crisp chips with a big juicy sandwich. crisp air in the fall when it just starts to get cold. crisp crunch of leaves under my feet as i go for a walk and try to savor the moment, cold fingertips and toes but happy heart. crisp flat cookies ready to eat.
crisp is corn in the summer, picked fresh from the lake, through fluid, fluidity. it crunches. solid. clean like
unaltered oxygen
fresh from the stars.
**Facebook Inbox notification**
From: A stupid boy who i had previously blocked because he’s stupid, and i stupidly unblocked. “hadley the book was really sad. especially the ending hit me hard. i think i just wasn’t too interested at first because i’ve never lost anyone close to me.are you talking to me again?”
ANSWER: NO!
Real answer: ” “
First reaction answer: “Why did i unblock you?! i was asking for this”
Second reaction: “How did you find me?”
Answer from my rib cage: ” Will you be better?”
Hopeful Answer: “Maybe when you grow up.”
Honest answer: “I’m not going to talk to you but things will probably remind me of you on a daily basis and then ill forget about you after a while until one day someone mentions you or something reminds me and by then maybe ill talk to you again. if it seems worth it”
More Honest Answer: “I don’t think you’ll ever really change, you’ll just fool me for a little while until i let you walk all over me again”
Funny Answer: EFF NO!
Crisp Answer: i feel like answering this would be me talking to you, but basically i just want to say no, I’m not.
Stupid answer: “Yes of course we can talk again, now that you liked my book. You have solved everything abdullah. I can completely and totally trust you. Wow this is refreshing. I’m so lucky to have you in my life.”
Question Answer: “Would you talk to you again?”
Burn Answer: ” You’re wrong, you did lose someone close to you. ME.”
**Facebook Inbox notification**
From: A stupid boy who i had previously blocked because he’s stupid, and i stupidly unblocked. “hadley the book was really sad. especially the ending hit me hard. i think i just wasn’t too interested at first because i’ve never lost anyone close to me.are you talking to me again?”
ANSWER: NO!
Real answer: ” “
First reaction answer: “Why did i unblock you?! i was asking for this”
Second reaction: “How did you find me?”
Answer from my rib cage: ” Will you be better?”
Hopeful Answer: “Maybe when you grow up.”
Honest answer: “I’m not going to talk to you but things will probably remind me of you on a daily basis and then ill forget about you after a while until one day someone mentions you or something reminds me and by then maybe ill talk to you again. if it seems worth it”
More Honest Answer: “I don’t think you’ll ever really change, you’ll just fool me for a little while until i let you walk all over me again”
Funny Answer: FUCK NO!
Crisp Answer: i feel like answering this would be me talking to you, but basically i just want to say no, I’m not.
Stupid answer: “Yes of course we can talk again, now that you liked my book. You have solved everything abdullah. I can completely and totally trust you. Wow this is refreshing. I’m so lucky to have you in my life.”
Question Answer: “Would you talk to you again?”
Burn Answer: ” You’re wrong, you did lose someone close to you. ME.”
The crisp winter air whipped through my long blonde locks as freezing rain sliced against my frostbitten cheeks. The icy snow had seeped through my boots, and my toes had gone numb hours ago. I longed to be back at camp by the fire with Ryan and Meg, but I knew I had to continue on. If I returned with food, it could save all of our lives.
The crisp snapped on her lips as she sat across the room and watched me. It was infuriating, really. Watching those slender thighs cross, and delicate wrists slip into and from the bag to eat them.
I could feel the rolls of my stomach gurgle and whine, and the creases round my waist and back – and most of all, how tight my jeans felt on my thighs. I bit off the piece of celery with as much venom as I could.
The frost crunched loudly under her bare feet, crisp and even, as stiff grassblades simultaneously bent, snapped, and melted as her warm skin bore onto them. Behind her slow footsteps were silent, foot-shaped shadows in the white of the dawn-lit garden.
After twenty paces or so, she stopped. Looking to her left, she could see the fountain.
From it, a small trickle of water continued to fall, down one side, the only remaining passageway open to it among the icy waterfall which the rest of it had become, over the last week.
To her right, was a wooden fence. It was a high, solid fence, frost-licked until it had become a creamy brown, and deep red cycladias gathered in a crowd at its base. The dawn light, now growing stronger, allowed the early sun’s rays to catch the very top, melting the frost to reveal the darker wood underneath, leaving the fence as a whole appearing like a gianthneopolitan ice-cream.
