not until today. Brewing the tea he kept his hands stable as he gently poured the warm liquid into each of their cups. If he was to impress him, the man his parents wanted him to court, he’d have to do better than the shoddy shit he’d made the day prior. He took a deep breath in and as the golden liquid dripped out in an orderly fashion into the teacup he smiled. Perfect. He’d have a good chance yet.
Rain was pouring. Tear was pouring. And flowed only to flow to drain which is called the memory.
I watched her as she stroked my thigh. She stroked it with such softness and sincerity. It was a pleasure to watch her so intent on my skin. Her fingers traced my skin until the hair trickled up. I watched her pour her admiration to me in the subtlest of ways.
I was glad of it. I could see the hills rolling around us, and the other mud huts dotting them. I could see we were surrounded. And I was glad of it. Glad to have the tears of the heavens angrily diving into the tin roof above us and on the earth around us.
water
spout
rain
tea pot
cups
liquid
pour some chocolate syrup on those waffles with some whip creamand some lemon glaze and maybe cherry jam and some ffresh cherries. Damn i want waffles. will so anything for them really
I poured my heart out. She still rejected me. I’m not good enough. I was never a good enough person. It just took my heart laying still before her for her to finally decide to take mercy on me.
Outside the outhouse,
with its brittle brick walls
And shanty town roof
A cluster of weeds explode
Scatter along the edge
Like poured napalm
Worrying thoughts ran through my mind, pouring into my soul, and flooding into my heart. I knew I had to tell the truth but I didn’t know how he was going to take it. Would he understand? Or would I lose him forever.
If we could only pour things directly into people, things will sure be a lot different
The rain poured down the window panes, reflecting the sadness of her tears. Her best friend, however, was happy as happy as she had ever been
it was pouring rain out side, I rushed in throwing my coat onto the floor and kicking my boots off, I was late and I almost missed my favorite tv show! TGIF!
I pour my emotions out. They flood out in heaps, some like glue, sticky with tag along memories and once upon a time day dreams. they rush like a raging river. violent yet elegant. drained me of everything i have.
Milk streaming down from the clouds, clouds ripping apart, clouds torn at the seams as liquid falls falls falls down into the streets, gathering in gutters, pooling in the cracks of the sidewalk, drizzling down through the alleys where you always used to sit, head bowed, toque out, waiting for money that never came.
I try to never let them pour when anyone else is around. No matter how much it makes me feel sick. Nauseous. I wont let those tears pour.
I am a bartender and I pour drinks all day long. I pour green and blue libations. People always ask me to pour them a strong drink, I do but its never enough. The reason is because what we pour ourselves at home and what we can pour in a bar is completely different. It is always going to be a less strong drink, But I promise you that it will always be a quality and tasty drink when I pour it for you. I love my job..
The lemonade was sweet and cold on the hot summer day. The glass the Susan held dripped in her damp palms and she wiped her sweating face. It was Mississippi, 1938. 14-year-old Susan’s life was about to start.
“Get inside, Susan!” her mother screamed.
So much for that thought, Susan sighed inwardly.
The rain battered on my window as if it was trying to tell me something. It poured harder and became the more urgent. The rain stopped and it was too late to make a difference.
i pour myself into my work, my family, my husband, and still nothing is given in return. i work my ass of til the mornings turn to evening and nothing is given in return. what will i finally get in return.
“Just shut up and pour me another beer!” shouted the grizzled old miner. “I’ve had enough of yer witterin;”
The young bar maid hoisted up her lowslung top and poured him a beer, taking care not to raise too big a head of froth because she knew from experience what would happen if she were careless.
I poured my heart out on the page, consistent with my tears. Every sentence, was a breath, a blink and one more tear, flowing down my face. I hate him, I hate him, I miss him I miss him. It isn’t fair. Then, for a second, the brief feeling of, woe is me is gone. I am no longer red in the face, or wet at the eyes. It seems like a second, but I was gone for longer, in the hole. And now I am back. I read in a recent stdy that humans only feel intense emotions for 11 minutes at a time, after that 11 minutes it is self inflicted. I believe that. x
pour me a glass of wine. its been a long day. i need to relax. so many thoughts, so many decisions to be made. and all by such a young girl. only 19 years of age. starting out too young these days. no one to rely on but yourself and the wind.
Pour… pouring my heart out to people. I feel as if it’s something I’m never able to do… because I feel like a bottomless cup, and people are constantly pouring into ME. I never overflow… so no one can sense how difficult it is for me to continue receiving their ceaseless flow of stories that are irrelevant and detrimental to my life.
milk in a ceral bowl for breakfast
rain pouring down from the sky.
tears pouring down my face at night
water from a jug to water plants
pour that drink into my soul for i lust for more, grow, passion.
sing that song into my here for i need to become me
I poured the milk out of the bottle. It was clotted and smelled soured. It went into my tea and I nearly puked. NOthing grosser than pouring soured milk out of a bottle when you’re hungover.
people
on the
universe
rest
theres no need to worry.
pour, on everybody’s mind. who is richer then who. yet the people how have the least money are usually the happiest. money is everything its controls people bodies minds souls. there beating heart reviles around becoming pour.
life
humans
brains
us
the earth
food
taste
mind
freedom
easy
love
true
yourself
live
I pour my cup of tea as the weary wind lessens, and the sound of sweet purring interrupts my action. The tea is pungent, with citrusy notes of lemon and rosemary, a satisfactory creation of mine.
I watched the lemonade pour from the pitcher. The condensation dripped down onto the table. I smelled the citrus juice in the ice cold drink and my mouth started to water. The ice cubes clinked together in the glass. I looked up at Sandra. She smiled, but the gesture never touched her eyes.
it’s thick
and sinking
and sickening sweet
and I can’t see you anymore
when you’re mixed in like that
i like pouring myself milk in my cereal because it usually tastes really good. i like pouring buttermilk in nothing, buttermilk is nasty. when i pour out my soul i will be dead because no one shall ever see me cry; weakness indeed. i like pouring
pouring the milk in the morning for breakfast gets my day going.
I love a heavy down pour.
The lava pouring out of the orifice gave a beautiful effect to the ground.
I pour my heart out to you. I love you endlessly. All I feel about you is love. Pouring out my emotions to you is hard, but it needs to be done. I love you, you love me, and truth and trust is what counts. I want to pour my heart out to you. Always and forever.