It lights up.
She sits and waits.
It lights up again.
She does not answer.
He can wait on me tonight, she thinks.
He can sit and wonder.
He doesn’t deserve to have this of me.
He deserves none of me.
What she doesn’t know is that he was calling to tell her he finally knew what he wanted. And it was her. He was calling to her, his last hope.
I’ve been trying to call you for days now and you won’t pick up. What did I do? You know I care about u. I’ll stop calling if you just show me you care about me too, okay?
Sometimes I try, but get no reply. Sometimes it is just easier to type, because you won’t be able to hear my shaky voice. Sometimes I wish you would stop. Sometimes I hang up.
who’s calling?
wer ruft aus dem chor der intertextuellen claqueure?
ist es eine FIGUR aus einem Roman – oder ein Teilnehmer aus einem ONLINE-Kurs?
schreibe ich – oder werde ich geschrieben?
you were calling me into your bed. telling me sweet lies, doing whatever it took to get what you wanted. but you never call me anymore. only when you feel desperate. am i a last option? am i not important? am i not worth calling anymore?
The boy walked along the train tracks slowly. His gait was awkward, stilted by the uneven tracks and his attempts to stay on them rather than walk on the frozen rocks to either side.
A green light flickered on and off. It distracted the man as he sat at the helm of the train, occasionally cocking his head in the direction of the radio and taking swipes at the awning of sweat collecting at his eyebrows.
I have often wondered what my calling is. I used to think I was to be a radio star but over the years have come to find out that my calling is to be Daddy. It is honorable, fun and is special for Daddy will always be Daddy to his little girls.
Someone is calling your name. You don’t know who it is. You don’t even know if he’s calling you in particular. It could be someone else with your name. It could be anyone else with your name.
He stands on the sharpest outcropping of rock, several yards away from you, among the muddle of tourists that has crowded around where he stands. Below are the falls and rapids of the Yosemite wilderness.
calling through the winter forest, where my voice catches on the white stalks and my bed dreams. A deer in the quiet, a quick deer by my solid deep footprints where it’s as flat as the world down at the bottom, and deep as the ocean.
Some people were born to do things. Some were born to raise children. Others to be the grandmotherly type who lives on the corner and passes out homemade chocolate chip cookies on Halloween instead of miniature candy bars. Some people search their entire lives to find what they were born to do and never figure it out.
They tell us to be quite, attentive. Listen for your calling. But what are we trying to hear when we do this, catch the nugget of prophecy that will lead us to our fate, destiny. Calling.
The phone was boiling hot, still attached to the same part of her face that it had been for a while. She was trying so hard to get a hold on him, on anyone near him, but her sources lead to were dead ends or dead lines. It was the last thing she needed to do, just to tell him not to dwell, to forgive the man who did this, to move on with his life without weighted collar of undeserved guilty forever choking him. It was too late, though, her time ran out and her last gasps were prayers to a god her son would soon come to blame, to curse. Her death wouldn’t be in vain as her attempts to reach her child, but would be the cause of the greatest revenge killing since Boudicca burned Roman London to the ground.
He was always calling me late at night. No words were exchanged, but just with his unnatural sort of grace, it drew me toward him. It was wrong; I shouldn’t have felt that way. Yet every smile, every twitch, made my heart grow fonder. I had fallen for Pyo Jihoon without even noticing.
There’s this pop in the center of her heart every time she hears her name, sharp and blunt and similar to falling off a three-story building, watching a man put a small knife to her ribs.
The repetitions of her name pang and burst and break and pound and she is afraid. More than she has ever been in her entire life.
Ah, fuck. I… (sigh) I’m sorry I just… I keep calling and then, uh… remembering… y’know… remembering that you won’t pick up. Damn it, uh. Well. I miss you. Hope, y’know. Hope everything’s good where you are. (clearing his throat) Uh, yeah. Bye.
It smells like rainfall and trees that are trying so hard to throw their leaves into the sky. I love the way the cold feels on my skin right now, even though we’ve just come through so much of it, for so very long. I love the way it crawls across me and I love the hint of thunder that is lingering around. I wish I was curled up inside a blanket, all of the lights out, and switching between staring at the cold glass of my monitor, and the patterns the rainwater makes on my window. I wish we were having a lazy conversation with no direction and no rhyme to go with the lack of reason. Like before the crash.
I was calling my friend in a place of darkness and they gave me the strength to find the light. I found hope, care, and love. I have never been so happy to have people in my life who would take the time to make sure that I am okay. And I am okay.
But before I can introduce properly the man to whom this book is dedicated, I need to first relate my meeting with Basil Mine.
