Shaun
About an uur after she called me, I was still sitting there. Unresponsive.
The phone rang again. I forced myself to pick it up.
It was Serena. She was crying.
"I couldn't do it," she said, before hanging up again.
Serena
I couldn't do it. As soon as I was out of the clinic, I drove home. When I'd parked my car, I couldn't hold the tears back.
I looked up, shocked. I had gone to my mother's house.
I stumbled out of the car, and my mother came running out. I collapsed in her warm arms, still sobbing.
Kate
I hear my daughter. Crying. I run outside, and hug my angel, my little angel.
I don't try to make her tell me what's wrong. She'll tell me when she wants to. I know her that well.
About an uur after she called me, I was still sitting there. Unresponsive.
The phone rang again. I forced myself to pick it up.
It was Serena. She was crying.
"I couldn't do it," she said, before hanging up again.
Serena
I couldn't do it. As soon as I was out of the clinic, I drove home. When I'd parked my car, I couldn't hold the tears back.
I looked up, shocked. I had gone to my mother's house.
I stumbled out of the car, and my mother came running out. I collapsed in her warm arms, still sobbing.
Kate
I hear my daughter. Crying. I run outside, and hug my angel, my little angel.
I don't try to make her tell me what's wrong. She'll tell me when she wants to. I know her that well.
Diem Mirabilis
Morning:
for Morning is made
of mysteries and uncertainties
the hopes of beginnings
the risks of unknowns
the potential for greatness
of failure
Midday:
for Midday is the height
of the glory of the sun
the climax of twenty-four hours
the brightness that blinds and clarifies
the antwoorden once hidden
now unveiled
Sunset:
for Sunset arrives
with the final shift of the sky
the afterglow of the triumph
the sweetness of the last drop
the closing chapter of a story
and the beginning...
of a new one.
as if u gave me a choice
everything about u i loved
all other feelings aside i shoved
on your every word i hung
and even among
a crowd, only u i see
nowhere else i would rather be
these feelings for you, that are kept inside
i can no longer hide
everything about u i admire
u are all i desire
so kind, so sweet, so passionate
everytime our eyes met
my hart-, hart would race
while looking at your smiling face
full of buety, life, and joy
with my emotions u play like a toy
like a wild beast, my emotions cannot be tame
and i don't even know your name
Courtesy of the cartoonist, Clangnuts
All authors want to be original. If someone even mentions that a writer's work reminds them of someone else's, the writer tenses up. "No, no, no, I'm nothing like him," he says swiftly. "I've never even read him."
"Yeah, but it's kinda like him," the reader persists, believing she is giving a compliment rather than an insult. "He's incredible, u should read him!"
The thing is-- it should be a compliment when a reader compares your work to...
