It had been an unwritten rule in his house that she should avoid taking to strangers, or anyone from outside. So no one knew what had happened in that house, or what had not happened. But ever since she had been rescued, she had talked to lots of people, who asked her lots of questions, and gave her lots of ideas.
life is such a fickle think
once up a time i felt whole
i felt as if my feelings
unwritten on my face
were seen by you.
and only you.
he who knew my bones and skin
he who knew my soul
and wrapped me up tight.
in a envelope of love
Such is my future, as unwritten as ever there was an idea tossed from one neuron to another amidst the throes of literary abandon. My future, like my novel, is something that waits for me in the shadow of an open door, gesturing.
My future is unwritten. I don’t care what you say, I have the potential to do whatever I feel like doing. There is no set path for me, no directions stating what type of life I will lead. I will mold my future to my liking, whether you think it’s possible or not.
She stared at the tombstone inscribed with her sister’s name. To a passerby it was a single marker in a long line of markers. To her it was so much more. It pinpointed the exact place where her sister lay. The freshly upturned earth cradled her sister’s story forever: unwritten, unspoken, and unheard.
The secret message was unwritten. I tried to put my thoughts down as quickly as I could but I just could not express it in the proper words or tone or emphasis. This was just my struggle with the matter I had with him.
The rest is still unwritten. Thank you, Natasha Bettingfield (sp? whatever). Unwritten basically describes any writing right now because I’m watching a Grey’s Anatomy marathon.
i think of things to say to you, for hours at a time. / love notes scattered throughout the remnants of my mind / to send them would be a grossly disappointing and a crime / not to myself, nor to you, but to my wife.
a small wooden door stood before her bare feet. she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and knocked
it opened
a bewildering world unfolded before her.
she took a step, and then another,
and thats when her life began.
She sits staring at the white empty page,
Words flow from her mind to the pen between two fingers,
Bleeding blotchy shades of blues and blacks.
One by one, words form sentences.
She can feel her breath loosening, her hands unclenching, her mind unwinding.
Writing keeps her sane, makes her feel as though she’s in control.
They always say, some things are better left unsaid,
But in her eyes, nothing should be left unwritten.
The page stares blankly at me, waiting, possibly even yearning for a pen to scribe the epic story it was made for. I feel like a sculptor, staring at a block of perfect marble, waiting to see what it wants to become. The potential is boundless.
there are rules to follow no matter where you are. it’s the unwritten ones that get you: don’t steal second if your team is up by more than five runs, don’t celebrate to
the unwritten letters you wrote me
that deserve to be sent
the explanations
and stories
and memories
spilling onto the page
like black coffee on a sunday morning
with blueberry muffins
and quiet murmurs of agreement
Ein ungeschriebener Brief lag auf dem Tisch. Wie kann ein Brief, der niemals geschrieben wurde irgendwo liegen? Eines der größten Rätsel der Menschheitsgeschichte, darauf würde ich wetten, aber das tut hier nichts zu Sache wichtiger ist, dass er von einer Großmutter geschrieben wurde aber das Kind starb bei der Geburt und so gab es keinerlei gründe ihn fertigzustellen und so ließ sie es bleiben.
The words of our story are empty. The words of your story our unfinished. The words of my story are filled with pain. We have forever been in the making. We have forever been talking but never acting. The feelings we have remain quiet. But now we are different. And we will always be unwritten.
Inside our minds, we know, we know, we know with such conviction
that it brings tears to our eyes
in ways we haven’t seen since our soul mates touched our senses
in ways we haven’t known since we danced, we danced, we danced with ourselves
and our goddesses bled out of our souls
and we knew- we had been them- all along
These passages, they caress along us from inside
and we speak, we speak, their words releasing through our pores
god, and god, and god, inside what we have written
I put my book down and smile. A chickadee flutters around to my left, bird friends calling somewhere behind me. To my distant right, an accordion’s tune driftinf over the hilltops. It smells like roses and fresh air. And then, the unwritten: the alcoholism, the poverty. My uncle’s loud belch as he slams shut the door to my deceased grandmother’s house.
there is no story plot which has not been written before.
there is one thing which can always be unwritten – history. history is the form of what happened in the past. it does not mean it is 100% true. it is one person’s idea of what happened.
