aleins being rocketed down to earth. opening their little shells and podthings and looking out at the new world. cant help it, im seeing man of steel again tomorrow. ughhhhh.
the smells of Italian food coming from my mothers kitchen… oregano and garlic. Stuffed shells was on the menu for the night. my mouth watered in anticipation as i imagined the cheese filled pasta covered in a rich tomato sauce.
She pics sea shells at the sea shore. She likes sea shells. Sea shells are actually remains of dead invertebrates. The organism lives in the hard casing is is itself without a single bone in body. It in fact is a close genetic cousin of the common snail.
Shells are really cool. Especially in spingebob for some reason. I don’t really know why but hey what the hell right? And Who’s line when Robin Williams put a shell up to his ear and it said “who’s your daddy?” that was funny. HAHAHA running out of shit to say. Hmm…little time left. Kinda tired. Could go to bed.
At the pier, Danny nodded toward a broad in a bikini, shorts and “ankle-breakers” and told me she sells sex. When I repeated this to my sister she said, “You can’t sell sex just anywhere,” and continued to pop her sugar-free bubble gum and flip through an ad-packed magazine.
I said, “Seriously sis, sea shells… See hell… she she… shit.”
this reminds me of going to the beach with my dad all the time when i was little and we would go and pick the prettiest shells and save them. i still have some of them. they were really good times. i really would like to go back and get more soon. hopefully with him
Pretty things which sound of the sea. Part of collections or bits of jewelry. Different colors and homes of tiny creatures, which though majestical, smell quite funny.
You want to pick them up, wherever you see them, like a compulsion. Different shapes and sizes and textures, like a reflection of the world.
Into the wet sand my toes push, delighted in the licks of foamy ocean reaching out to nip them. The beach is slightly brisk with rushed breezes coming off the water, but it feels good after the oppressive heat from the last several days. I relish the feel of my hair dancing in the cool gusts of wind. I bathe in the caress of sunshine on my face as I walk. I giggle at the sensation of sand being coaxed from beneath my feet, dragged by the pounding waves against its will down the shoreline to blend in gritty swirls within the surf. Tiny treasures–sea glass, seaweed bouquets, and miniature shells–glimmer in the sunlight as the water retracts. Come, close your eyes and join me as waves kiss the shore. Listen with me and hear each surge hit and roll into a watery crescendo, pausing suspended on the sand for a few precious seconds before quickly retreating with a gentle sigh into the waiting ocean’s embrace.
She had always wondered if she belonged in this family, all of them like empty shells that were lacking any real feeling for her. They were, she realised, just acting a role, taking the place of her true friends and family; who, she knew now, she had to find.
It punctures flesh like butter; it’s unrelenting and won’t be stopped by sheer will alone, but in this instance, it’s not going against this particular man’s will. Everything becomes slow as the slide cocks backward and a bronze shell releases from it, creating a high pitched sound as it makes contact with the ground. The man falls, and so does his gun.
Into the wet sand my toes push, delighted in the licks of foamy ocean reaching out to nip them. The beach is slightly brisk with rushed breezes coming off the water, but it feels good after the oppressive heat from the last several days. I relish the feel of my hair dancing in the cool gusts of wind. I bathe the caress of sunshine on my face as I walk. I giggle at the sensation of sand being coaxed from beneath my feet, dragged by the pounding waves against its will down the shoreline to blend in gritty swirls within the surf. Tiny treasures–sea glass, seaweed bouquets, and miniature shells–glimmer in the sunlight as the water retracts land, revealing them to my sight. Come, close your eyes and join me as waves kiss the shore. Listen with me and hear each surge hit and roll into a watery crescendo, pausing suspended on the sand for a few precious seconds before quickly retreating with a gentle sigh into the waiting ocean’s embrace.
Shells are found at the beach or near backwaters. They are of various sizes and shapes.
They have hollows in them and when one puts his/her ear near the hollow, they can hear noises like that of water flowing or breeze.