Her feet could now feel the cold, the warmth of the bath she had just had was fading, and the chill brought out goose pimples across her body. She shivered momentarily. She stayed the shivers with a thought of something warm – hot chocolate. An enormous mug of it, thick, dark, and indulgent. It warded off the cold air for only a few seconds. Again she shivered.
In less than an hour, her footprints in the lawn would have faded, and in the silence of her leaving barefoot, she would not be missed by anyone for several more hours.
Continuing carefully, gently, and as quietly as she could, she stepped towards the high fence, and finding an overturned barrel, climbed up, and with a small jump, her fingers found the top of the fence, and she hung there briefly, considering her next move. Still holding there, she waited and listened.
A blackbird broke the silence with a euphoric chorus, quickly answered by a distant rival. This chorus quickly grew as others joined in, and within a minute, smaller songbirds had woken up and were announcing their survival of the coldest night of the year.
With the sudden onset of their clamour for attention, she scrabbled her feet against the fence, struggling to pull herself up to the top.
With some effort, a little out of breath, and beads of sweat that quickly turned frosty against her cheeks, she made it. She sat there, briefly admiring her victory, savouring the chorus of birdsong and the warmth of the dawn sun.
Then she slipped over the other side, and was gone, wearing nothing more than her regulation hospital dressing gown, and holding tightly to a twenty pound note she had kept safe under her mattress, away from the nurses.
A crisp breeze blew through them as they stood there, hand in hand. He gazed at her, this beautiful and mysterious creature. As the wind swirled through her hair he smelled the sweet and subtle scent of her shampoo. Strawberries. How did I manage to capture the affections of such a girl? This is a dream. It has to be because she’s far too perfect to be real.
The crisp surface of the hot pocket cracks in the microwave. DInner has never seemed so tasty.
Eight year old Sebastian steps on his toes to reach above the high counter and get out his hot pocket dinner. It would still be days before his mother would return, and he intended to make the best of his time alone.
apples. chips. air. it is crisp today. i love it when crisp air hits your nose and makes you want to rub it against something. my 2 littles do this and it is usually the rubbing their nose on my shoulder. love me some snotty shoulder.
He described his food with such a love of it and the language that she wished she could have been inside his mouth at the moment when spicy and savory, tender and crisp came together to make him smile.
apples were, to say the very least, her favourite fruit. there was something inately romantic about having grown up in the south of italy, prancing along the rows upon rows of trees in the family orchard. the sun was warm and heavy, and her family had a small house – a boathouse, really – at the edge of a very small lake that katrina had refurbished into her own private vacation house because no one else wandered like she did. she always ate by herself on those summer days, and the most vivid memory she had left was biting into countless fresh, crisp apples.
I felt the warmth wash over my skin; I felt like I was in a hot bath. But I was walking, trudging along in the deep, fluffy snow. The sound of my boots on the sidewalk made a lovely crisp sound. I smiled and burrowed further into my coat. Nothing ever felt this good–this feeling of freedom and readiness.
As I walked out of the dirty cellar the cool crisp air hit my face like a thin razorblade. I took a deep breath and started walking. Noone around. Deserted streets, a mirror of my deserted mind, empty and alone.
“You know they call these ‘potato crisps’ in Britain.”
“No, I didn’t know. Learn that from Doctor Who?”
“Nah, Neil Gaiman, I think. Said something about a ‘crisp packet’… oh, maybe it was just a packet that was of a crisp texture.”
“Wait, Neil Gaiman is British?”
He addressed me with a crisp Irish accent. I felt a smirk pulling up one corner of my mouth. I was hopeless against the foreign, musical sound of his words. Who isn’t, to some extent? It’s part of the human condition, I think.
I love drinking coca-cola with lots of booze in it.. It makes me get smashed and its one of the best mixed drinks in my opinion. Although putting spiced rum in it is not that bad either. Pepsi sucks on the otherhand. It tastes like flat coke with a lot of sugar.
The crisp winter air felt refreshing on her face when she stepped out of the door. The night before no longer sogging her down with it’s guilt and regret. “Perhaps,” she thought, “today will be a better day.” And with that she tugged on her scarf and took in a cleansing breath so deep her yoga instructor would be proud.