Deep in that cave. Lit only by a dim phone light. The only thing that I noticed; Nothing to my surroundings. Nothing at all. Not even scribbles on the wall. No evidence that “Dave was here”. No evidence that “Mark loves Kate.”
Deep in that cave. Lit only by a dim phone light. The only thing that I noticed; Nothing to my surroundings. Nothing at all. Not even scribbles on the wall. No evidence that “Dave was here”. No evidence that “Mark loves Kate.”
I have left tons unwritten
it isn’t for the best
nor
the worst.
learning how to have fun
once again
isn’t fun.
learning how to be healthy again
when really, you never were
isn’t fun.
I think a lot about my pre teen years
when I was what I think is happy
but I have never been happy
ive learned everything is a comparison.
I am overwhelmed with anxiety
that has uncovered itself from those days
I am overwhelmed with the fear of staying
and the fear of leaving.
I have left tons unwritten
it isn’t for the best
nor
the worst.
learning how to have fun
once again
isn’t fun.
learning how to be healthy again
when really, you never were
isn’t fun.
I think a lot about my pre teen years
when I was what I think is happy
but I have never been happy
ive learned everything is a comparison.
I am overwhelmed with anxiety
that has uncovered itself from those days
I am overwhelmed with the fear of staying
and the fear of leaving.
There is much unwritten in this world. I am unwritten. My future is unwritten, my past can be rewritten, the world is before me; the pages are blank, and the pen is ripe with ink. This is the time, now is when the nib explodes, and the world is covered in colors of words, and is tinted with the rich indigo of my mind’s ink.
The words on my heart press upon me, my lungs close up because the pressure can’t escape. Too many emotions plague my chest, it feels like suffocating. I want to release them, but I don’t know how. I want to write, but I don’t feel creative enough. All my thoughts remain unwritten.
unwritten rules stare; i will not listen. i want to let go and make my own constitution and amend as many times as i like. i like life when it’s colourful; i will use felt tips. tip up my emotions and break my little sweet heart, sweetheart.
Something is unfinished, undone. Words that are just waiting to be said but someone is too nervous too. Memories that can stay in your mind forever even without pictures or words. Its uncharted and is too be kept a secret or is it?
Its the words that are kept to yourself that are meant to stay with you and you alone. Its the unwritten world we live in and its great!
Something is unfinished, undone. Words that are just waiting to be said but someone is too nervous too. Memories that can stay in your mind forever even without pictures or words. Its uncharted and is too be kept a secret or is it?
Its the words that are kept to yourself that are meant to stay with you and you alone. Its the unwritten world we live in and its great!
What words can I write on this page? Which of my dream will go here? Which one of the ideas that have yet to put to pen and paper can I put in the section? There are so many things left unsaid!
Um, Dan, there are a lot of things that I need to say, but I can’t write them down because I’m an idiot, so I’m just going to leave them unwritten. I love you. So, so much. More than anything in the world, in fact. You’re perfect, and I love you more than words can say. Thank you so, so much.
Um, Dan, there are a lot of things that I need to say, but I can’t write them down because I’m an idiot, so I’m just going to leave them unwritten. I love you. So, so much. More than anything in the world, in fact. You’re perfect, and I love you more than words can say. Thank you so, so much.
Um, Dan, there are a lot of things that I need to say, but I can’t write them down because I’m an idiot, so I’m just going to leave them unwritten. I love you. So, so much. More than anything in the world, in fact. You’re perfect, and I love you more than words can say. Thank you so, so much.
It had been an unwritten rule in his house that she should avoid taking to strangers, or anyone from outside. So no one knew what had happened in that house, or what had not happened. But ever since she had been rescued, she had talked to lots of people, who asked her lots of questions, and gave her lots of ideas.
life is such a fickle think
once up a time i felt whole
i felt as if my feelings
unwritten on my face
were seen by you.
and only you.
he who knew my bones and skin
he who knew my soul
and wrapped me up tight.
in a envelope of love
This is impossible
No
For the future is unwritten
Everything that is left
Is possible until written
Go forth
Fly
For the next page is still
Unwritten
Such is my future, as unwritten as ever there was an idea tossed from one neuron to another amidst the throes of literary abandon. My future, like my novel, is something that waits for me in the shadow of an open door, gesturing.
the story of my life is unwritten except for those parts that are written about – it seems that others have written my stories.