Crunching in the sand, shards snapping beneath my bare feet. Like an alligator snacking on bones as I dashed along the shore. One. Two. Three. Four. The rhythmic beat of my feet as I ran across fragments of ocean.
Shells obviously make me think of the beach, and happy days spent on vacation. They also makes me think of the nights spent in Jeremiah’s house doing various recreational activities and reading books and cracking jokes and sitting on the porch, breathing in the night time New Orleans air and cigarette smoke, singing softly along in bad harmony to indie music. I look around and swell with love and appreciation for these small moments, but no one else is looking back with the same look and I wonder who here is just a pretty shell.
The sea shore is scattered with sea shells. Shiny shells shimmering in the sunlight, searing on the sand. The sea beckons me home and the shells signal the way.
Every time she goes to see her mother she is walking on eggshells. There are certain topics that cannot be mentioned, that should be avoided at all costs.
Her mother has eyes that are sharp, beady and bird-like. Today her mother breaks the unspoken rule, uttering the one question she has the least right to ask:
“So why did you and your husband separate?”
Ha! I say to myself, “I’m going to break out of my shell next year. New year, New school? New me!” But then again, that’s what I said last year too. xP That’s sad. I will always be the same. Here I come, 8th grade. ;_____; *cri*
“See shells, she sells, on the sea shore.” He murmed to himself all along the shoreline. Waves caressed their feet, sometime crashing past her weak ankles so that she swerved into his lean body.
Shells. Egg shells. How many can we throw in the compost bin before the compost just looks like crushed egg shells? We crack so many eggs in a week, and cracking is the coveted activity around here. Every little kid loves to crack the egg shell and wait for the ooze to drop out.
And of course there are turtle shells. And sea shells. And Clam shells, but we don’t see those very often.
The shore of the ocean was riddled with them, and the older boy watched the girl meander down the sand, being very picky with which shells she kept in her pocket and which she put back down. He smiled lightly and tilted his head up, feeling the salty air against his face as he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before opening them again and looking back down at the ocean side. He frowned and sighed when he found it empty, but it didn’t surprise him. They never stayed long, nowadays, before vanishing just when he was starting to enjoy their company.
Ocean blue, gifts from the sea. Little trinkets I pick up along the way. All different shapes sizes and colors. No two are ever exactly alike. But all are beautiful. If only people looked at people in the same way.
sea shells by the seashore. the waves crash upon the sand as we walk together hand in hand, conjoined souls and intertwined fingers, im nothing without you my reason for breathing.
The waves are crashing, tossing, rushing. The shells roll with it and are rolled by it. And I can use fucking passive voice there because this is some creative shit. The shells are rolled by the waves and become beautiful nature.
We all grow into our shells. We start off on our own, and then we find a home to shelter ourself in. To protect us from everything else out there. Sometimes, we get too attached to our shells, and begin to grow attached to their walls, unable to be pulled away from them.
I went to the beach once and I wandered along, looking, waiting. It had to be there, the perfect shell. I had to find it. I’ve always been that kind of person, looking for perfection. And the kicker? I left the beach that day, and I had a pocket full of shells. Sharp ones, jagged ones, ones that sparkled in the sunlight, and ones blacker than night. Because I realized, they were all perfect.
White, yellow, and so many different colors. You find them at the beach. I used to collect shells when I was younger and had an imagination. I always thought I would do things with them, but I never did. I used to love putting the shells upp to my ear and listening to the ocean. Of course that was nothing really, but I used to do it anyways.
