‘It’ wasn’t like anything I had ever seen before and it certainly wasn’t something from this realm, or from those surrounding. On first inspection I had assumed that it was nothing more than wet sand due to its seemingly similar texture. I had also once again wrongly assumed that it was the ocean’s waves that had come to form the incredibly intricate mass. It was only when I had attempted destroy it, like a child would destroy a sand castle, did I realise that it was something much, much greater.
the texture is a thing that is needed to make you feel. Everything has one and it creates this tickling that you feel when you tuch someone, you love someone, it just is the thing that makes your skin alive.
The softness of her body and the warmth that transports from her body to mine. As we lay under the moonlight wrapped in blankets we both clothes our eyes. It’s not just the way her skin feels her the way her silky hair smells. It’s the texture of her lips that put me under a spell. It’s the texture of her character that snatched my attention.
Amy g
The texture of the cup reminded her of the green plastic cup she used as a child. When she was all of six years old, her grandfather surprised her with a turtle cup from the zoo. The cup held special memories for her as she remembered her grandfather with found memories.
Cris
i love the texture of cashmere. it is soft and sweet not like sand or sand paper. Wool makes me ticklish, and silk and cashmere are my favorites fabrics. and choice of gifts for my very very special friends . texture is everything to the skin
Ally
Feel it beneath your fingers. Smooth surfaces calm, soothe you into meditation. Rougher edges piue your curiosity. What is this course material? Feelings, textures remind you of long gone memories.
It was odd, the texture of my flesh against the cold stone. The pain in my head was subsiding, but the heavy, throbbing pain was still dulling my senses. I tried harder to focus. It seemed hopeless at that point to try, but I knew that if I didn’t get my senses back in order, then the next blunder may be my last.
texture is the roughness of mountain being beaten into sand,
Texture is the smoothness of water dissolving and pushing
Little by little and for no reason but the need to be near
and not become
Nina
The texture of his hair is the first thing that comes to his mind when he wakes up.
It’s in his face
In his nose.
It tickles, but he thinks he wouldn’t have it any other way.
He loves the chocolate curls, soft, and they smell just like /Harry/.
I swept my hand over its sleek screen, around its curves and down its slender back. What a marvel it was, what a triumph of technology — a computer no bigger than my Moleskine notebook!
Gagging and puking from the banana. How can people eat this crap? The texture and flavor is baby poop-esque. There can’t be anything healthy about this?!? Banana bread…yes! Plain banana….NO!
The texture of your skin is unlike anything I have ever imagined. It glows like the moon when there is no city lights. It is smooth like satin. And it is perfect, yes perfect.
Hannah
texture is what you feel on your fingers when you test the water. what you touch with your feet as you walk down the gravel path without shoes. Texture is a sense. One of the five. It keeps you alive. It makes you curious.
Zakiya
the texture of the bedspread was rough beneath my fingertips
it was a place i had been before under different circumstances
the air was filled with something that i couldn’t quite place
this time i was alone
this time i was not afraid
i have yarn for hair
that i can tie into a noose.
and buttons for eyes,
needles like a second skin.
your whistling taunts;
my very own wind-up key.
water can crush your
skull, if you fall high enough.
so say it to me again.
call me dollface, i dare you.
the texture of your skin is mesmerizing
often we talk in textures to communicate.
emily
Even though I’ve never felt the texture of her hair, I imagine that it was as soft as the little lion she gave me for Valentine’s Day, and though I’ll never feel it, I still like to think of it that way, because it makes me happy. And even though I ended it, even though I was the one who said, “I can’t do this anymore.”
I’ll still miss her. I’ll miss the way she called me darling and the way she said she loved me, in whatever language she chose.
The feel of his palm against mine is exhilarating, better than sex, better than kissing or hugging, it is like a kiss with hands, a lover of palms. Silly isn’t it? Our palms being lovers, but still, the warmth I get from it, the texture, the feel, the color, I could sit all day thinking about it, and sometimes, I do.
poxto
My hands touch the world,
They feel right,
that the bumps,
the air, the ground.
It’s the feeling that makes up the world, Texture.
