“Back and forth, one time only… probably around seventy-five,” he said. “Give or take. There was one I think I just kept walking beside, instead of ever really crossing. But that mountain moonshine is also pretty potent stuff, so I also could’ve been in a completely different country from what I thought.”
Our hands would touch and we would hold each other. I had crossed from state to state and city to city, border to border until I finally reached you. We have crossed lines of love and faith and hope and trust and heartbreak and still we are here and I have crossed thousands of borders and lines just to get here.
I was on the border of madness. There were dark red scratch marks on my bald, tattooed head. I wanted to yell, but my body wouldn’t let me. I wanted to push off of the walls, but I can’t.
A soft, dusty landscape. Tattered patterns. Fear and guns. The lawless land. Looking and waiting. Why we have them, I don’t know. Are there skulls there?
Come to the border and you will see. Bordering on boredom is boring me. Border to border and border on border. Boarding is boring me. Border and border. Bordering on boredom is boring me. Boring a hole inside of me.
i hadn’t felt much wanderlust in my youth. nowadays i’m not even sure if i still feel the same cold disinterest towards the idea of travel, or if I’m just showing the ghost of an old grudge. in high school my friends all flew to europe
Once across the border the gunmen were able to elude police and others law enforcement officers. Despite all attempts to capture the men, we were all hopeful that the matter would be resolve soon.
There is but one question that separates you from me. And that is the question of trust. Trust in borders. and borders in trust. who are you? what do you feel? that is irrelevant for it is no sooner that you are true to yourself, than you lose yourself within the border closing in.
The edge, the fringes, the end, the beginning to a new place and new horizons. Borders are seemingly insignificant just a dotted line on a map, yet these borders contain within them so much pride and power. Wars are fought over the dotted line, lives are lost for the sake of borders.
The border between Meghalaya (India) and Bangladesh is shrinking meter by meter. When I was younger there was a patch of land by the river at Dawki that we could go to without any trouble. This was so even in my mother’s younger days too (evident from the photos that we still have). There was no one to warn us or guard us or look over us when we went bathing, washing, fishing or boating. May be there was an occasional whistle blown by the Indian Border Security Force to warn us from crossing over to Bangladesh. But now that patch of land has been claimed to be part of Bangladesh, even though the international border marker, which is a few meters away from that patch of land is still very much visible. Now the Indian Border Security Force gives us “permission” to enter that same piece of land with the consent of the Bangladesh forces. Now the local Indian fishermen and others who depend on boating for their livelihood are warned to not go further into their own land, while the Bangladesh vendors come easily to sell their dried fruits and other snacks to Indian tourist who are unaware of the facts. I am very disappointed with the administrators and government officials who are not looking into this matter.
The endless desert stretched forward in front of me, the sun a bright yolk descending on the flat horizon. The wind blew sand heavy into the air, blurring my vision, scratching my skin. I could hear the water swish loudly in my canteen with every step I took.
Then, a grey line in the distance, the border appeared. A few more miles and I would find a new home. One way or another.
We stand, hands pressed, foreheads wishing they could touch. Glass borders hold us apart, but perhaps it is because you threw them up around your mind. I want to take a sledgehammer to it but I’m afraid of breaking you into a thousand pieces too. So instead I chisel glass carvings, little by little trying to get you to open the glass door
When you’ve lost yourself
on the border line
Plucked the life clean
off a twisted vine
I hope you hear me
I hope you find
The love that grows before you
Is always gonna stay alive
They weren’t nearly as intimidating as everyone made them out to be. Granted, they were the police and we were foreigners and our good intentions were lost in translation. As we sat, waiting on the border between Laos and Vietnam, the sky was dark and hazy. To my left men were bartering over the shell of a recently skinned animal in the back of a truck bed. For me, a Westerner, it was gruesome. For them, it was the everyday normalcy of life.
