Simple. People are always wishing that things were simple, but why would you want that? It’s boring! You need complications. Simple is for the weak! Change up your life a bit and make something unsimple. Believe in yourself and you will go far.
Rain
I visited with them this month. Beautiful couple, all dandy and cheerful. I’ve known them for a long time, visiting always was hard. Difficult. They’re difficult people. But visiting has come to be a habit, therefore, they’re quite a nice couple. Yep, they are.
I didn’t know we were having visitors. So when I heard the knock on the door, I nearly jumped out of my skin. Who would bother a witch like me in the middle of the night…unless they wanted something.
Coming to my door. He is anonymous and did not call. Who is this mystery person? Gloom and doom. Im sure he comes with bad news. His ouline reveals a suit.
Lydia
I wish I had more visitors to my home, as sometimes a mother of three kids can be quiet lonley. But then I also think if I had visitors they’d never want to come back as my house is total caos and not all that welcoming. As it is the only peopel that ever come and see me our family. It’s like drawing blood from a stone trying to get friends to visit me. So I end up not asking them.
Emilie Roe
I wasn’t expecting a visitor and was startled when the doorbell rang. I had just been sitting down to finish a painting I had started the night before.
I see glances of black all around the halls. I know I shouldn’t be alone in this shadowy hallway, but…
I can’t help myself.
I love how icy fingers manage to thrust their way into my mind. They lure me to a place where I feel secure – as if there’s no question in what I do or say. Somehow, I find this corridor enveloped in ebony more inviting than an open fire.
I can’t be the only one.
Fareeha
You visited me. You visited my life. You nearly visited my heart. But then you went and did, didn’t you? You made sure that everything crashed and burned, just so that you could enjoy the pretty lights. Well now my door is closed. You won’t be visiting again anytime soon.
TooBad
the only visitors that come to my house are workers. my house looks scary and big from the outside. inside it is designed royally and with taste. it looks as if no one lives here because our housekeeper keeps it so neat. Although we use the blankets and chairs daily they are always neatly folded and the chairs fluffed.
Moira
Today I met someone special. My anticipation had been very high and I could hardly contain myself when he walked through the door. He saw me and immediately smiled. I smiled as if to say, ‘At last!’ There were no other words to say. My visitor and I, together and in love.
Jack had always tried to get into the North Pole, he’d been trying for three hundred years, and every time he’d been thrown out by Phil or another yeti. But now, now he was accepted in, now he was a visitor at the North Pole, allowed to go where ever he wanted. And it made him more happy then ever. Him being allowed in meant that he had a family now. And that was all he’d ever wanted.
I knew that I loved getting visitors when I was feeling down, so I decided to return the favour. I wouldn’t stay long because she must be exhausted but at least she’d know I was thinking of her. Maybe I’d bring some chocolates. Was she allergic to chocolates? Maybe just a card. Or a stuffed animal… What was her favourite animal again?
I am a visitor. We are all visitors in this world. We only have so much time here on Earth. We need to conserve our home and remember that this is only temporary and we are only here as visitors.
Someone knocked on my door, a sharp rap. I had a visitor, but I wasn’t expecting one. I cracked open the door a notch. No one was there, or if they were they weren’t visible. Smoke seeped into my room, and I stood, curious but scared. The smoke materialized into a person.
I sat on his bed, feeling like a visitor instead of what I should have felt. I should have felt at home. I should have felt at ease. I should have laid back on his pillows and curled up with the remote. But there I sat, stiff as a board, waiting for the bad news. Waiting for what would inevitably break us.
I saw you last night, as a visitor of the moon. You looked so bright, I’d like to meet you soon.
Loreau
To have a guest of some sorts. Unexpected, expected, and of the sorts. To visit, as in to go to somebody to discuss over a topic and to just enjoy a conversation that can be enjoyable, or unwanted.
He was at the door. She had been expecting him, but nontheless, his punctuality surprised her. He hadn’t seemed the kind to be quite so on-the-dot. She opened the door and was surprised to see the state of the man. Never before had one of her visitors been quite so…strange.
Siggi
She had been alone for many years, then one day there was a knock on her door. She had a visitor. She peeked through the curtains to see who it was, and it was him.
The visitor walked into the room quietly, head down, clenching his fists. My social worker cautiously introduced him as my paternal father, the very same one who had skipped out on my siblings and I when we were younger. I couldn’t bring myself to meet his sad, solemn eyes. My social worker left us alone in the room, and we both just stood there, not looking at each other directly. Finally, he spoke. “I’m so sorry.” His apology seemed sincere, considering the fat tears rolling down his cheeks, but the little voice inside my head told me not to trust him. So I nodded ever so slightly, but didn’t speak. He outstretched his hand to me. “Can you please forgive me?” I finally raised my head to look him in the eye.
