She clasped onto her thermos as she watched the sun rise. A grin inhabited her face as the purples and pinks flooded the sky. It rose slowly as if very carefully filling up light in certain areas. These areas had a certain magicalness to them that gave any watcher butterflies. She loved these mornings, doing nothing but clasping her thermos and watching the morning get its light.
the necklace clasp closed gently around her smooth and soft neck and as it did so she let her hair back down over it, covering the clasp, the small part that holds the entire necklace together.
What keeps a necklace together. When two people hold hands for the first time. When one person is barely hanging on and is relying on the other to pull them to saftey.
I clasp my hand around my new blue purse. It’s from the outlets and I am still excited that I have it. I have had a red purse for the past two years given to me FOR FREE by a colleague and it is as torn apart as a free red purse can be. My new purse is a bit more expensive than free and oh so worth it.
I am a child.
In my small hands I clasp the essence of hope, that fickle fluid that trickles through the fingers of old, battle-scarred veterans and politicians and cascades out of sight.
My hands locked shut, I leap into the endless sky.
I clasp onto what I believe my identity is. I hold tight to it because I don’t foresee myself being anyone else. What if I am someone else though? Someone greater perhaps? Is it alright to clasp then onto who I think I am as of right now, or let go to who I might be later?
Clasp was the word for yesterday. I cannot fathom how this could have possibly occurred. I was so mad that I flipped my desk over in a fit of rage. This was sickening.
The man clasped the handle tightly. Paint peeled from the old wooden door as he stood there and considered his options. He could stay here, he could stay on this side of the door where everything was normal, where the world followed the rules they had always followed, he could have toast, chips and sleep all day if he wanted to.
clasp – does it mean join, hold, cling or understand. Sometimes the grip is too tight and the claspee isn’t happy with being clasped. But what is it that we clasp onto. And what a strange word to mean such pain, heartache and joining
clasp – does it mean join, hold, cling or understand. Sometimes the grip is too tight and the claspee isn’t happy with being clasped. But what is it that we clasp onto. And what a strange word to mean such pain, heartache and joining
I clasped the golden locket in my hand, it gave me hope. It brought back memories of better times, times before life got so damn complicated. It was a gift from my daddy, back when we still owned the farm on Oliver Road.
There was a clasp on her bra. I really tried to get it off with one hand. I wanted to be just like those guys in the movies. You know, the really cool guys that grew up in rich households with the 1989 beemer. Unfortunately I’d never been with a girl before. That’s not exactly how it went down. I tried for about 30 minutes before she finally got frustrated.
Used to seal packages. Perhaps to keep them fresh for another time. Personally, it makes me want a snack. Specifically, a bag of chips. Wonderful chips. TGI Friday’s the Cheddar and bacon would be grand!
Vlad didn’t tend to think deeply about the emotional ramifications of what he did. To him, emotions were petty annoyances; things to be disregarded in favor of the bigger picture, the final prize.
And yet, Daniel’s hand, tightly clasped in his, made the entire world collapse before his eyes, and it was so very easy to surrender to his heart.
He took my hand, dragged me into what would be the best might of my life. He threw me up against the car, kissed me with a fever that couldn’t be leashed. Who was he? Jerry.
he clasped his hands with mine. It was so right and warm, that his warmfulness filled my body with it. I had never felt happier. in that moment, I knew that everything was right.
New birds, cooed the mother pigeon, turning the baby little eggs over with her sharp sharp beak. Her beak could peck a pecan in half in less than the time it took for her to swallow it, but her beak never pierced through the thin shells of the eggs. She wore the bright blue shawl of a common middleaged mother pigeon.
we sat with our hands clasped tightly together, keeping them perfectly still until they lost their separateness and we couldn’t tell whose pulse was whose. our heartbeats beat as one in the heart that formed in our hands.
I wet to use the loaf of bread to make a pb and j sandwitch and I twisted the plastic tie off of the bag. Then I put the jelly and peanut butter on both sides. I ate the sandwich and I was happy about it. I hope the 60 seconds ends soon because I am running out of things to type.
So she held the stupid thing in her hands. What use was the metal when it was broken? It would never hang around her neck again, never secure itself or fasten itself securely and beautifully around that part of her body anymore, ever. Which was good. Maybe death by hanging herself with metal wire just wasn’t the way to go for her.
she grabbed me tightly. “what are you doing?” i asked, fear lingering in my voice. “please, don’t be scared,” she begged. i saw that familiar look in her eyes and i knew she geniunely didn’t want me to be afraid. “i need you to find that clasp.” i swallowed hard. i knew what she was talking about. “the one between reality and fantasy. i know it’s out there. and you’re the only one who can find it.” i contemplated on whether i should or not. i bit my lip almost to the point where i began tasting something metallic; blood. the silence seemed to drag on for hours. i finally answered. “what do you need me to do?” i’ve never seen anyone look so relieved in my entire life. she lead me over to the table. “okay, here’s what you need to do…” i lost focus after that, as my mind began to wander on the possible repercussions. boy, was i going to regret this.