OByronville was a horrendously liberal scar, in that it was festering with the most “Open-minded” college graduates in the state. They seemed to grow from the coffeeshops, and walked in routines daily with their dogs and significant others in sunglasses and hats sporting their favorite, unheard of sports store. If one looked down onto the main street from up above, one could rightfully compare the runners with blood cells in an arm that was the road.
Basil and I met while glaring at one such runner on a hot day. He had a carefully trimmed, gray 5 o’clock shadow and wore a dirty, ragged bowler cap with an equally dirty suit.
We sort of mingled together. There was no formal greeting, and we formed over our equivalent lack of Self confidence. Basil was shrewd, quick-tempered and was undoubtedly the most ironic man I’ve ever met. He wore nothing but that suit and cap day in and day out as he detailed his hatred for the younger and more agile as they jogged past. He became my best friend.
The silence was overwhelming in the middle of the pine forest. Her breath pale and frosty before her, wordlessly calling out her location. She could not hope to hide her tracks in the snow; there was just enough crust to crackle under each footstep. Cold and tired and still walking. Always walking. Always moving to stay a step ahead of The Chasers.
The invocation of the once-physical-now-spiritual being has now began a series of unfortunate and bizarre events. Calling the dead is calling your own death, they said. Well, it wasn’t my idea, though, I thought of it elementary and stupid
I kept calling but nobody answered. I am calling now. I will start calling. You will see me calling. I can’t stop calling. Calling is what I do. Calling is how I see the phone. I will be calling you.
I haven’t realized my true calling. everyone around me can see I was destined to do great things; I guess that’s one of the downsides to being great. Why is it that everyone can see my greatness except for me. It’s like I can’t see beyond what my eyes can.
My calling is to help. Especially to help you. To see in and through you, what you are and what you are going to be and what you should consider being. I have been sent to help you and to make you smile and forget your worries for just a moment in time.
Late at night when he shuts his eyes and closes off his conscious mind, he can hear them. They whisper in the still air, stretching vaporous fingers up through the air vents and winding themselves around him like a persistent cat. Their voices have grown thin with age and use, circling and calling out to him as he tries to sleep. When he buries his head under a pillow, they turn shrill, reminding him of all the mistakes that he has made in the past, of all the things that still haunt him.
I need to move out of this old house, he thinks to himself. Too many memories. Too many ghosts.
He was calling her name. He was in so much pain and he was calling out to her. She couldn’t help though. No one could. He’d have to die. This virus, this, this thing was incurable or at least it was to her. She aimed her stolen gun and prepared to pull the trigger.
All the robots are calling one another names, but none of them are upset in the least. The one robot cuts a tremendous fart and they all laugh in that mechanical ha ha we don’t really know why it’s funny way.
i heard you calling my name, i continued running. running full speed into the woods. i need to get away, i thought. away from all of this. maaaaarrrryn, come here. lets just talk about this! i here you call. i run faster. not thinking at all. just running. one foot in front of the other, as fast as i can.
I could hear them calling… Calling my name… Calling me to the place where dreams are shattered; where death swallows you hole. Don’t take one step I warn you inside of that graveyard because once you do you’ll never step out.
I keep picking up the phone and dialing your number. Everyday I get to here your voice and see your face on a screen. It connects us across the miles, but I still feel as lonely as ever. I count down the days till when I will be able to dive into your arms again.
His wings flapped behind him as he soared through the sky. Along his neck he could feel the pulsing blood like blooming flowers springing over his entire body. He felt the heat in his ears and the unmistakable excitement that’s been absent for many, many years.
It was that horrid screech, calling down the hallway every morning, that they hated with a twin passion.
It wasn’t like nails on a chalkboard – it was like a vulture with a poor fashion sense dragging its claws up and down every time she spoke. And each time she did, he and Tommy would glance at each other, roll their eyes, and envision a magnificent barb-wire noose. Their friendship, one could truthfully point out, was based on their mutual hatred for everything.
Their only real difference was that Tommy was a straight-up OG, but that was a story for another time. This was just another morning of the clown barging in.
Calling others has always presented a problem to me. I hate dialing a number and waiting for someone to answer. I worry that I’ll say something stupid, or that the person I’m calling won’t actually want to hear from me. I worry that they are doing something much more important.
Everyone knows what calling is. It can be used on or in cell phones or it can be in real life. Calling may play an important role in our live, but we may not know it. We can use calling for asking for help or maybe just to socialize with others or friends.
Everybody knows what calling is. It can be on a cell phone or its can be in real life. Calling can be an important thing in our lives. We can use it for calling for help or we can also use it to socialize. For example,
i was calling for him, he didn’t hear, simply heartbreaking.
It lights up.
She sits and waits.
It lights up again.
She does not answer.
He can wait on me tonight, she thinks.
He can sit and wonder.
He doesn’t deserve to have this of me.
He deserves none of me.
