Writing is a form of art. Like art, expressing your feelings and frustrations through them is a great way to improve your mental health. Writing about traumatic, stressful or emotional […]
It was summer. Hot and humid. It made breathing a little difficult if it wasn’t for the fact that we grew up with it. You turned to me and said […]
Someone once said, “Live every day like it is your last day.” That has to be one of the most ridiculous things I have ever heard.
Last summer, I saw you on my way home from work.
It’s cold outside. It rained earlier. A small shower that soaks through everything that you wear. It’s classic English weather, or so I’ve been told.
From here, from his position at the pier, he cannot see the sun. He knows it’s there. He can see its blood orange rays seeping through from the thin clouds.
Under the light, I can see why people find Jesus intimidating.
I turned the corner and there she was.
The scent of fresh grass. It brings me back.
Hey, It’s been a few years since our graduation and a lot has happened since then, huh? I guess we’ve had our issues since before our graduation, but it’s been so long that I’ve forgotten exactly when we’ve had the fight that really broke us apart.