I looked at his bright eyes. He’s right there at the border waiting for me. I try to get through but they hold me back. He yells my name. But them a shot is heard. And I scream.
Early sunlight reflected off of cacti needles, sliding across the barren land, tripping on animals too brave or stupid to move. Their shadows made such promising targets. She took a deep breath. The air was still cool.
Scout was the epitome of a Border Collie. She had the stare. She could control me with her thoughts, and she always knew where everyone was. She was also terrified of storms, and i think it was because she had premonitions of her death. It had been a drought, and then lightning struck and the thunder began, and she ran out into the blinding rain, never to come home again. I miss her. I miss knowing where she is. I miss knowing that someone knows where I am.
The border between myself and reality is becoming too thick to penetrate.
The longer I lay here, the longer I try to last in this human form, the less attached I feel to the world around me.
I don’t think I’m going to survive the transition back, honestly. I feel… glitchy. I can see shapes, but not details. My ears are ringing. Nothing makes sense anymore. I don’t know what’s what.
I’m scared.
I’ve never felt like this before.
I hear her voice distantly, but I don’t… I don’t know what she’s saying…
I thought about how to decorate the border. What types of designs should I include? Should there even be a border? Maybe the page was already busy enough without adding a border. But, if I didn’t add a border, would my boss hate it and then not hire me to work on a project like this again in the future?
There were no borders to the bulletin board. None at all. It was just plain, simple, and white, staring blankly at the opposite wall, which was filled with colorful posters. THOSE posters had pictures, quotes, newspaper clippings…anything and everything except white space.
Everyone has that unspoken border.
That place where we would refuse anyone, be it our very own mothers or God himself taken mortal form, from going.
That place that we, ourselves even, refuse to go, to even glance in the general direction of. Knowingly or not, we all hold such a sanctuary – in the darkest corners of our minds, within the deepest reaches of our souls.
We wish it weren’t a part of us, we loathe and rage against it, we despise our very own beings for being capable of housing such horrors.
All of these feelings stem from fear.
From what might happen if we were to cross that line, to enter that realm, of what it would take to even be able to enter such a place.
We’re only afraid. All of us are.
Someone once told me that the cave that you fear to enter most is the one that holds the secrets that you most desperately seek.
I think we all need to find our balls and go spelunking.
There are the border was a cat, sitting as if it belonged there, and yet it couldn’t. It couldn’t because over that border nothing lived. Once over that border anything–everything would simply die and that would be the end of its existence. So that cat could not belong there
The sheriff spat, harshly, into the dry grass. She could hear her hot saliva crackle as it made contact with the fire-prone foliage, half-expecting a spark, and looked at her deputies.
“Find him by nine o’clock tonight,” she warned, “or I will beat you senseless and find him myself.”
The city’s border was far away. Too far. There was no way I could walk that far in time. Not after everything I had just gone through. It would be too much. My feet were already aching, my legs trembling. My thoughts were all jumbled–nothing was coming out right.
what is the border here? is it between you and i? can we cross it? is it necessary?
let’s cross that border. let’s cross them all. and build bridges. and roads. and raceways. between peoples. and countries. and learn how to live within our borders, within your borders, and crossing them all when we want to! what are borders for, if not to be crossed?
A border can be seen as something that separates to opposites or areas that do not normally share a common interest or bond. Therefore borders are often peaceful and help resolve or prevent many different issues our world would be facing and yet again they cause so many. Look at border hopping and the violence and unrest that has resulted from them.
There is a line that separates them from me. There must be. Why else … how else would it be that we look so much the same, come from near the same time, and yet we are so different? All these things they seem to do so easily, as easily as breathing, they are like a foreign language to me. I cannot understand them. Nor they me.
the person who pays money to stay at someone else’s house. The person who leaves a mess, dirty washing and a lingering smell. The person who does not time keep when it comes
The border isn’t done yet. We still need to add lines to it. Right now you look like a bunch of fish swimming in circles. Don’t go over there! The treasure chest is open! My face might melt off.
the children sat at the border waiting for someone to come their way, they know that it coulsn’t be much longer but as the hot sum beat down upon their heads a tiny seed of doubt began to creep into their minds. This was
The border. Arts and crafts the video tutorial says to make a border. Border that’s artsy as a ribbon or a designed paper. Border. To make my arts a sophisticated look or just as simple as making a line. It’ s up to you really.
