Une OrangeUne Orange (the sweet complaint)Une Orange
I am not accustomed to this fruit sliding between my fingers. My hands are too small to hold the worm of his despair, yet somehow I believed, by holding the leash, that I alone was his master.
Sweet, the song beneath the orange peel I bit into to make the fruit all the better. As my fingers curled into the white, the oils filled the grooves in my skin, made it glisten.
We almost shone with rain before we found the dry dirt beneath the tree. I stared at the farmhouse over the slats in the fence, almost dry and fil
what?
Untitled
Speechless
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Alexandra Kristine
Visit My Other Account: =AlameaLio
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this is my best work
And haha, are you the guy that says, "Sorry..." or the announcer voice, guy?
I'm glad ye liked that waterfall shot. I was surprised it came out so well since I had bought that camera only a few days earlier, so I didn't have any idea how to work it, lal.
I'm not kidding, either.
Some of the most amazing writers I've met have been from Montana.
(Although people may try to tell me it's all coincidence. But I know better.)
Have a great day.
--
"Not granting me the Nobel Prize has become a Scandinavian tradition; since I was born-- August 24, 1899--they have not been granting it to me."
~Jorge Luis Borges
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"Not granting me the Nobel Prize has become a Scandinavian tradition; since I was born-- August 24, 1899--they have not been granting it to me."
~Jorge Luis Borges
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