The flurries are finally falling. They hit my face in a delicate kiss. Crisp. A much needed refreshment. Soon all the dead is covered my sparkling, fluffy white.
crisp ı dont know what it means but ı can look up dictionary, crisp is a melodic name…. crisp crisp crisp ı m doing crisp …. yo!! crisp go crisp come….. there s nomore to say life is good, wish as u wish…. :!!: pP
The air was crisp, it felt like a million little needles stabbing her over and over again. She couldn’t believe she was actually doing this. She was actually going to do it this time. The only thing she had to do was jump and she was free.
I love crisp apples. They are always the juiciest ones. I love crisp mornings in the early fall. That is the best time to walk – early in the morning before most people are awake and moving.
walk walll wish will waham wopp wallop whoosh walll ahea re her she is tyhe the she is the she is the the she is the she sis is she is she is he is she is he she is he he is she rooster lamp foot hello i am yak hello i am elephant hello i am he i am she is he is she is he si so
I could hear the voices screaming, begging to be free. Each time something crunched, silencing their pleas, as of they had never been there, already forgotten. They had no power, their bodies paralyzed, unable to protect themselves.
Looking down again, I shook my head, as if it could remove the abstract thoughts from my head. “C’mon,” she said. “Stop playing with the leaves.” I smiled, then nodded before responding with a simple word: “Alright.”
I ate some chips today and the crunched with every bite. The sound reminded me of the crunch snow makes under your boots. This thought made me smile. I wish it was winter, my favourite season.
The crisp leaves crunched under her feet as she stumbled through the forest, running away from her boyfriend.
She loved him so much.
She needed to stop.
She didn’t believe in love, so she couldn’t believe in loving.
crisp chips with a big juicy sandwich. crisp air in the fall when it just starts to get cold. crisp crunch of leaves under my feet as i go for a walk and try to savor the moment, cold fingertips and toes but happy heart. crisp flat cookies ready to eat.
crisp is corn in the summer, picked fresh from the lake, through fluid, fluidity. it crunches. solid. clean like
unaltered oxygen
fresh from the stars.
close behind helium to fill out balloons.
The cookies were crisp. They were choclatey. And they could practically melt in your mouth. It was heaven on earth.
**Facebook Inbox notification**
From: A stupid boy who i had previously blocked because he’s stupid, and i stupidly unblocked. “hadley the book was really sad. especially the ending hit me hard. i think i just wasn’t too interested at first because i’ve never lost anyone close to me.are you talking to me again?”
ANSWER: NO!
Real answer: ” “
First reaction answer: “Why did i unblock you?! i was asking for this”
Second reaction: “How did you find me?”
Answer from my rib cage: ” Will you be better?”
Hopeful Answer: “Maybe when you grow up.”
Honest answer: “I’m not going to talk to you but things will probably remind me of you on a daily basis and then ill forget about you after a while until one day someone mentions you or something reminds me and by then maybe ill talk to you again. if it seems worth it”
More Honest Answer: “I don’t think you’ll ever really change, you’ll just fool me for a little while until i let you walk all over me again”
Funny Answer: EFF NO!
Crisp Answer: i feel like answering this would be me talking to you, but basically i just want to say no, I’m not.
Stupid answer: “Yes of course we can talk again, now that you liked my book. You have solved everything abdullah. I can completely and totally trust you. Wow this is refreshing. I’m so lucky to have you in my life.”
Question Answer: “Would you talk to you again?”
Burn Answer: ” You’re wrong, you did lose someone close to you. ME.”
**Facebook Inbox notification**
From: A stupid boy who i had previously blocked because he’s stupid, and i stupidly unblocked. “hadley the book was really sad. especially the ending hit me hard. i think i just wasn’t too interested at first because i’ve never lost anyone close to me.are you talking to me again?”
ANSWER: NO!
Real answer: ” “
First reaction answer: “Why did i unblock you?! i was asking for this”
Second reaction: “How did you find me?”
Answer from my rib cage: ” Will you be better?”
Hopeful Answer: “Maybe when you grow up.”
Honest answer: “I’m not going to talk to you but things will probably remind me of you on a daily basis and then ill forget about you after a while until one day someone mentions you or something reminds me and by then maybe ill talk to you again. if it seems worth it”
More Honest Answer: “I don’t think you’ll ever really change, you’ll just fool me for a little while until i let you walk all over me again”
Funny Answer: FUCK NO!
Crisp Answer: i feel like answering this would be me talking to you, but basically i just want to say no, I’m not.
