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An American In ParisLittle can disturb an American in Paris. The petals of the cherry blossoms danced across the brick laden street as they were hurried away by the brisk wind. As the color of a young girls cheeks when her face is brushed by an autumn wind, the petals contrasted the deep red stones they were using as their stage. A trace of the past winter was still held in the spring breeze as it nipped at the noses of the chilled pedestrians. Not a cloud could be found in the hazy blue sky, denying the presence of a storm just the day before. The only evidence was the smell of rain lingering in the air. The conservative French women that strutAn American In Paris
by ~SporkEmAll
Ecriture de Fille RevisedShe dreamt of this moment as a young girl. She saw herself donning a pair of feathered wings, and soaring out her closed window. But in her dream something held her. An iron shackle? No, something less tangible, as though her spirit were being held.Ecriture de Fille Revised
Now she found herself staring at the monotonous table cloth, her discarded attempts scattered in front of her, like doves grounded by shattered wings. Each defeated paper sang the words she could not sing herself, and each one was muted as she tore it and threw it aside, never satisfied. With every insignificant letter she drew from her mind, she could feel the elusive feathered wings
by ~SporkEmAll
Intoxicating eveningThe night was intoxicating. It was the kind of night that, for just a moment, fills you with the sensation that every man imagines he would feel if he could fly. The kind where every gust of wind that violently caresses your hair and whispers in your ear, seems to tug at your sedentary soul. A deep sigh filled her lungs with the chilled air, a sting that reminded her that she truly was still alive. Alive, yes, but she knew the moment this night was lost, she would be thrown back into the same so-called life she lived every day. The same grueling routine, in each identical day. But she’ll drag through each one without a word, knowing another eIntoxicating evening
by ~SporkEmAll
Ecriture De FilleShe dreamt of this moment as a young girl. She saw herself donning a pair of feathered wings, soaring out her closed window. But in her dream something held her. An iron shackle? No, something less tangible, as though her spirit were being held.Ecriture De Fille
Now she found herself staring at the monotonous dining table cloth, her discarded attempts scattered in front of her. Each defeated paper sang the words she could not sing herself, and each one was muted as she tore it and threw it aside, never satisfied. With every insignificant letter she drew from her mind, she could feel the
by ~SporkEmAll
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Devious Info
- Current Residence: Here
- Interests: reading, writing....the such
- Favourite movie: Boondock Saints
- Favourite genre of music: rock
- Favourite artist: too many...
- Favourite poet or writer: dont really have one, but i admire Poe
- Operating System: OS X
- MP3 player of choice: i pod
- Shell of choice: some one please help me here ^^;
- Favourite game: scrabble
- Favourite gaming platform: xbox, i guess
- Favourite cartoon character: Wile E. Coyote
- Personal Quote: Remember remember the fifth of November
- Tools of the Trade: paper, pencil, computer
- Email: lacrin@gmail.com
- AIM: AquaDea89
- MSN: Hannah_bear@hotmail.com
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-Adam G.
Seattle, WA
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What you feel, is ok! it's never gonna change anyway
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