“I’m afraid I can not,” I said, my voice shaking. “I can not forget the damage you have brought to this family.” My voice broke, and I opened the door and walked away from him. That was the first and last time I ever saw him, for he died the next day.
Corinne
The visitor. He was still standing at the door step awaiting an invite from my brother. I could see my brothers hostile eyes once the surprise wore of his face, and I didn’t even dare look the tall, strange man in the eye. When my brother didn’t seem to wail by the door, the man sighed, and in a rusty, hopeless voice he said “I’ve come to see my daughter.”
What i’d like to do is take a visit to Australia yeah and meet lots of Aussies who can give me bananas and peanut butter and take to zoos to see kangaroos, of course i’ll take my best friend because she hates kangaroos so shell hate me and i love to make her mad.
Lorena
the visitor stepped through the doorway, signaling with his right hand to come outside. Before me lay a varied spread of genuine leather, tan, black, white, and many other shades as well as animals must have been used.
Claire
Sometimes this is how I feel about myself. As if I am a visiter in Los Angeles still. I have been here for what 7 years almost, and it I still feel like a visitor. I was a visitor in Seattle 3 months ago and now I am a stranger. I don’t want to be a stranger anymore… I want to be home.
Jeanette Aguilar
visitor to my house, travelers without a place to stay. enjoying the travel not just the destination to discover new things and discover their selves.
Sissi
The knock came at the door. I dropped my book and stood up. Outside it was dark, past midnight. Who would be calling at this hour? My family was out, no one had come up the driveway and none of my friends lived around me.
The knock came again. “I’m coming,” I called. I jumped down the stairs and stumbled to the door, turning the knob and throwing it open.
Christopher
I was a visitor in my own home. In my own city. In all of my old haunts and hangouts. I wasn’t a regular who the people working there new by name. Now I was just another face, and there were new people working the counters. I was back from a college; a stranger in my own home town. My bed didn’t fit. My room felt too large. The floor squeaked where I didn’t remember it squeaking before.
It is a strange feeling, being a visitor in your own home.
mad
We visited him that day. “Hi, how are you?” He managed to whisper. Of course he was thinking of us when he was dying. “I love you,” he whispered again. “Take care.” And with that, he was gone forever.
Corinne
Waking up from the murky darkness she peered around the room to see a person in the usually empty chairs. “Who are you,” she asked the visitor. “I am an old friend of your parents,” he replied.
I’m a stranger, maybe a friend. You’ll never know, for I’m passing through. That’s always the case, isn’t it? Just passing through. No one ever stays long enough to enjoy life and if they do, they realize it’s too late. Or is it? Maybe that’s what we need in life. We need to relax , find a place were we can be residents, and stay, and stay happy, and be no longer just a visitor.
“Abby, there’s someone at the gate,” her mother called from the kitchenette.
“Who?” Abigail called back, not even bothering to glance up from the typewriter.
“A young man. He says his name is Dorian.”
Abigail’s fingers halted at the keys. Her breath quickened and her eyes grew wide. It took her a few seconds to react. “I’ll be right down!” she yelled, grabbing her coat as she flew out the bedroom door.
the visitor went to clamart and said I want to be a crazy person because they are the coolest. He loved repetition. Do I like repetition? wooptido I like it too!
Oh the wonders of visiting unknown places that you’ve already seen before. They make me feel fuzzy and cold inside like a window breaking a tea pot.
Rielle 17
Your presence was fleeting; You would not be grounded.
You could not nurture the love you had founded.
I understood your reasons, and did not ask you to stay
But I silently wish you were still with me today.
I’m just a visitor here, checking out the new territory, liking what I see–large saguaro against the blue desert sky, welcoming smiles from others new to this land…easy to make it home
He is rushing around, getting ready for a visitor. Normally he will not say a word and disappears into the wallpaper. This must be an important visit, someone he wants to impress. Seeing him outside his comfort zone and preparing his cave to admit and invading force is interesting.
She knew it was time when the blade pierced her flesh and twisted inside. She shrieked from the pain and watched the blood gush. Scared and alone, she bled. A woman.
I like being a visitor. Especially in foreign lands. However once people know your name and your story are you no longer a visitor? How long does one remain a visitor before you are known as a resident? I know where I ultimately belong so I don’t feel the need to be a resident anywhere in particular, I prefer to be a visitor :)
Simple. People are always wishing that things were simple, but why would you want that? It’s boring! You need complications. Simple is for the weak! Change up your life a bit and make something unsimple. Believe in yourself and you will go far.