Hard to resist picking up
the speckled shells
I’ll just take one or two
or all
but I should leave them for the beach I suppose
The beach shared them with me
give mutually
myself to the sea
To glisten purple, tempting the waves to crash over me.
calling to my far away home, of salt and sea. calling to the freedom that fills the air, and the soft sand that fills my hair. calling to all that i use to be
Oh Sea Shell, send my message. The time has come for me to return, to lay under the sun and burn. Oh, Sea Shell, send my message.
calling to my far away home, of salt and sea. calling to the freedom that fills the air, and the soft sand that fills my hair. calling to all that i use to be
Shells come in all shapes and sizes. There are pasta shells, turtle shells, peanut shells, and koopa troopa shells in Mario. The shells of turtles also vary in size, shape and style. Tortoises have large shells and turles have small ones
He tossed the shells to the ground indignantly, as he stumbled out of the room. Only a few people took note. And fewer that actually gave a shit. I mean it wasn’t the first time a drunk only ate the peanuts with a few afternoon cocktails at Texas Roadhouse.
I love to put shells in my accessories at home and on me. Shells is a cheap way of expressing art anywhere. but i know it’s one way for other people to earn a livin
sheldon on the big bang theory is what I first think of. Also, the song sea shells by the seashore. sand and whales and killer whales and other things too like mermaids. Oh, the little mermaid on Disney makes me think of Peter Pan and his wisdom thus shown on tumblr posts. I love him, he’s an amazing character.
There. The collection was complete. Dani looked over the whole assortment as she placed the last piece to the puzzle. It gave her a satisfying feeling, a feeling of accomplishment. The blow of the sea kissed the dazzling shells and gave them a little more sparkle. It was then that the true beauty of the precious revealed itself to its finder, and official owner.
She sells sea shells by the sea shore. X 5? X10. Do you remember that? I have always had problems linguistically. It comes from being painfully shy as a child.
She walked the beaches since she was a child. And all the years she walked she collected shells. Each trip was kept in a different antique apothecary jar, yet she remembered each walk.
shells groove timblerland. dirt puppies tugging on your shoelace. Gargamel lumping along, crescent kick the cat. and evil doer doing bad. truthful rabies. cracking spinsters on yesterday’s news. ink blot blogger.
aleins being rocketed down to earth. opening their little shells and podthings and looking out at the new world. cant help it, im seeing man of steel again tomorrow. ughhhhh.
the smells of Italian food coming from my mothers kitchen… oregano and garlic. Stuffed shells was on the menu for the night. my mouth watered in anticipation as i imagined the cheese filled pasta covered in a rich tomato sauce.
She pics sea shells at the sea shore. She likes sea shells. Sea shells are actually remains of dead invertebrates. The organism lives in the hard casing is is itself without a single bone in body. It in fact is a close genetic cousin of the common snail.
Shells are really cool. Especially in spingebob for some reason. I don’t really know why but hey what the hell right? And Who’s line when Robin Williams put a shell up to his ear and it said “who’s your daddy?” that was funny. HAHAHA running out of shit to say. Hmm…little time left. Kinda tired. Could go to bed.
At the pier, Danny nodded toward a broad in a bikini, shorts and “ankle-breakers” and told me she sells sex. When I repeated this to my sister she said, “You can’t sell sex just anywhere,” and continued to pop her sugar-free bubble gum and flip through an ad-packed magazine.
I said, “Seriously sis, sea shells… See hell… she she… shit.”
this reminds me of going to the beach with my dad all the time when i was little and we would go and pick the prettiest shells and save them. i still have some of them. they were really good times. i really would like to go back and get more soon. hopefully with him
Pretty things which sound of the sea. Part of collections or bits of jewelry. Different colors and homes of tiny creatures, which though majestical, smell quite funny.
You want to pick them up, wherever you see them, like a compulsion. Different shapes and sizes and textures, like a reflection of the world.
Into the wet sand my toes push, delighted in the licks of foamy ocean reaching out to nip them. The beach is slightly brisk with rushed breezes coming off the water, but it feels good after the oppressive heat from the last several days. I relish the feel of my hair dancing in the cool gusts of wind. I bathe in the caress of sunshine on my face as I walk. I giggle at the sensation of sand being coaxed from beneath my feet, dragged by the pounding waves against its will down the shoreline to blend in gritty swirls within the surf. Tiny treasures–sea glass, seaweed bouquets, and miniature shells–glimmer in the sunlight as the water retracts. Come, close your eyes and join me as waves kiss the shore. Listen with me and hear each surge hit and roll into a watery crescendo, pausing suspended on the sand for a few precious seconds before quickly retreating with a gentle sigh into the waiting ocean’s embrace.