What she doesn’t know is that he was calling to tell her he finally knew what he wanted. And it was her. He was calling to her, his last hope.
But she had nothing left to give.
I’ve been trying to call you for days now and you won’t pick up. What did I do? You know I care about u. I’ll stop calling if you just show me you care about me too, okay?
Sometimes I try, but get no reply. Sometimes it is just easier to type, because you won’t be able to hear my shaky voice. Sometimes I wish you would stop. Sometimes I hang up.
who’s calling?
wer ruft aus dem chor der intertextuellen claqueure?
ist es eine FIGUR aus einem Roman – oder ein Teilnehmer aus einem ONLINE-Kurs?
schreibe ich – oder werde ich geschrieben?
you were calling me into your bed. telling me sweet lies, doing whatever it took to get what you wanted. but you never call me anymore. only when you feel desperate. am i a last option? am i not important? am i not worth calling anymore?
The boy walked along the train tracks slowly. His gait was awkward, stilted by the uneven tracks and his attempts to stay on them rather than walk on the frozen rocks to either side.
A green light flickered on and off. It distracted the man as he sat at the helm of the train, occasionally cocking his head in the direction of the radio and taking swipes at the awning of sweat collecting at his eyebrows.
I have often wondered what my calling is. I used to think I was to be a radio star but over the years have come to find out that my calling is to be Daddy. It is honorable, fun and is special for Daddy will always be Daddy to his little girls.
Someone is calling your name. You don’t know who it is. You don’t even know if he’s calling you in particular. It could be someone else with your name. It could be anyone else with your name.
He stands on the sharpest outcropping of rock, several yards away from you, among the muddle of tourists that has crowded around where he stands. Below are the falls and rapids of the Yosemite wilderness.
calling through the winter forest, where my voice catches on the white stalks and my bed dreams. A deer in the quiet, a quick deer by my solid deep footprints where it’s as flat as the world down at the bottom, and deep as the ocean.
Some people were born to do things. Some were born to raise children. Others to be the grandmotherly type who lives on the corner and passes out homemade chocolate chip cookies on Halloween instead of miniature candy bars. Some people search their entire lives to find what they were born to do and never figure it out.
They tell us to be quite, attentive. Listen for your calling. But what are we trying to hear when we do this, catch the nugget of prophecy that will lead us to our fate, destiny. Calling.
The phone was boiling hot, still attached to the same part of her face that it had been for a while. She was trying so hard to get a hold on him, on anyone near him, but her sources lead to were dead ends or dead lines. It was the last thing she needed to do, just to tell him not to dwell, to forgive the man who did this, to move on with his life without weighted collar of undeserved guilty forever choking him. It was too late, though, her time ran out and her last gasps were prayers to a god her son would soon come to blame, to curse. Her death wouldn’t be in vain as her attempts to reach her child, but would be the cause of the greatest revenge killing since Boudicca burned Roman London to the ground.
He was always calling me late at night. No words were exchanged, but just with his unnatural sort of grace, it drew me toward him. It was wrong; I shouldn’t have felt that way. Yet every smile, every twitch, made my heart grow fonder. I had fallen for Pyo Jihoon without even noticing.
There’s this pop in the center of her heart every time she hears her name, sharp and blunt and similar to falling off a three-story building, watching a man put a small knife to her ribs.
The repetitions of her name pang and burst and break and pound and she is afraid. More than she has ever been in her entire life.
Ah, fuck. I… (sigh) I’m sorry I just… I keep calling and then, uh… remembering… y’know… remembering that you won’t pick up. Damn it, uh. Well. I miss you. Hope, y’know. Hope everything’s good where you are. (clearing his throat) Uh, yeah. Bye.
It smells like rainfall and trees that are trying so hard to throw their leaves into the sky. I love the way the cold feels on my skin right now, even though we’ve just come through so much of it, for so very long. I love the way it crawls across me and I love the hint of thunder that is lingering around. I wish I was curled up inside a blanket, all of the lights out, and switching between staring at the cold glass of my monitor, and the patterns the rainwater makes on my window. I wish we were having a lazy conversation with no direction and no rhyme to go with the lack of reason. Like before the crash.
I was calling my friend in a place of darkness and they gave me the strength to find the light. I found hope, care, and love. I have never been so happy to have people in my life who would take the time to make sure that I am okay. And I am okay.
But before I can introduce properly the man to whom this book is dedicated, I need to first relate my meeting with Basil Mine.
OByronville was a horrendously liberal scar, in that it was festering with the most “Open-minded” college graduates in the state. They seemed to grow from the coffeeshops, and walked in routines daily with their dogs and significant others in sunglasses and hats sporting their favorite, unheard of sports store. If one looked down onto the main street from up above, one could rightfully compare the runners with blood cells in an arm that was the road.