Devin
his silky hair, smooth skin, his puckered scars, calloused hands, in soft, worn-in t-shirt, his stiff, new jeans
lia
The texture of the quilt before me felt soft, plush like and bouncy. I had one person watching me. My eyes strayed to them quickly and darted back to the bed before me. I’m sleeping in a heaven tonight.
Marie
fuzzy, smooth, pleasure, carpet, floor, grass on your feet, sand between your toes.
Cody
Is it to text or not to text or perhaps the feeling of text unfolding on the screen as your fingers caress the keyboard without looking at the individual keys?
Bob
text is something we all see everyday and no about. it´s how we understant and tell things we wanna tell. it´s a way to express ourselves and our needs. there are many forms of it, letters, poems and even lyrics.
Kristiina Vähäsoini
I felt the bumpiness, the roughness of the page beneath my fingers. The braille. I read the words. And I read them again.
And I began to cry.
Because no matter how much she said she loved me, how she wrote it in her dots, I would never see her smile, the brightness in her eyes as she SAID it to me. Just the feeling of words beneath my fingers.
Blah
The feel of something in your home, car or just about anywhere. I love texture it is amazing., A lot of people don’t like stuff like microfiber or anything else. We own a furniture store and there are many different textures and different opinions. Textures can give different memories or just thoughts, it can spark feelings
Mary
The texture of his skin was like silk, not the texture of a real man’s skin. Not the skin of a man who was strong, weathered, the type of man who she had always known. But, there was something a bit comforting about his smooth body, it was a feeling of comfort she had never known.
The texture of his skin was a most curious experience to touch. It was soft and smooth, cold and slippery, yet it was neither wet nor was it slimy. It was just… flowy. I loved touching his skin. Something about its glowing green essence filled me with joy.
I picked it up off the pavement. It was heavier than I expected and its rough texture meant that dirt had collected all along its surface. I rubbed it against my jeans to try to clean it up a bit, then holding it up to the light I could see some writing along the side. ‘Made in China’. Wow, not a relic of massive archaeological importance then, but something that probably fell out of a Christmas cracker and is so shit that whoever won it didn’t even want it. Man, what a crap day. Seems I’m not going to have an adventure after all. Or, am I? No, probably not.
well….this is rough. literally and metaphorically…
Rocket
The rock was small in my hand as I turned it around and around between my fingers. It was smooth. Just like him. Him. Him. He was all I could think off. All i could dream of and all I could believe in anymore. He was my idol. My love. My life.
Kat Phifer
The texture of her skin under my hands was better than velvet. She was soft and smooth, slightly chilled from the AC blowing around us. I stroked her shoulder, felt her hair tickle my chin, and her head resting comfortable against my arm. Her leg draped over mine, bringing us even closer. Her breath stirred my chest hair, tickling just enough to keep me awake while she yet slept. If only this moment could last and last and last, but soon enough I would fall asleep and another night would pass and we would get closer and closer to the time when she’d have to board that plane and leave.
She ran her hands along the edge of the curtain. Soft, velvety green. So beautiful, she thought. If only the world were the same.
“So, what about it? Are you coming with us?”
She looked at him. Her mind told her no.
“Yes.”
flaky scrambled tree bark in a large forest full of elves who make cookies and willow trees that cry about lost canals in venice and striped shirts that bleed like a zebra in the rain if it were made of ink in the heart of the african savannah and i love you
henry
i think of anything i touch. i thing about how it feels and looks. rocks are hard and most of the time pointy, the couch i am on is soft and comfertable. my phone has a cracked back and i can feel it if you rub your finger across it.. hard soft bumby ect.
Katie
The fruit had a very different texture than the apples I had eaten earlier that morning. As I chewed and voiced my confusion, my sister trotted up to me.
“What’s that?”
“I don’t know, but it’s crispy.”
“Like…apple crispy?”
“No. Like…crispy. Like chip crispy. Or candy bar crispy.”
“Oh.” She frowned. “Does it take like chocolate?”
“No.”
“Then what does it take like?’
Belinda Roddie
The feeling of an object against your fingertips. The material, the items feel and look. The softness or hardness or any descriptive word which describes an individual items surface.