She had always wondered if she belonged in this family, all of them like empty shells that were lacking any real feeling for her. They were, she realised, just acting a role, taking the place of her true friends and family; who, she knew now, she had to find.
It punctures flesh like butter; it’s unrelenting and won’t be stopped by sheer will alone, but in this instance, it’s not going against this particular man’s will. Everything becomes slow as the slide cocks backward and a bronze shell releases from it, creating a high pitched sound as it makes contact with the ground. The man falls, and so does his gun.
Into the wet sand my toes push, delighted in the licks of foamy ocean reaching out to nip them. The beach is slightly brisk with rushed breezes coming off the water, but it feels good after the oppressive heat from the last several days. I relish the feel of my hair dancing in the cool gusts of wind. I bathe the caress of sunshine on my face as I walk. I giggle at the sensation of sand being coaxed from beneath my feet, dragged by the pounding waves against its will down the shoreline to blend in gritty swirls within the surf. Tiny treasures–sea glass, seaweed bouquets, and miniature shells–glimmer in the sunlight as the water retracts land, revealing them to my sight. Come, close your eyes and join me as waves kiss the shore. Listen with me and hear each surge hit and roll into a watery crescendo, pausing suspended on the sand for a few precious seconds before quickly retreating with a gentle sigh into the waiting ocean’s embrace.
Shells are found at the beach or near backwaters. They are of various sizes and shapes.
They have hollows in them and when one puts his/her ear near the hollow, they can hear noises like that of water flowing or breeze.
Crunching in the sand, shards snapping beneath my bare feet. Like an alligator snacking on bones as I dashed along the shore. One. Two. Three. Four. The rhythmic beat of my feet as I ran across fragments of ocean.
Shells obviously make me think of the beach, and happy days spent on vacation. They also makes me think of the nights spent in Jeremiah’s house doing various recreational activities and reading books and cracking jokes and sitting on the porch, breathing in the night time New Orleans air and cigarette smoke, singing softly along in bad harmony to indie music. I look around and swell with love and appreciation for these small moments, but no one else is looking back with the same look and I wonder who here is just a pretty shell.
The sea shore is scattered with sea shells. Shiny shells shimmering in the sunlight, searing on the sand. The sea beckons me home and the shells signal the way.
Beautiful shells laid down the beach as forgotten mermaids… they kept the secrets of the sea.
Every time she goes to see her mother she is walking on eggshells. There are certain topics that cannot be mentioned, that should be avoided at all costs.
Her mother has eyes that are sharp, beady and bird-like. Today her mother breaks the unspoken rule, uttering the one question she has the least right to ask:
“So why did you and your husband separate?”
Ha! I say to myself, “I’m going to break out of my shell next year. New year, New school? New me!” But then again, that’s what I said last year too. xP That’s sad. I will always be the same. Here I come, 8th grade. ;_____; *cri*
“See shells, she sells, on the sea shore.” He murmed to himself all along the shoreline. Waves caressed their feet, sometime crashing past her weak ankles so that she swerved into his lean body.
Shells. Egg shells. How many can we throw in the compost bin before the compost just looks like crushed egg shells? We crack so many eggs in a week, and cracking is the coveted activity around here. Every little kid loves to crack the egg shell and wait for the ooze to drop out.
And of course there are turtle shells. And sea shells. And Clam shells, but we don’t see those very often.
The shore of the ocean was riddled with them, and the older boy watched the girl meander down the sand, being very picky with which shells she kept in her pocket and which she put back down. He smiled lightly and tilted his head up, feeling the salty air against his face as he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before opening them again and looking back down at the ocean side. He frowned and sighed when he found it empty, but it didn’t surprise him. They never stayed long, nowadays, before vanishing just when he was starting to enjoy their company.