To cross my border is definitely a bad idea. I could get mad if ever. Why do people do that?
To test you on how long before you can get mad? Or to test you how mad you can get? Silly, I don’t see any logic in it! Seriously!
Something that I stand between on a daily asis. I can;t think to choose what I want. But I don’t which side to choose between wanting to be happy and wanting to be sucessful. Productive or happy. Why not both? Why can’t I just be both? Abnormal, original, which one descibes me best. That’s the real question that needs to be answered. And why?
can seperate things
can be the limit of things
it is a key thing on maps
it can be a noun or a verb
it has six letters
borders around countries, counties and other things
The thick, black-and-white border of the magazine print cover catches my eye. Not because it’s exciting, or even particularly interesting, but simply because it’s there, a refreshing starkness compared to the sea of photo-shopped celebrities and neon lettering.
im on the edge
the border
the verge
should i jump
will it hurt
do they want me
would they care
i hope they like me
i hope they notice
i love you i said
i jumped, i was dead.
The border of life and death is a thin line. Nobody sees it coming, nobody understands it. You never know if today is your last day alive or not and nobody else knows either. Your entire life is left in the hands of God and you are trusting that when you die, something completely new will be on the other side.
“How many borders have you crossed?” she asked.
“Back and forth, one time only… probably around seventy-five,” he said. “Give or take. There was one I think I just kept walking beside, instead of ever really crossing. But that mountain moonshine is also pretty potent stuff, so I also could’ve been in a completely different country from what I thought.”
Our hands would touch and we would hold each other. I had crossed from state to state and city to city, border to border until I finally reached you. We have crossed lines of love and faith and hope and trust and heartbreak and still we are here and I have crossed thousands of borders and lines just to get here.
I was on the border of madness. There were dark red scratch marks on my bald, tattooed head. I wanted to yell, but my body wouldn’t let me. I wanted to push off of the walls, but I can’t.
A soft, dusty landscape. Tattered patterns. Fear and guns. The lawless land. Looking and waiting. Why we have them, I don’t know. Are there skulls there?
Come to the border and you will see. Bordering on boredom is boring me. Border to border and border on border. Boarding is boring me. Border and border. Bordering on boredom is boring me. Boring a hole inside of me.
i hadn’t felt much wanderlust in my youth. nowadays i’m not even sure if i still feel the same cold disinterest towards the idea of travel, or if I’m just showing the ghost of an old grudge. in high school my friends all flew to europe
Once across the border the gunmen were able to elude police and others law enforcement officers. Despite all attempts to capture the men, we were all hopeful that the matter would be resolve soon.
There is but one question that separates you from me. And that is the question of trust. Trust in borders. and borders in trust. who are you? what do you feel? that is irrelevant for it is no sooner that you are true to yourself, than you lose yourself within the border closing in.
The edge, the fringes, the end, the beginning to a new place and new horizons. Borders are seemingly insignificant just a dotted line on a map, yet these borders contain within them so much pride and power. Wars are fought over the dotted line, lives are lost for the sake of borders.
I was making Christmas cards but didn’t have enough ideas an then I thought of using ribbon as a border. Writing rubbish now!