Anything your skin touches has a texture. Everything feels different. Everyone feels things differently, as well. Texture is everything. Simple.
‘It’ wasn’t like anything I had ever seen before and it certainly wasn’t something from this realm, or from those surrounding. On first inspection I had assumed that it was nothing more than wet sand due to its seemingly similar texture. I had also once again wrongly assumed that it was the ocean’s waves that had come to form the incredibly intricate mass. It was only when I had attempted destroy it, like a child would destroy a sand castle, did I realise that it was something much, much greater.
the texture is a thing that is needed to make you feel. Everything has one and it creates this tickling that you feel when you tuch someone, you love someone, it just is the thing that makes your skin alive.
The softness of her body and the warmth that transports from her body to mine. As we lay under the moonlight wrapped in blankets we both clothes our eyes. It’s not just the way her skin feels her the way her silky hair smells. It’s the texture of her lips that put me under a spell. It’s the texture of her character that snatched my attention.
The texture of the cup reminded her of the green plastic cup she used as a child. When she was all of six years old, her grandfather surprised her with a turtle cup from the zoo. The cup held special memories for her as she remembered her grandfather with found memories.
i love the texture of cashmere. it is soft and sweet not like sand or sand paper. Wool makes me ticklish, and silk and cashmere are my favorites fabrics. and choice of gifts for my very very special friends . texture is everything to the skin
Feel it beneath your fingers. Smooth surfaces calm, soothe you into meditation. Rougher edges piue your curiosity. What is this course material? Feelings, textures remind you of long gone memories.
He regarded her long slender neck. The rough cream sweater that taunted her skin. He was jealous.
It was odd, the texture of my flesh against the cold stone. The pain in my head was subsiding, but the heavy, throbbing pain was still dulling my senses. I tried harder to focus. It seemed hopeless at that point to try, but I knew that if I didn’t get my senses back in order, then the next blunder may be my last.
texture is the roughness of mountain being beaten into sand,
Texture is the smoothness of water dissolving and pushing
Little by little and for no reason but the need to be near
and not become
The texture of his hair is the first thing that comes to his mind when he wakes up.
It’s in his face
In his nose.
It tickles, but he thinks he wouldn’t have it any other way.
He loves the chocolate curls, soft, and they smell just like /Harry/.
He loves Harry.
I swept my hand over its sleek screen, around its curves and down its slender back. What a marvel it was, what a triumph of technology — a computer no bigger than my Moleskine notebook!
Gagging and puking from the banana. How can people eat this crap? The texture and flavor is baby poop-esque. There can’t be anything healthy about this?!? Banana bread…yes! Plain banana….NO!
The texture of your skin is unlike anything I have ever imagined. It glows like the moon when there is no city lights. It is smooth like satin. And it is perfect, yes perfect.
texture is what you feel on your fingers when you test the water. what you touch with your feet as you walk down the gravel path without shoes. Texture is a sense. One of the five. It keeps you alive. It makes you curious.
the texture of the bedspread was rough beneath my fingertips
it was a place i had been before under different circumstances
the air was filled with something that i couldn’t quite place
this time i was alone
this time i was not afraid
i have yarn for hair
that i can tie into a noose.
and buttons for eyes,
needles like a second skin.
your whistling taunts;
my very own wind-up key.
water can crush your
skull, if you fall high enough.
so say it to me again.
call me dollface, i dare you.
the texture of your skin is mesmerizing
often we talk in textures to communicate.
Even though I’ve never felt the texture of her hair, I imagine that it was as soft as the little lion she gave me for Valentine’s Day, and though I’ll never feel it, I still like to think of it that way, because it makes me happy. And even though I ended it, even though I was the one who said, “I can’t do this anymore.”
I’ll still miss her. I’ll miss the way she called me darling and the way she said she loved me, in whatever language she chose.
The feel of his palm against mine is exhilarating, better than sex, better than kissing or hugging, it is like a kiss with hands, a lover of palms. Silly isn’t it? Our palms being lovers, but still, the warmth I get from it, the texture, the feel, the color, I could sit all day thinking about it, and sometimes, I do.