Stupid answer: “Yes of course we can talk again, now that you liked my book. You have solved everything abdullah. I can completely and totally trust you. Wow this is refreshing. I’m so lucky to have you in my life.”
Question Answer: “Would you talk to you again?”
Burn Answer: ” You’re wrong, you did lose someone close to you. ME.”
Fried dumplings. Umma said to be careful while cooking, but I disregarded it. So those dumplings went from crisp to burned.
it’s word mean curly . but sometimes it can have another meaning like easily breaking. it.s smth like chips
The crisp winter air whipped through my long blonde locks as freezing rain sliced against my frostbitten cheeks. The icy snow had seeped through my boots, and my toes had gone numb hours ago. I longed to be back at camp by the fire with Ryan and Meg, but I knew I had to continue on. If I returned with food, it could save all of our lives.
The crisp snapped on her lips as she sat across the room and watched me. It was infuriating, really. Watching those slender thighs cross, and delicate wrists slip into and from the bag to eat them.
I could feel the rolls of my stomach gurgle and whine, and the creases round my waist and back – and most of all, how tight my jeans felt on my thighs. I bit off the piece of celery with as much venom as I could.
Crisp fall leaves
drowned in vodka
and cigarette smoke
covering my body –
a cocoon –
preparing for some kind of
metamorphosis.
The frost crunched loudly under her bare feet, crisp and even, as stiff grassblades simultaneously bent, snapped, and melted as her warm skin bore onto them. Behind her slow footsteps were silent, foot-shaped shadows in the white of the dawn-lit garden.
After twenty paces or so, she stopped. Looking to her left, she could see the fountain.
From it, a small trickle of water continued to fall, down one side, the only remaining passageway open to it among the icy waterfall which the rest of it had become, over the last week.
To her right, was a wooden fence. It was a high, solid fence, frost-licked until it had become a creamy brown, and deep red cycladias gathered in a crowd at its base. The dawn light, now growing stronger, allowed the early sun’s rays to catch the very top, melting the frost to reveal the darker wood underneath, leaving the fence as a whole appearing like a gianthneopolitan ice-cream.
Her feet could now feel the cold, the warmth of the bath she had just had was fading, and the chill brought out goose pimples across her body. She shivered momentarily. She stayed the shivers with a thought of something warm – hot chocolate. An enormous mug of it, thick, dark, and indulgent. It warded off the cold air for only a few seconds. Again she shivered.
In less than an hour, her footprints in the lawn would have faded, and in the silence of her leaving barefoot, she would not be missed by anyone for several more hours.
Continuing carefully, gently, and as quietly as she could, she stepped towards the high fence, and finding an overturned barrel, climbed up, and with a small jump, her fingers found the top of the fence, and she hung there briefly, considering her next move. Still holding there, she waited and listened.
A blackbird broke the silence with a euphoric chorus, quickly answered by a distant rival. This chorus quickly grew as others joined in, and within a minute, smaller songbirds had woken up and were announcing their survival of the coldest night of the year.
With the sudden onset of their clamour for attention, she scrabbled her feet against the fence, struggling to pull herself up to the top.
With some effort, a little out of breath, and beads of sweat that quickly turned frosty against her cheeks, she made it. She sat there, briefly admiring her victory, savouring the chorus of birdsong and the warmth of the dawn sun.
Then she slipped over the other side, and was gone, wearing nothing more than her regulation hospital dressing gown, and holding tightly to a twenty pound note she had kept safe under her mattress, away from the nurses.
A crisp breeze blew through them as they stood there, hand in hand. He gazed at her, this beautiful and mysterious creature. As the wind swirled through her hair he smelled the sweet and subtle scent of her shampoo. Strawberries. How did I manage to capture the affections of such a girl? This is a dream. It has to be because she’s far too perfect to be real.
Crunch, crunch
step by step
the fall leaves under my
heavy feet
freshly fallen
wind
cold and heavy
against my face
drying my eyes and
numbing my nose
Crisp, ate bunch of them today.
Crisp, yes they surely were crispy as hell.
Crisp, the noise … This crisping noise was sooooooo coooool.
The crisp surface of the hot pocket cracks in the microwave. DInner has never seemed so tasty.
Eight year old Sebastian steps on his toes to reach above the high counter and get out his hot pocket dinner. It would still be days before his mother would return, and he intended to make the best of his time alone.
Crisp, cold winds with the crisp crunch of leaves beneath black boots.
