Writing is a noun, this time around. It's good to have projects. No baby bottles, no pacifiers.
We are specifically this kind of people. Hills are less likely to have names than mountains. A chickadee at the feeder, indifferent.
Making connections, just not the way Herod did. No, you may not buy any firecrackers for your birthday. A midnight thunderstorm, a broken way of seeing it.
Why do you always get on me for speaking metaphorically? I rose and closed the windows. She recalled a movie from the 1970's, its theme song was running through her head.
Is death quiet then or noisy? Does everybody have the same amount of blood, right down to the last drop? I've heard this before.
We are not making widgets we are not prepared to sell. Together, the two sentences bore witness to the comma. Backgammon late, in lieu of conversation.
But I do love mending fences. And your gaze in my memory alerts all snakes.
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