The border between Meghalaya (India) and Bangladesh is shrinking meter by meter. When I was younger there was a patch of land by the river at Dawki that we could go to without any trouble. This was so even in my mother’s younger days too (evident from the photos that we still have). There was no one to warn us or guard us or look over us when we went bathing, washing, fishing or boating. May be there was an occasional whistle blown by the Indian Border Security Force to warn us from crossing over to Bangladesh. But now that patch of land has been claimed to be part of Bangladesh, even though the international border marker, which is a few meters away from that patch of land is still very much visible. Now the Indian Border Security Force gives us “permission” to enter that same piece of land with the consent of the Bangladesh forces. Now the local Indian fishermen and others who depend on boating for their livelihood are warned to not go further into their own land, while the Bangladesh vendors come easily to sell their dried fruits and other snacks to Indian tourist who are unaware of the facts. I am very disappointed with the administrators and government officials who are not looking into this matter.
The endless desert stretched forward in front of me, the sun a bright yolk descending on the flat horizon. The wind blew sand heavy into the air, blurring my vision, scratching my skin. I could hear the water swish loudly in my canteen with every step I took.
Then, a grey line in the distance, the border appeared. A few more miles and I would find a new home. One way or another.
We stand, hands pressed, foreheads wishing they could touch. Glass borders hold us apart, but perhaps it is because you threw them up around your mind. I want to take a sledgehammer to it but I’m afraid of breaking you into a thousand pieces too. So instead I chisel glass carvings, little by little trying to get you to open the glass door
I’m bored-er than you. Violating both the purpose of this site and grammar rules… I’m a little sorry, but mostly bored. BORDER.
When you’ve lost yourself
on the border line
Plucked the life clean
off a twisted vine
I hope you hear me
I hope you find
The love that grows before you
Is always gonna stay alive
They weren’t nearly as intimidating as everyone made them out to be. Granted, they were the police and we were foreigners and our good intentions were lost in translation. As we sat, waiting on the border between Laos and Vietnam, the sky was dark and hazy. To my left men were bartering over the shell of a recently skinned animal in the back of a truck bed. For me, a Westerner, it was gruesome. For them, it was the everyday normalcy of life.
I looked at his bright eyes. He’s right there at the border waiting for me. I try to get through but they hold me back. He yells my name. But them a shot is heard. And I scream.
Early sunlight reflected off of cacti needles, sliding across the barren land, tripping on animals too brave or stupid to move. Their shadows made such promising targets. She took a deep breath. The air was still cool.
Scout was the epitome of a Border Collie. She had the stare. She could control me with her thoughts, and she always knew where everyone was. She was also terrified of storms, and i think it was because she had premonitions of her death. It had been a drought, and then lightning struck and the thunder began, and she ran out into the blinding rain, never to come home again. I miss her. I miss knowing where she is. I miss knowing that someone knows where I am.
The border between myself and reality is becoming too thick to penetrate.
The longer I lay here, the longer I try to last in this human form, the less attached I feel to the world around me.
I don’t think I’m going to survive the transition back, honestly. I feel… glitchy. I can see shapes, but not details. My ears are ringing. Nothing makes sense anymore. I don’t know what’s what.
I’m scared.
I’ve never felt like this before.
I hear her voice distantly, but I don’t… I don’t know what she’s saying…
I thought about how to decorate the border. What types of designs should I include? Should there even be a border? Maybe the page was already busy enough without adding a border. But, if I didn’t add a border, would my boss hate it and then not hire me to work on a project like this again in the future?
There were no borders to the bulletin board. None at all. It was just plain, simple, and white, staring blankly at the opposite wall, which was filled with colorful posters. THOSE posters had pictures, quotes, newspaper clippings…anything and everything except white space.
Everyone has that unspoken border.
That place where we would refuse anyone, be it our very own mothers or God himself taken mortal form, from going.
That place that we, ourselves even, refuse to go, to even glance in the general direction of. Knowingly or not, we all hold such a sanctuary – in the darkest corners of our minds, within the deepest reaches of our souls.
We wish it weren’t a part of us, we loathe and rage against it, we despise our very own beings for being capable of housing such horrors.
All of these feelings stem from fear.
From what might happen if we were to cross that line, to enter that realm, of what it would take to even be able to enter such a place.
