meryt
His gift for her was a pair of silver earrings. Often she wore them and she let her fingers slip over the silvered hoops as she thought of him, bringing the memory of his voice to her mind as intimate as a whisper in her very ear.
I never could sit at a desk to write creatively. My body, like my thoughts, need to sprawl across a surface like a bed where I can flex my mind and my words more fluidly which is something I cannot achieve while sitting rigid and stiff at a desk. I need to absolutely roll around in the ideas.
My sister's blood boiled in such a way that, as she lost her temper, the strawberry's mark of fury appeared between her eyes and upon her forehead. She was known to give herself over to these moments as a baby. And I, I knew better than to give in. In a moment, the storm would be over.
Trunk? Seriously? I don't know what to say about trunk and I can't believe this is my first word on which I am freewriting. Like an elephant maybe. The trunk of an elephant. There is a circus in town, no, it's a festival. So many festivals are in town lately everywhere I go, every corner I seem to pass. There's one up the street, actually, but I have no interest in it.