I heard they are changing the dictionary.
When the streetlights flicker, think of every doe-eyed child that the city swallows
Welcome, weary traveler! To my humble abode. Come, come. I'll show you
You know those instances when we start off in the wide, turbulent currents of a river making its way downstream?
Grief is a lonely river, like a fisherman's song with an empty net
If they knew, your mother would have said, “It’s in your head, darling,” and your father would have screamed, “Put that head in the toilet bowl where it belongs.”
In that world, ignorance amassed like water near the roots of a cypress tree.
The place had no soul or spirit left, and it was evident in the colourless walls, the unclean glasses, the empty eyes of the server who left me a menu card.
As I turned around to reply, she was gone.
The soil, it sings with what was here.
I am writing to you from our barren bed, watching as your shadow moves just outside the room, beyond my reach.
"Are you happy?" June asks Lazmere.
The office started to clear out once the overhead clock struck five.
“Hello, good morning to you,” said one of the butterflies.
I didn’t know the endings to most of the stories as I fell asleep halfway.
They will consider me nothing but a body that has stopped functioning after my death.
Familiarity has its uncanny essence, like patchwork sewn by your mother.
Too much education gets into these girls’ heads.
"But that's not McDonald's. It's MacDonwald's. Must be a knock-off."