My future is unwritten. I don’t care what you say, I have the potential to do whatever I feel like doing. There is no set path for me, no directions stating what type of life I will lead. I will mold my future to my liking, whether you think it’s possible or not.
She stared at the tombstone inscribed with her sister’s name. To a passerby it was a single marker in a long line of markers. To her it was so much more. It pinpointed the exact place where her sister lay. The freshly upturned earth cradled her sister’s story forever: unwritten, unspoken, and unheard.
The secret message was unwritten. I tried to put my thoughts down as quickly as I could but I just could not express it in the proper words or tone or emphasis. This was just my struggle with the matter I had with him.
The rest is still unwritten. Thank you, Natasha Bettingfield (sp? whatever). Unwritten basically describes any writing right now because I’m watching a Grey’s Anatomy marathon.
none
nothing
no words
blank
paper
white
empity
no drows
nothing to write
just a paper
My story is unwritten, but I do plan on writing it one day soon. And when I do, maybe my name will be known.
i think of things to say to you, for hours at a time. / love notes scattered throughout the remnants of my mind / to send them would be a grossly disappointing and a crime / not to myself, nor to you, but to my wife.
a small wooden door stood before her bare feet. she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and knocked
it opened
a bewildering world unfolded before her.
she took a step, and then another,
and thats when her life began.
She sits staring at the white empty page,
Words flow from her mind to the pen between two fingers,
Bleeding blotchy shades of blues and blacks.
One by one, words form sentences.
She can feel her breath loosening, her hands unclenching, her mind unwinding.
Writing keeps her sane, makes her feel as though she’s in control.
They always say, some things are better left unsaid,
But in her eyes, nothing should be left unwritten.
The page stares blankly at me, waiting, possibly even yearning for a pen to scribe the epic story it was made for. I feel like a sculptor, staring at a block of perfect marble, waiting to see what it wants to become. The potential is boundless.
there are rules to follow no matter where you are. it’s the unwritten ones that get you: don’t steal second if your team is up by more than five runs, don’t celebrate to
the unwritten letters you wrote me
that deserve to be sent
the explanations
and stories
and memories
spilling onto the page
like black coffee on a sunday morning
with blueberry muffins
and quiet murmurs of agreement
Ein ungeschriebener Brief lag auf dem Tisch. Wie kann ein Brief, der niemals geschrieben wurde irgendwo liegen? Eines der größten Rätsel der Menschheitsgeschichte, darauf würde ich wetten, aber das tut hier nichts zu Sache wichtiger ist, dass er von einer Großmutter geschrieben wurde aber das Kind starb bei der Geburt und so gab es keinerlei gründe ihn fertigzustellen und so ließ sie es bleiben.
Today is the day that our story will be told. We are new and we are young. We are full of hope and potential. Our story will no longer be unwritten.
My story is unwritten so it is preserved in my mind only.
the question is: Do I move from uriwritten to written?
The words of our story are empty. The words of your story our unfinished. The words of my story are filled with pain. We have forever been in the making. We have forever been talking but never acting. The feelings we have remain quiet. But now we are different. And we will always be unwritten.
There are rules. Some of them are written down. You probably know those ones.
But the rules you really have to know are the ones that are unwritten.
These are the real rules, the ones that are held secret in your lover’s heart.
Passages are never where we reach for them
Inside our minds, we know, we know, we know with such conviction
that it brings tears to our eyes
in ways we haven’t seen since our soul mates touched our senses
in ways we haven’t known since we danced, we danced, we danced with ourselves
and our goddesses bled out of our souls
and we knew- we had been them- all along
These passages, they caress along us from inside
and we speak, we speak, their words releasing through our pores
god, and god, and god, inside what we have written
Become
I put my book down and smile. A chickadee flutters around to my left, bird friends calling somewhere behind me. To my distant right, an accordion’s tune driftinf over the hilltops. It smells like roses and fresh air. And then, the unwritten: the alcoholism, the poverty. My uncle’s loud belch as he slams shut the door to my deceased grandmother’s house.
there is no story plot which has not been written before.
there is one thing which can always be unwritten – history. history is the form of what happened in the past. it does not mean it is 100% true. it is one person’s idea of what happened.