Autumn sounds. A
apples. chips. air. it is crisp today. i love it when crisp air hits your nose and makes you want to rub it against something. my 2 littles do this and it is usually the rubbing their nose on my shoulder. love me some snotty shoulder.
He described his food with such a love of it and the language that she wished she could have been inside his mouth at the moment when spicy and savory, tender and crisp came together to make him smile.
apples were, to say the very least, her favourite fruit. there was something inately romantic about having grown up in the south of italy, prancing along the rows upon rows of trees in the family orchard. the sun was warm and heavy, and her family had a small house – a boathouse, really – at the edge of a very small lake that katrina had refurbished into her own private vacation house because no one else wandered like she did. she always ate by herself on those summer days, and the most vivid memory she had left was biting into countless fresh, crisp apples.
I felt the warmth wash over my skin; I felt like I was in a hot bath. But I was walking, trudging along in the deep, fluffy snow. The sound of my boots on the sidewalk made a lovely crisp sound. I smiled and burrowed further into my coat. Nothing ever felt this good–this feeling of freedom and readiness.
apples on a fall day
the breeze rustling through colorful leaves
teachers speaking, trying to be heard over students’ talking in class
As I walked out of the dirty cellar the cool crisp air hit my face like a thin razorblade. I took a deep breath and started walking. Noone around. Deserted streets, a mirror of my deserted mind, empty and alone.
crackling under the press of my fingers
two snaps through the air
pieces of an evergreen, fallen
branches of pine needles in the morning air
Crispy air like wispy hair blows in my face without a trace.
“You know they call these ‘potato crisps’ in Britain.”
“No, I didn’t know. Learn that from Doctor Who?”
“Nah, Neil Gaiman, I think. Said something about a ‘crisp packet’… oh, maybe it was just a packet that was of a crisp texture.”
“Wait, Neil Gaiman is British?”
He addressed me with a crisp Irish accent. I felt a smirk pulling up one corner of my mouth. I was hopeless against the foreign, musical sound of his words. Who isn’t, to some extent? It’s part of the human condition, I think.
I love drinking coca-cola with lots of booze in it.. It makes me get smashed and its one of the best mixed drinks in my opinion. Although putting spiced rum in it is not that bad either. Pepsi sucks on the otherhand. It tastes like flat coke with a lot of sugar.
The crisp winter air felt refreshing on her face when she stepped out of the door. The night before no longer sogging her down with it’s guilt and regret. “Perhaps,” she thought, “today will be a better day.” And with that she tugged on her scarf and took in a cleansing breath so deep her yoga instructor would be proud.
The flurries are finally falling. They hit my face in a delicate kiss. Crisp. A much needed refreshment. Soon all the dead is covered my sparkling, fluffy white.
crisp ı dont know what it means but ı can look up dictionary, crisp is a melodic name…. crisp crisp crisp ı m doing crisp …. yo!! crisp go crisp come….. there s nomore to say life is good, wish as u wish…. :!!: pP
The air was crisp, it felt like a million little needles stabbing her over and over again. She couldn’t believe she was actually doing this. She was actually going to do it this time. The only thing she had to do was jump and she was free.
It was cold that morning, but the air was clear and crisp with the promise of new beginnings.
I love crisp apples. They are always the juiciest ones. I love crisp mornings in the early fall. That is the best time to walk – early in the morning before most people are awake and moving.
not soft but good!
walk walll wish will waham wopp wallop whoosh walll ahea re her she is tyhe the she is the she is the the she is the she sis is she is she is he is she is he she is he he is she rooster lamp foot hello i am yak hello i am elephant hello i am he i am she is he is she is he si so
I could hear the voices screaming, begging to be free. Each time something crunched, silencing their pleas, as of they had never been there, already forgotten. They had no power, their bodies paralyzed, unable to protect themselves.
Looking down again, I shook my head, as if it could remove the abstract thoughts from my head. “C’mon,” she said. “Stop playing with the leaves.” I smiled, then nodded before responding with a simple word: “Alright.”
Pressed, sharp corners, snaps when you break it. The way the snow sounds on a really cold day underfoot. Crisp.
I ate some chips today and the crunched with every bite. The sound reminded me of the crunch snow makes under your boots. This thought made me smile. I wish it was winter, my favourite season.
A great sound, a sign that something is sharp and well presented. A delight of different flavours, especially when dunked in dips.