Ocean blue, gifts from the sea. Little trinkets I pick up along the way. All different shapes sizes and colors. No two are ever exactly alike. But all are beautiful. If only people looked at people in the same way.
sea shells by the seashore. the waves crash upon the sand as we walk together hand in hand, conjoined souls and intertwined fingers, im nothing without you my reason for breathing.
The waves are crashing, tossing, rushing. The shells roll with it and are rolled by it. And I can use fucking passive voice there because this is some creative shit. The shells are rolled by the waves and become beautiful nature.
pasta shells, small.medium, and large. Thereare endless ways to fix them
We decided we needed to make something a little more substantial for dinner, but weren’t sure what was available to eat in the pantry…
“How about our favorite?”
“Stuffed shells?”
“It brings me back to our first date…”
We all grow into our shells. We start off on our own, and then we find a home to shelter ourself in. To protect us from everything else out there. Sometimes, we get too attached to our shells, and begin to grow attached to their walls, unable to be pulled away from them.
the shells he’d given her still made the same sounds
the ocean
a whisper
a kiss, which lingered
the sound of a fight echoes
around her neck
she cries a little
and rips them off
I went to the beach once and I wandered along, looking, waiting. It had to be there, the perfect shell. I had to find it. I’ve always been that kind of person, looking for perfection. And the kicker? I left the beach that day, and I had a pocket full of shells. Sharp ones, jagged ones, ones that sparkled in the sunlight, and ones blacker than night. Because I realized, they were all perfect.
White, yellow, and so many different colors. You find them at the beach. I used to collect shells when I was younger and had an imagination. I always thought I would do things with them, but I never did. I used to love putting the shells upp to my ear and listening to the ocean. Of course that was nothing really, but I used to do it anyways.
Hard to resist picking up
the speckled shells
I’ll just take one or two
or all
but I should leave them for the beach I suppose
The beach shared them with me
give mutually
myself to the sea
To glisten purple, tempting the waves to crash over me.
calling to my far away home, of salt and sea. calling to the freedom that fills the air, and the soft sand that fills my hair. calling to all that i use to be
Oh Sea Shell, send my message. The time has come for me to return, to lay under the sun and burn. Oh, Sea Shell, send my message.
calling to my far away home, of salt and sea. calling to the freedom that fills the air, and the soft sand that fills my hair. calling to all that i use to be
Shells come in all shapes and sizes. There are pasta shells, turtle shells, peanut shells, and koopa troopa shells in Mario. The shells of turtles also vary in size, shape and style. Tortoises have large shells and turles have small ones
He tossed the shells to the ground indignantly, as he stumbled out of the room. Only a few people took note. And fewer that actually gave a shit. I mean it wasn’t the first time a drunk only ate the peanuts with a few afternoon cocktails at Texas Roadhouse.
I love to put shells in my accessories at home and on me. Shells is a cheap way of expressing art anywhere. but i know it’s one way for other people to earn a livin
sheldon on the big bang theory is what I first think of. Also, the song sea shells by the seashore. sand and whales and killer whales and other things too like mermaids. Oh, the little mermaid on Disney makes me think of Peter Pan and his wisdom thus shown on tumblr posts. I love him, he’s an amazing character.
There. The collection was complete. Dani looked over the whole assortment as she placed the last piece to the puzzle. It gave her a satisfying feeling, a feeling of accomplishment. The blow of the sea kissed the dazzling shells and gave them a little more sparkle. It was then that the true beauty of the precious revealed itself to its finder, and official owner.
She sells sea shells by the sea shore. X 5? X10. Do you remember that? I have always had problems linguistically. It comes from being painfully shy as a child.
She walked the beaches since she was a child. And all the years she walked she collected shells. Each trip was kept in a different antique apothecary jar, yet she remembered each walk.