who could influence the weather like she could? no one, she thought, satisfied with another storm, another crash of thunder and lightning, another tornado to wreak havoc in its wake. no, no one could influence the weather like she could.
In the desolate expanse, the desert wind sculpts the dunes. Silently, without insistence, it molds the landscape. It’s the unspoken artist, etching the chronicles of time on the canvas of sand, whispering stories through its transient sculptures.
He liked the way the sun settled over the river, shaping the water’s color, guiding its mood. He’d pour his whiskey, not because he loved the burn, but how the amber liquid swayed the river of his thoughts.
Beneath the thrumming tick of the timepiece, the gentle curve of her silken hand etches stories on vellum. It’s an intimate dance, guided not by her alone, but by the distant echoes of every soul whose whispers stir the air she breathes.
Consider a jellybean. Small, innocent, yet it coerces your taste buds, alters your mood. We’d like to think we’re captains of our souls, but in truth, we’re just sails adrift in a sea of jellybeans.
if you had an influuence on me
by now id be
out of this memrory
and into another life
with no you and me’s
but im still here
youre haunting me in my dreams
the only influence we had on each other
was that you understood when to leave
by leaving. you taught me
how to really grieve somebody
These days it is controversial if children are being influenced mostly by parents or their peers.
who could influence the weather like she could? no one, she thought, satisfied with another storm, another crash of thunder and lightning, another tornado to wreak havoc in its wake. no, no one could influence the weather like she could.
In the desolate expanse, the desert wind sculpts the dunes. Silently, without insistence, it molds the landscape. It’s the unspoken artist, etching the chronicles of time on the canvas of sand, whispering stories through its transient sculptures.
He liked the way the sun settled over the river, shaping the water’s color, guiding its mood. He’d pour his whiskey, not because he loved the burn, but how the amber liquid swayed the river of his thoughts.
Beneath the thrumming tick of the timepiece, the gentle curve of her silken hand etches stories on vellum. It’s an intimate dance, guided not by her alone, but by the distant echoes of every soul whose whispers stir the air she breathes.
Consider a jellybean. Small, innocent, yet it coerces your taste buds, alters your mood. We’d like to think we’re captains of our souls, but in truth, we’re just sails adrift in a sea of jellybeans.
if you had an influuence on me
by now id be
out of this memrory
and into another life
with no you and me’s
but im still here
youre haunting me in my dreams
the only influence we had on each other
was that you understood when to leave
by leaving. you taught me
how to really grieve somebody