I visited with them this month. Beautiful couple, all dandy and cheerful. I’ve known them for a long time, visiting always was hard. Difficult. They’re difficult people. But visiting has come to be a habit, therefore, they’re quite a nice couple. Yep, they are.
I didn’t know we were having visitors. So when I heard the knock on the door, I nearly jumped out of my skin. Who would bother a witch like me in the middle of the night…unless they wanted something.
Coming to my door. He is anonymous and did not call. Who is this mystery person? Gloom and doom. Im sure he comes with bad news. His ouline reveals a suit.
I wish I had more visitors to my home, as sometimes a mother of three kids can be quiet lonley. But then I also think if I had visitors they’d never want to come back as my house is total caos and not all that welcoming. As it is the only peopel that ever come and see me our family. It’s like drawing blood from a stone trying to get friends to visit me. So I end up not asking them.
I wasn’t expecting a visitor and was startled when the doorbell rang. I had just been sitting down to finish a painting I had started the night before.
“Hello?”
I see glances of black all around the halls. I know I shouldn’t be alone in this shadowy hallway, but…
I can’t help myself.
I love how icy fingers manage to thrust their way into my mind. They lure me to a place where I feel secure – as if there’s no question in what I do or say. Somehow, I find this corridor enveloped in ebony more inviting than an open fire.
I can’t be the only one.
You visited me. You visited my life. You nearly visited my heart. But then you went and did, didn’t you? You made sure that everything crashed and burned, just so that you could enjoy the pretty lights. Well now my door is closed. You won’t be visiting again anytime soon.
the only visitors that come to my house are workers. my house looks scary and big from the outside. inside it is designed royally and with taste. it looks as if no one lives here because our housekeeper keeps it so neat. Although we use the blankets and chairs daily they are always neatly folded and the chairs fluffed.
Today I met someone special. My anticipation had been very high and I could hardly contain myself when he walked through the door. He saw me and immediately smiled. I smiled as if to say, ‘At last!’ There were no other words to say. My visitor and I, together and in love.
No, she wasn’t staying there. She was only visiting. She was only temporarily visiting the hell her son was part of and living in.
Jack had always tried to get into the North Pole, he’d been trying for three hundred years, and every time he’d been thrown out by Phil or another yeti. But now, now he was accepted in, now he was a visitor at the North Pole, allowed to go where ever he wanted. And it made him more happy then ever. Him being allowed in meant that he had a family now. And that was all he’d ever wanted.
“You have a visitor,” Watson says.
“Of course I do,” I reply, “Moriarty how nice to see you.”
“And to see you Sherlock,” he grins.
I knew that I loved getting visitors when I was feeling down, so I decided to return the favour. I wouldn’t stay long because she must be exhausted but at least she’d know I was thinking of her. Maybe I’d bring some chocolates. Was she allergic to chocolates? Maybe just a card. Or a stuffed animal… What was her favourite animal again?
I am a visitor. We are all visitors in this world. We only have so much time here on Earth. We need to conserve our home and remember that this is only temporary and we are only here as visitors.
Someone knocked on my door, a sharp rap. I had a visitor, but I wasn’t expecting one. I cracked open the door a notch. No one was there, or if they were they weren’t visible. Smoke seeped into my room, and I stood, curious but scared. The smoke materialized into a person.
I sat on his bed, feeling like a visitor instead of what I should have felt. I should have felt at home. I should have felt at ease. I should have laid back on his pillows and curled up with the remote. But there I sat, stiff as a board, waiting for the bad news. Waiting for what would inevitably break us.
I saw you last night, as a visitor of the moon. You looked so bright, I’d like to meet you soon.
To have a guest of some sorts. Unexpected, expected, and of the sorts. To visit, as in to go to somebody to discuss over a topic and to just enjoy a conversation that can be enjoyable, or unwanted.
He was at the door. She had been expecting him, but nontheless, his punctuality surprised her. He hadn’t seemed the kind to be quite so on-the-dot. She opened the door and was surprised to see the state of the man. Never before had one of her visitors been quite so…strange.
She had been alone for many years, then one day there was a knock on her door. She had a visitor. She peeked through the curtains to see who it was, and it was him.