He picked up the clasp and dropped it into the bag. This was evidence, and he didn’t want anyone else in the room to see it. Not yet anyway. This will be something he could use against his couterpart if he was envolved in the morder in anyway. The next step will be to take it to a private lab.
one time there was a time where i forgot to use the clasp on my beaker for chemistry and i burnt my hand from it. It was a atrocious sensation because the skin of my hand began to bubble out and started to swell up.
Grantaire felt Enjolras’s hand clasp his, felt strong fingers squeeze his palm. He didn’t know if he’d be able to stand looking, but of course he did; he’d spent his life looking, suffering blows to the heart with each burst of light, and here he was about to die, so what did it matter anyway? He turned for one last shock of sun and was not disappointed; there Apollo stood smiling, there Orestes stood comforting, there Grantaire finally found gratitude, admiration, fondness where once there had only been disdain and disgust and disappointment. Finally, redemption, at the end of it all.
is like he has a heavy clasp on my heart. A grip so tight that all the air around my chest is squeezed out simultaneously as the life is drained out of my body.
Clasping hands we held. i have never felt someone clasp my hand so firmly against theirs. The desperation to not let go was filled in your grip and was unbearable to say and break it with one word. Goodbye.
grabbing someones hand and holding onto them tight, never letting go, stay with them for as long as possible, loving them, them loving you, staying together forever, never leaving each others sides, faith trust and honesty, desperation, last hope
when I think of the word “Clasp” I think of a high-five. I am usually reminded of a man who most recently died and every time he shook hands he would high five you and clasp his hands around yours. He brought good vibes when doing this and was always sweet.
Something used to seal things. Perhaps to keep them fresh for another time. Personally, it makes me want a snack. Specifically, a bag of chips. Wonderful chips. TGI Friday’s would be grand!
As I begin my reading, the crowd claps in offset clops, plops of loose pads of flesh, and I dare not look up. I soldier on as the crowd claps with encouraging snaps of taught hands, and so I peek, see their claps are accompanied by amused looks that conflict with the nature of my words, and strobe light visions of at least finishing this debacle begin to stutter and they stop abruptly with a unison jeer, “The word is CLASP, you idiot!”
She clasped onto her thermos as she watched the sun rise. A grin inhabited her face as the purples and pinks flooded the sky. It rose slowly as if very carefully filling up light in certain areas. These areas had a certain magicalness to them that gave any watcher butterflies. She loved these mornings, doing nothing but clasping her thermos and watching the morning get its light.
the necklace clasp closed gently around her smooth and soft neck and as it did so she let her hair back down over it, covering the clasp, the small part that holds the entire necklace together.
What keeps a necklace together. When two people hold hands for the first time. When one person is barely hanging on and is relying on the other to pull them to saftey.
I clasp my hand around my new blue purse. It’s from the outlets and I am still excited that I have it. I have had a red purse for the past two years given to me FOR FREE by a colleague and it is as torn apart as a free red purse can be. My new purse is a bit more expensive than free and oh so worth it.
I am a child.
In my small hands I clasp the essence of hope, that fickle fluid that trickles through the fingers of old, battle-scarred veterans and politicians and cascades out of sight.
My hands locked shut, I leap into the endless sky.
he held her hand tightly
as if letting go
would jettison him
into a place
from where he would never return
I clasp onto what I believe my identity is. I hold tight to it because I don’t foresee myself being anyone else. What if I am someone else though? Someone greater perhaps? Is it alright to clasp then onto who I think I am as of right now, or let go to who I might be later?
I fumbled with the clasp as I put on the necklace.
“It looks lovely,” my mother said. “You make such a beautiful bride!”
“Thank you,” I replied, gazing at myself in the mirror. I had to admit that I did look stunning.
Clasp was the word for yesterday. I cannot fathom how this could have possibly occurred. I was so mad that I flipped my desk over in a fit of rage. This was sickening.
The man clasped the handle tightly. Paint peeled from the old wooden door as he stood there and considered his options. He could stay here, he could stay on this side of the door where everything was normal, where the world followed the rules they had always followed, he could have toast, chips and sleep all day if he wanted to.
good old realyble peanuts
clasp – does it mean join, hold, cling or understand. Sometimes the grip is too tight and the claspee isn’t happy with being clasped. But what is it that we clasp onto. And what a strange word to mean such pain, heartache and joining
clasp – does it mean join, hold, cling or understand. Sometimes the grip is too tight and the claspee isn’t happy with being clasped. But what is it that we clasp onto. And what a strange word to mean such pain, heartache and joining
I clasped the golden locket in my hand, it gave me hope. It brought back memories of better times, times before life got so damn complicated. It was a gift from my daddy, back when we still owned the farm on Oliver Road.
There was a clasp on her bra. I really tried to get it off with one hand. I wanted to be just like those guys in the movies. You know, the really cool guys that grew up in rich households with the 1989 beemer. Unfortunately I’d never been with a girl before. That’s not exactly how it went down. I tried for about 30 minutes before she finally got frustrated.
