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One morning I heard the sound of wings flapping. And I found a fledgling in the garden. It was a wild but friendly little bird. Surprisingly, I caught it so easily. And I named the fledgling Chirpy.
You don't have to tell me why you love me so. Darling, when you hold my hand, I know that your love is real. . I may never understand the way you feel, For I’ve never met a girl with love like yours before. .
Dinda’s mom took me to visit her on a windy afternoon. She was lying there on her back looking so lifeless. I quickly walked over to her bedside and looked at her. And I pressed my knees hard against the mattress.
The difference between a hug and a homicide is intentions. Like handshakes and broken wrists or fist bumps and fist fights. If the right intentions are there anything can happen.
My heart flowed to your hand As easy and as seamlessly As the quilts my grandma used to make.
A sky abound with Sun untoldClouds and tears of ages old,A curl of childs hand upraisedTo skies unbound, the Moon unfold.
Most of the time, I am on one of my devices. Either writing or playing games. I frequently play on a mobile device and type on a desktop computer. I sometimes try to draw, although I'm not very good at it.
He holds onto me Even when I loosen my hold on Him He holds onto me Even when I feel I'm letting go My hand's sweaty with fear Worn with temptations Disjointed with pride
All I need is a hand to hold. Teach me how to be bold I do not need to be told, I need to be shown not by diagrams and charts but by the careing of someones heart.
in white she was to be in in a different place eighteen of the ninth month it was to be white as an angel she was having papers of white time took its time
Listen to the sound Of the whisper of angels As they sing the angels song Happy are they On wings of love they fly Spread upon the sky With colors of array They do sway
I woke up like this.
I held a bird in my hand Palms cupped together Fingers interlaced While he shivered Heart beating faster Almost throbbing As instinct fought to free him From the cage
When at a door a common thing Is to knock your hand on that door. But is that door meant to be knocked on? Is your hand meant to knock? Or is your hand meant to build that door
I make a guess from this heart in my chest that he looked like the the night put to rest. He had his hood thrown over his head as it hid the blood-red shed of tears. Yes he'd been misled but instead he just looked ahead.
Even when you feel weak, to me you are strong To lay next to anyone else and breathe in their air Would feel asphyxiatingly wrong