It’s sometimes awkward when I’m a visitor at someone else’s house, but it’s fun :D
The visitor walked into the room quietly, head down, clenching his fists. My social worker cautiously introduced him as my paternal father, the very same one who had skipped out on my siblings and I when we were younger. I couldn’t bring myself to meet his sad, solemn eyes. My social worker left us alone in the room, and we both just stood there, not looking at each other directly. Finally, he spoke. “I’m so sorry.” His apology seemed sincere, considering the fat tears rolling down his cheeks, but the little voice inside my head told me not to trust him. So I nodded ever so slightly, but didn’t speak. He outstretched his hand to me. “Can you please forgive me?” I finally raised my head to look him in the eye.
“I’m afraid I can not,” I said, my voice shaking. “I can not forget the damage you have brought to this family.” My voice broke, and I opened the door and walked away from him. That was the first and last time I ever saw him, for he died the next day.
The visitor. He was still standing at the door step awaiting an invite from my brother. I could see my brothers hostile eyes once the surprise wore of his face, and I didn’t even dare look the tall, strange man in the eye. When my brother didn’t seem to wail by the door, the man sighed, and in a rusty, hopeless voice he said “I’ve come to see my daughter.”
What i’d like to do is take a visit to Australia yeah and meet lots of Aussies who can give me bananas and peanut butter and take to zoos to see kangaroos, of course i’ll take my best friend because she hates kangaroos so shell hate me and i love to make her mad.
the visitor stepped through the doorway, signaling with his right hand to come outside. Before me lay a varied spread of genuine leather, tan, black, white, and many other shades as well as animals must have been used.
Sometimes this is how I feel about myself. As if I am a visiter in Los Angeles still. I have been here for what 7 years almost, and it I still feel like a visitor. I was a visitor in Seattle 3 months ago and now I am a stranger. I don’t want to be a stranger anymore… I want to be home.
visitor to my house, travelers without a place to stay. enjoying the travel not just the destination to discover new things and discover their selves.
The knock came at the door. I dropped my book and stood up. Outside it was dark, past midnight. Who would be calling at this hour? My family was out, no one had come up the driveway and none of my friends lived around me.
The knock came again. “I’m coming,” I called. I jumped down the stairs and stumbled to the door, turning the knob and throwing it open.
I was a visitor in my own home. In my own city. In all of my old haunts and hangouts. I wasn’t a regular who the people working there new by name. Now I was just another face, and there were new people working the counters. I was back from a college; a stranger in my own home town. My bed didn’t fit. My room felt too large. The floor squeaked where I didn’t remember it squeaking before.
It is a strange feeling, being a visitor in your own home.
We visited him that day. “Hi, how are you?” He managed to whisper. Of course he was thinking of us when he was dying. “I love you,” he whispered again. “Take care.” And with that, he was gone forever.
Waking up from the murky darkness she peered around the room to see a person in the usually empty chairs. “Who are you,” she asked the visitor. “I am an old friend of your parents,” he replied.
I’m a stranger, maybe a friend. You’ll never know, for I’m passing through. That’s always the case, isn’t it? Just passing through. No one ever stays long enough to enjoy life and if they do, they realize it’s too late. Or is it? Maybe that’s what we need in life. We need to relax , find a place were we can be residents, and stay, and stay happy, and be no longer just a visitor.
“Abby, there’s someone at the gate,” her mother called from the kitchenette.
“Who?” Abigail called back, not even bothering to glance up from the typewriter.
“A young man. He says his name is Dorian.”
Abigail’s fingers halted at the keys. Her breath quickened and her eyes grew wide. It took her a few seconds to react. “I’ll be right down!” she yelled, grabbing her coat as she flew out the bedroom door.
the visitor went to clamart and said I want to be a crazy person because they are the coolest. He loved repetition. Do I like repetition? wooptido I like it too!
Oh the wonders of visiting unknown places that you’ve already seen before. They make me feel fuzzy and cold inside like a window breaking a tea pot.
Your presence was fleeting; You would not be grounded.
You could not nurture the love you had founded.
I understood your reasons, and did not ask you to stay
But I silently wish you were still with me today.
I’m just a visitor here, checking out the new territory, liking what I see–large saguaro against the blue desert sky, welcoming smiles from others new to this land…easy to make it home
He is rushing around, getting ready for a visitor. Normally he will not say a word and disappears into the wallpaper. This must be an important visit, someone he wants to impress. Seeing him outside his comfort zone and preparing his cave to admit and invading force is interesting.
She knew it was time when the blade pierced her flesh and twisted inside. She shrieked from the pain and watched the blood gush. Scared and alone, she bled. A woman.
I like being a visitor. Especially in foreign lands. However once people know your name and your story are you no longer a visitor? How long does one remain a visitor before you are known as a resident? I know where I ultimately belong so I don’t feel the need to be a resident anywhere in particular, I prefer to be a visitor :)