Used to seal packages. Perhaps to keep them fresh for another time. Personally, it makes me want a snack. Specifically, a bag of chips. Wonderful chips. TGI Friday’s the Cheddar and bacon would be grand!
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Vlad didn’t tend to think deeply about the emotional ramifications of what he did. To him, emotions were petty annoyances; things to be disregarded in favor of the bigger picture, the final prize.
And yet, Daniel’s hand, tightly clasped in his, made the entire world collapse before his eyes, and it was so very easy to surrender to his heart.
He took my hand, dragged me into what would be the best might of my life. He threw me up against the car, kissed me with a fever that couldn’t be leashed. Who was he? Jerry.
it is something to hold your thoughts together
he clasped his hands with mine. It was so right and warm, that his warmfulness filled my body with it. I had never felt happier. in that moment, I knew that everything was right.
New birds, cooed the mother pigeon, turning the baby little eggs over with her sharp sharp beak. Her beak could peck a pecan in half in less than the time it took for her to swallow it, but her beak never pierced through the thin shells of the eggs. She wore the bright blue shawl of a common middleaged mother pigeon.
we sat with our hands clasped tightly together, keeping them perfectly still until they lost their separateness and we couldn’t tell whose pulse was whose. our heartbeats beat as one in the heart that formed in our hands.
I clasp on his shoulder, not knowing what to do next. I search for his hand, slowly fishing around in the darkness aimlessly.
I wet to use the loaf of bread to make a pb and j sandwitch and I twisted the plastic tie off of the bag. Then I put the jelly and peanut butter on both sides. I ate the sandwich and I was happy about it. I hope the 60 seconds ends soon because I am running out of things to type.
So she held the stupid thing in her hands. What use was the metal when it was broken? It would never hang around her neck again, never secure itself or fasten itself securely and beautifully around that part of her body anymore, ever. Which was good. Maybe death by hanging herself with metal wire just wasn’t the way to go for her.
do you even know how hard this is.
she grabbed me tightly. “what are you doing?” i asked, fear lingering in my voice. “please, don’t be scared,” she begged. i saw that familiar look in her eyes and i knew she geniunely didn’t want me to be afraid. “i need you to find that clasp.” i swallowed hard. i knew what she was talking about. “the one between reality and fantasy. i know it’s out there. and you’re the only one who can find it.” i contemplated on whether i should or not. i bit my lip almost to the point where i began tasting something metallic; blood. the silence seemed to drag on for hours. i finally answered. “what do you need me to do?” i’ve never seen anyone look so relieved in my entire life. she lead me over to the table. “okay, here’s what you need to do…” i lost focus after that, as my mind began to wander on the possible repercussions. boy, was i going to regret this.
He picked up the clasp and dropped it into the bag. This was evidence, and he didn’t want anyone else in the room to see it. Not yet anyway. This will be something he could use against his couterpart if he was envolved in the morder in anyway. The next step will be to take it to a private lab.
one time there was a time where i forgot to use the clasp on my beaker for chemistry and i burnt my hand from it. It was a atrocious sensation because the skin of my hand began to bubble out and started to swell up.
Opdenaker LET’S TALK TRASH
Hands…. gear sticks, the edge of the seat.. a trip back from the West Coast, hot stones, lying by the river, so very hot….
Grantaire felt Enjolras’s hand clasp his, felt strong fingers squeeze his palm. He didn’t know if he’d be able to stand looking, but of course he did; he’d spent his life looking, suffering blows to the heart with each burst of light, and here he was about to die, so what did it matter anyway? He turned for one last shock of sun and was not disappointed; there Apollo stood smiling, there Orestes stood comforting, there Grantaire finally found gratitude, admiration, fondness where once there had only been disdain and disgust and disappointment. Finally, redemption, at the end of it all.
is like he has a heavy clasp on my heart. A grip so tight that all the air around my chest is squeezed out simultaneously as the life is drained out of my body.
Clasping hands we held. i have never felt someone clasp my hand so firmly against theirs. The desperation to not let go was filled in your grip and was unbearable to say and break it with one word. Goodbye.
grabbing someones hand and holding onto them tight, never letting go, stay with them for as long as possible, loving them, them loving you, staying together forever, never leaving each others sides, faith trust and honesty, desperation, last hope
when I think of the word “Clasp” I think of a high-five. I am usually reminded of a man who most recently died and every time he shook hands he would high five you and clasp his hands around yours. He brought good vibes when doing this and was always sweet.
hes clasp was open the first time she saw him she thought he was stupid for not noticing and he was so nervous
Something used to seal things. Perhaps to keep them fresh for another time. Personally, it makes me want a snack. Specifically, a bag of chips. Wonderful chips. TGI Friday’s would be grand!
As I begin my reading, the crowd claps in offset clops, plops of loose pads of flesh, and I dare not look up. I soldier on as the crowd claps with encouraging snaps of taught hands, and so I peek, see their claps are accompanied by amused looks that conflict with the nature of my words, and strobe light visions of at least finishing this debacle begin to stutter and they stop abruptly with a unison jeer, “The word is CLASP, you idiot!”