

mouthing the words(...& all we found ourselves doing was mouthing the words to some forgotten song sung so many years ago.)mouthing the words
He wrote me a song. It was just a dedication of words that meant nothing to me; they were words he had borrowed from conversations, lines of books I had read to him while lying on his chest, poems I'd written on the steamed up windows of that old car, letters he had sent me. It was perfect goodbye, tingling through my memory like a last, lingering kiss. I couldn't let him slip away. All I had left were black and white still frames in my mind that I held onto like final, tender clutc


Crayon PicturesIN THE BEGINNING THERE WAS A LITTLE GIRL WHO DREW CRAYON PICTURES...Crayon Pictures
When I was little I was one of those happy children who smiled all the time. I was the only child until I was four and my Mom loved me and my Dad loved me and they loved each other. I can't really remember much from when I was tiny. Given the opportunity to go through childhood all over again, I would snatch it with both hands and open my eyes so wide that I never forgot a single second of it. The innocents are so beautiful. I have a three and a half year old niece and what she cannot see and understa
--
I will write you like a book.
i really appreciate it and it means alot to me.
--
.
Previous PageNext Page