My hands touch the world,
They feel right,
that the bumps,
the air, the ground.
It’s the feeling that makes up the world, Texture.
his silky hair, smooth skin, his puckered scars, calloused hands, in soft, worn-in t-shirt, his stiff, new jeans
The texture of the quilt before me felt soft, plush like and bouncy. I had one person watching me. My eyes strayed to them quickly and darted back to the bed before me. I’m sleeping in a heaven tonight.
fuzzy, smooth, pleasure, carpet, floor, grass on your feet, sand between your toes.
Is it to text or not to text or perhaps the feeling of text unfolding on the screen as your fingers caress the keyboard without looking at the individual keys?
text is something we all see everyday and no about. it´s how we understant and tell things we wanna tell. it´s a way to express ourselves and our needs. there are many forms of it, letters, poems and even lyrics.
I felt the bumpiness, the roughness of the page beneath my fingers. The braille. I read the words. And I read them again.
And I began to cry.
Because no matter how much she said she loved me, how she wrote it in her dots, I would never see her smile, the brightness in her eyes as she SAID it to me. Just the feeling of words beneath my fingers.
The feel of something in your home, car or just about anywhere. I love texture it is amazing., A lot of people don’t like stuff like microfiber or anything else. We own a furniture store and there are many different textures and different opinions. Textures can give different memories or just thoughts, it can spark feelings
The texture of his skin was like silk, not the texture of a real man’s skin. Not the skin of a man who was strong, weathered, the type of man who she had always known. But, there was something a bit comforting about his smooth body, it was a feeling of comfort she had never known.
The texture of his skin was a most curious experience to touch. It was soft and smooth, cold and slippery, yet it was neither wet nor was it slimy. It was just… flowy. I loved touching his skin. Something about its glowing green essence filled me with joy.
I picked it up off the pavement. It was heavier than I expected and its rough texture meant that dirt had collected all along its surface. I rubbed it against my jeans to try to clean it up a bit, then holding it up to the light I could see some writing along the side. ‘Made in China’. Wow, not a relic of massive archaeological importance then, but something that probably fell out of a Christmas cracker and is so shit that whoever won it didn’t even want it. Man, what a crap day. Seems I’m not going to have an adventure after all. Or, am I? No, probably not.
well….this is rough. literally and metaphorically…
The rock was small in my hand as I turned it around and around between my fingers. It was smooth. Just like him. Him. Him. He was all I could think off. All i could dream of and all I could believe in anymore. He was my idol. My love. My life.
The texture of her skin under my hands was better than velvet. She was soft and smooth, slightly chilled from the AC blowing around us. I stroked her shoulder, felt her hair tickle my chin, and her head resting comfortable against my arm. Her leg draped over mine, bringing us even closer. Her breath stirred my chest hair, tickling just enough to keep me awake while she yet slept. If only this moment could last and last and last, but soon enough I would fall asleep and another night would pass and we would get closer and closer to the time when she’d have to board that plane and leave.
She ran her hands along the edge of the curtain. Soft, velvety green. So beautiful, she thought. If only the world were the same.
“So, what about it? Are you coming with us?”
She looked at him. Her mind told her no.
“Yes.”
i love texture. it is very cool.
flaky scrambled tree bark in a large forest full of elves who make cookies and willow trees that cry about lost canals in venice and striped shirts that bleed like a zebra in the rain if it were made of ink in the heart of the african savannah and i love you
i think of anything i touch. i thing about how it feels and looks. rocks are hard and most of the time pointy, the couch i am on is soft and comfertable. my phone has a cracked back and i can feel it if you rub your finger across it.. hard soft bumby ect.
The fruit had a very different texture than the apples I had eaten earlier that morning. As I chewed and voiced my confusion, my sister trotted up to me.
“What’s that?”
“I don’t know, but it’s crispy.”
“Like…apple crispy?”
“No. Like…crispy. Like chip crispy. Or candy bar crispy.”
“Oh.” She frowned. “Does it take like chocolate?”
“No.”
“Then what does it take like?’
The feeling of an object against your fingertips. The material, the items feel and look. The softness or hardness or any descriptive word which describes an individual items surface.