Basil and I met while glaring at one such runner on a hot day. He had a carefully trimmed, gray 5 o’clock shadow and wore a dirty, ragged bowler cap with an equally dirty suit.
We sort of mingled together. There was no formal greeting, and we formed over our equivalent lack of Self confidence. Basil was shrewd, quick-tempered and was undoubtedly the most ironic man I’ve ever met. He wore nothing but that suit and cap day in and day out as he detailed his hatred for the younger and more agile as they jogged past. He became my best friend.
The silence was overwhelming in the middle of the pine forest. Her breath pale and frosty before her, wordlessly calling out her location. She could not hope to hide her tracks in the snow; there was just enough crust to crackle under each footstep. Cold and tired and still walking. Always walking. Always moving to stay a step ahead of The Chasers.
The invocation of the once-physical-now-spiritual being has now began a series of unfortunate and bizarre events. Calling the dead is calling your own death, they said. Well, it wasn’t my idea, though, I thought of it elementary and stupid
I kept calling but nobody answered. I am calling now. I will start calling. You will see me calling. I can’t stop calling. Calling is what I do. Calling is how I see the phone. I will be calling you.
I haven’t realized my true calling. everyone around me can see I was destined to do great things; I guess that’s one of the downsides to being great. Why is it that everyone can see my greatness except for me. It’s like I can’t see beyond what my eyes can.
My calling is to help. Especially to help you. To see in and through you, what you are and what you are going to be and what you should consider being. I have been sent to help you and to make you smile and forget your worries for just a moment in time.
Late at night when he shuts his eyes and closes off his conscious mind, he can hear them. They whisper in the still air, stretching vaporous fingers up through the air vents and winding themselves around him like a persistent cat. Their voices have grown thin with age and use, circling and calling out to him as he tries to sleep. When he buries his head under a pillow, they turn shrill, reminding him of all the mistakes that he has made in the past, of all the things that still haunt him.
I need to move out of this old house, he thinks to himself. Too many memories. Too many ghosts.
He was calling her name. He was in so much pain and he was calling out to her. She couldn’t help though. No one could. He’d have to die. This virus, this, this thing was incurable or at least it was to her. She aimed her stolen gun and prepared to pull the trigger.
All the robots are calling one another names, but none of them are upset in the least. The one robot cuts a tremendous fart and they all laugh in that mechanical ha ha we don’t really know why it’s funny way.
It was calling towards me. As I stared down 20 flights, the ground called towards me.
It was so alluring. It was a way to end all the pain, all the suffering I had ever felt. It was a way to make this…burden of life go away.
The ground was calling to me, so I took a deep breath and jumped.
i heard you calling my name, i continued running. running full speed into the woods. i need to get away, i thought. away from all of this. maaaaarrrryn, come here. lets just talk about this! i here you call. i run faster. not thinking at all. just running. one foot in front of the other, as fast as i can.
I could hear them calling… Calling my name… Calling me to the place where dreams are shattered; where death swallows you hole. Don’t take one step I warn you inside of that graveyard because once you do you’ll never step out.
I keep picking up the phone and dialing your number. Everyday I get to here your voice and see your face on a screen. It connects us across the miles, but I still feel as lonely as ever. I count down the days till when I will be able to dive into your arms again.
Calling and cawing, crows curse the crowning.
I am calling for you to see me as I am. Depressed, uncomplete, searching. Find me. Hear my calls. I want you.
His wings flapped behind him as he soared through the sky. Along his neck he could feel the pulsing blood like blooming flowers springing over his entire body. He felt the heat in his ears and the unmistakable excitement that’s been absent for many, many years.
tlak speak call seamre shout wishpre
It was that horrid screech, calling down the hallway every morning, that they hated with a twin passion.
It wasn’t like nails on a chalkboard – it was like a vulture with a poor fashion sense dragging its claws up and down every time she spoke. And each time she did, he and Tommy would glance at each other, roll their eyes, and envision a magnificent barb-wire noose. Their friendship, one could truthfully point out, was based on their mutual hatred for everything.
Their only real difference was that Tommy was a straight-up OG, but that was a story for another time. This was just another morning of the clown barging in.
i’m calling you and you won’t answer and i’m scared and i start to think terrible things why won’t you answer please just answer i need you
Calling others has always presented a problem to me. I hate dialing a number and waiting for someone to answer. I worry that I’ll say something stupid, or that the person I’m calling won’t actually want to hear from me. I worry that they are doing something much more important.
Everyone knows what calling is. It can be used on or in cell phones or it can be in real life. Calling may play an important role in our live, but we may not know it. We can use calling for asking for help or maybe just to socialize with others or friends.
Everybody knows what calling is. It can be on a cell phone or its can be in real life. Calling can be an important thing in our lives. We can use it for calling for help or we can also use it to socialize. For example,