We’re only afraid. All of us are.
Someone once told me that the cave that you fear to enter most is the one that holds the secrets that you most desperately seek.
I think we all need to find our balls and go spelunking.
There are the border was a cat, sitting as if it belonged there, and yet it couldn’t. It couldn’t because over that border nothing lived. Once over that border anything–everything would simply die and that would be the end of its existence. So that cat could not belong there
“Where did he go?”
“Just south of the border, ma’am.”
“What did he have?”
“Bike and a bag, ma’am.”
The sheriff spat, harshly, into the dry grass. She could hear her hot saliva crackle as it made contact with the fire-prone foliage, half-expecting a spark, and looked at her deputies.
“Find him by nine o’clock tonight,” she warned, “or I will beat you senseless and find him myself.”
The tracks stopped at the border of the forest. Thorny plants clung to our pant legs, begging us not to go on, but we didn’t pay them any heed.
It was time to discover the truth.
The border between us will remain virgin territory. I will never touch you like I once longed to and you will never again hear the smile in my voice.
The city’s border was far away. Too far. There was no way I could walk that far in time. Not after everything I had just gone through. It would be too much. My feet were already aching, my legs trembling. My thoughts were all jumbled–nothing was coming out right.
what is the border here? is it between you and i? can we cross it? is it necessary?
let’s cross that border. let’s cross them all. and build bridges. and roads. and raceways. between peoples. and countries. and learn how to live within our borders, within your borders, and crossing them all when we want to! what are borders for, if not to be crossed?
A border can be seen as something that separates to opposites or areas that do not normally share a common interest or bond. Therefore borders are often peaceful and help resolve or prevent many different issues our world would be facing and yet again they cause so many. Look at border hopping and the violence and unrest that has resulted from them.
There is a line that separates them from me. There must be. Why else … how else would it be that we look so much the same, come from near the same time, and yet we are so different? All these things they seem to do so easily, as easily as breathing, they are like a foreign language to me. I cannot understand them. Nor they me.
the person who pays money to stay at someone else’s house. The person who leaves a mess, dirty washing and a lingering smell. The person who does not time keep when it comes
The border isn’t done yet. We still need to add lines to it. Right now you look like a bunch of fish swimming in circles. Don’t go over there! The treasure chest is open! My face might melt off.
the children sat at the border waiting for someone to come their way, they know that it coulsn’t be much longer but as the hot sum beat down upon their heads a tiny seed of doubt began to creep into their minds. This was
The border. Arts and crafts the video tutorial says to make a border. Border that’s artsy as a ribbon or a designed paper. Border. To make my arts a sophisticated look or just as simple as making a line. It’ s up to you really.
To cross my border is definitely a bad idea. I could get mad if ever. Why do people do that?
To test you on how long before you can get mad? Or to test you how mad you can get? Silly, I don’t see any logic in it! Seriously!
Something that I stand between on a daily asis. I can;t think to choose what I want. But I don’t which side to choose between wanting to be happy and wanting to be sucessful. Productive or happy. Why not both? Why can’t I just be both? Abnormal, original, which one descibes me best. That’s the real question that needs to be answered. And why?
can seperate things
can be the limit of things
it is a key thing on maps
it can be a noun or a verb
it has six letters
borders around countries, counties and other things
The thick, black-and-white border of the magazine print cover catches my eye. Not because it’s exciting, or even particularly interesting, but simply because it’s there, a refreshing starkness compared to the sea of photo-shopped celebrities and neon lettering.
im on the edge
the border
the verge
should i jump
will it hurt
do they want me
would they care
i hope they like me
i hope they notice
i love you i said
i jumped, i was dead.
The border of life and death is a thin line. Nobody sees it coming, nobody understands it. You never know if today is your last day alive or not and nobody else knows either. Your entire life is left in the hands of God and you are trusting that when you die, something completely new will be on the other side.