Deep in that cave. Lit only by a dim phone light. The only thing that I noticed; Nothing to my surroundings. Nothing at all. Not even scribbles on the wall. No evidence that “Dave was here”. No evidence that “Mark loves Kate.”
Deep in that cave. Lit only by a dim phone light. The only thing that I noticed; Nothing to my surroundings. Nothing at all. Not even scribbles on the wall. No evidence that “Dave was here”. No evidence that “Mark loves Kate.”
I have left tons unwritten
it isn’t for the best
nor
the worst.
learning how to have fun
once again
isn’t fun.
learning how to be healthy again
when really, you never were
isn’t fun.
I think a lot about my pre teen years
when I was what I think is happy
but I have never been happy
ive learned everything is a comparison.
I am overwhelmed with anxiety
that has uncovered itself from those days
I am overwhelmed with the fear of staying
and the fear of leaving.
I have left tons unwritten
it isn’t for the best
nor
the worst.
learning how to have fun
once again
isn’t fun.
learning how to be healthy again
when really, you never were
isn’t fun.
I think a lot about my pre teen years
when I was what I think is happy
but I have never been happy
ive learned everything is a comparison.
I am overwhelmed with anxiety
that has uncovered itself from those days
I am overwhelmed with the fear of staying
and the fear of leaving.
There is much unwritten in this world. I am unwritten. My future is unwritten, my past can be rewritten, the world is before me; the pages are blank, and the pen is ripe with ink. This is the time, now is when the nib explodes, and the world is covered in colors of words, and is tinted with the rich indigo of my mind’s ink.
The words on my heart press upon me, my lungs close up because the pressure can’t escape. Too many emotions plague my chest, it feels like suffocating. I want to release them, but I don’t know how. I want to write, but I don’t feel creative enough. All my thoughts remain unwritten.
unwritten rules stare; i will not listen. i want to let go and make my own constitution and amend as many times as i like. i like life when it’s colourful; i will use felt tips. tip up my emotions and break my little sweet heart, sweetheart.
Something is unfinished, undone. Words that are just waiting to be said but someone is too nervous too. Memories that can stay in your mind forever even without pictures or words. Its uncharted and is too be kept a secret or is it?
Its the words that are kept to yourself that are meant to stay with you and you alone. Its the unwritten world we live in and its great!
Something is unfinished, undone. Words that are just waiting to be said but someone is too nervous too. Memories that can stay in your mind forever even without pictures or words. Its uncharted and is too be kept a secret or is it?
Its the words that are kept to yourself that are meant to stay with you and you alone. Its the unwritten world we live in and its great!
What words can I write on this page? Which of my dream will go here? Which one of the ideas that have yet to put to pen and paper can I put in the section? There are so many things left unsaid!
Um, Dan, there are a lot of things that I need to say, but I can’t write them down because I’m an idiot, so I’m just going to leave them unwritten. I love you. So, so much. More than anything in the world, in fact. You’re perfect, and I love you more than words can say. Thank you so, so much.
Um, Dan, there are a lot of things that I need to say, but I can’t write them down because I’m an idiot, so I’m just going to leave them unwritten. I love you. So, so much. More than anything in the world, in fact. You’re perfect, and I love you more than words can say. Thank you so, so much.
Um, Dan, there are a lot of things that I need to say, but I can’t write them down because I’m an idiot, so I’m just going to leave them unwritten. I love you. So, so much. More than anything in the world, in fact. You’re perfect, and I love you more than words can say. Thank you so, so much.
All the unwritten stories, they hang in the air with like a haze, so many things unexplained. So much to tell. So much to say.
Something that is yet to come out of someone’s imagination. It can be a whole new world.