Writing

For Kay, my dear sister in Jesus. May this small tale help to remind آپ how beautifully and wonderfully made آپ are in the eyes of the Great Artist.

~~ Beautiful ~~

Once upon a time, not long پہلے and not far away, there lived a wise and skillful artist who loved to paint. He delighted in making magic with color and bringing all the تصاویر he saw in his head to life in his pictures.

One day, he was painting something extra special. His brush dipped in and out of the swirling colors and flew across the canvas in expert strokes; dabbing here, blending there, moving swiftly in a joyful, marvelous...

Dear You-Know-Who,


How can آپ not read my body language? When آپ present, I barely look up. I barely clap. I barely look at you? And yet, when my دوستوں present, I go wild. I clap, I cheer, I am constantly looking at them. I even think آپ touched my hair!!!!


I know آپ were impressed when I rocked up in the multipurpose area covered in blood and bruises. A door hit me, sent me flying into a pole and sent to the cement for goodness' sake! آپ hung around, I can tell. Yu stayed longer than I expected آپ to. At least آپ didn't see me when tears were flooding down my face. یا when I hit the...

love. what does it truley mean? being in love is simpe, anyone can convence themslves they are in love. being in love is when آپ feel something for one person مزید strongly than آپ feel for another. but love is something elsa all together. love is when آپ cant convience yourselve آپ love someone, but when آپ try to leave something tells آپ no, stop and think. and when آپ do think the reason is blantint. Love is when آپ think your done, done fighting and done lieing, but than it hits آپ that without all of that آپ wouldnt be the person آپ are, and they wouldnt be the one آپ love....

Some random little piece of prose writing I did last سال on a teens writing website, hope آپ like it.:)

They are everywhere, these birds. They hobble, strut, and flutter around the town, weaving in and out of the shoppers, darting in between clumping feet to snatch crumbs and bits of crisps among the blobs of chewing gum and cigarette ends on the wet cobblestones. The people don’t care. The pigeons don’t care. Both species living their separate lives in a man-made environment where man and bird are equal. They are the colours of the town; grey, dull brown occasionally, dappled with factory-steam...

"I still remember the world from the eyes of a child. Slowly those feelings were clouded سے طرف کی what I know now..."



I sat there in the police department, swinging my legs back and forth high above the floor. I was wearing my پسندیدہ purple dress and my تیتلی sandals. My dark brown hair was in a high ponytail and it bounced as I looked both sides. Where was Mommy? Carmine and Reed sat اگلے to me there, and they were not happy. Carmine, twelve at the time, had tears coming from his eyes. Reed, fourteen, had his face in his hands, so I couldn't see what he looked like. Soon I got sick of waiting...