The document was signed on the dotted line. The divorce was final,finally. No more being in this no man’s land of no longer married but not quite unmarried. Yeah closure at last!
He had a tuxedo and stood before me with a welcoming smile. I knew what I had done and I needed to push on. But I was afraid now that he was here. He hold the curious pen close to my hand and like any business man, smiled softly. I would never knew that I could have signed the contract for my soul so easily.
He passed her the piece of paper that held more worth than weight. At first she eyed it, refusing to make a move.
“You better make the right choice,” he snickered.
“Fuck off.”
And with that, she dangled the pen in her hand, angling it toward the paper as if she was going to sign it. He watched her hand inch closer and closer to the paper, awaiting the moment when they would collide, thus forming his dream.
Before he could react, she stabbed his arm with the pen, and ran.
Hey
I don’t know how else to start this, so here we go.
I am in love with you. I have been since the first moment I laid eyes on your beautiful brown eyes framed so perfectly by your thick black lashes. I got so lost in their depths, I thought for sure I would drown. But I have no problem with that you see, because getting lost in your eyes is one step closer to get lost in your soul and I want to know you, every part of you intimately. Even the parts you try to hide from the rest of the world because you fear rejection. Know this, I could never reject any part of you because like i said I am in love with you.
Signed with all the love my heart could possibly give
signed, mccarthy. Signed, somebody. Somebody. Somebody. Here. A somebody. Yeah, I’ll be somebody maybe. Maybe this signature, this something, means something, makes me something, some body. Some body. A body. A shell. But so much. Signed, some body. Signed, a hand making a stroke from the mind.
paper pen contract delived sealed stevie wonder justin timberlake sign language signet swan sinead wrote agreed on the dotted line letter envelope autograph picture
she signed the back of the check will a light blue pen and a barely visible frown. Anybody passing by wouldn’t have noticed it, after all, he hardly noticed it himself, but it was there all the same. She handed him the check with the faded picture of an ocean view and turned on one heel. he stared down at her beautiful, looping signature and was reminded of everything they once had.
Treaties are signed. Love letters are signed, usually with hearts and cupids with bows and arrows. Get Well Soon cards are signed, sometimes by well meaning people.
Hearts are signed. With the names of loved ones, broken memories, and angry scars. A soul can be signed, with a purpose by the hand of God.
She signed the last of her message and then sat down to read the note. It was hard to breathe and even harder to make out the words through her tears.
This would forever change her world. There would be no turning back, but she tried not to question her own decision. She reminded herself that this was not merely the end of a chapter, but it could signal a whole new beginning. . . a new beginning that she desperately needed. It was one that she had to convince herself that she deserved.
i signed up for a job the other day, I was such a mess. I know for sure that they’ll never call me back. why would they want to hire someone as stupid as I am? i wouldn’t even want to call back myself for this job… couldn’t I be more perfect ? damn it was just a fucking job interview.
I signed an agreement with the devil to sell my soul and he was like are you kidding me and I said no I really want to. He was like look at your face man. you can’t sign here.
So I left and kill satan in my dreams daily.
I don’t like to think of anything I write as definitive, as the final say on anything that binds it to me and marks it as standing truth. I don’t think any signature can be true always, that any promise goes without an expiry date. The earth is waiting to quake, possibility dueling improbability through every ink splotch on papyrus; I, I meaning us all, can’t know what our hearts will entice our minds to trigger our bodies to fall into tomorrow, because of or against the path of our souls.
I signed a paper. It was not just any paper, it was the contract for the lease of my house. I don’t even know what a lease is, I don’t even own a house. That was the scary part.
The contract is sealed. Funny really. Just a couple drops of blood and yet I will be damned for eternity. I don’t care. I will gladly give my soul a thousand times over just to be with her. She is worth all the pain and damnation. Nothing else matters.
He signed his name on the line and suddenly the bottom of his stomach dropped out and he realized that signing that was probably not a particularly good idea then he caught sight of the salesman’s smirk and he worried.
I walked into the store. There was a girl trying to communicate with a clerk. She made another motion with her hand, and the clerk yelled, trying to get her to hear him. I stepped up and looked at the girl.
“Can I interpret for you?” I signed and said aloud.
segnato in italiano, una parola di cui fatico a comprendere il significato, forse vuol dire sfregiato, forse appuntato, forse non centra niente. perchè sono qui? dovrei essere triste
I signed off on the mortgage, sighing as I did so. I didn’t want this house. It was all her decision, and I would have to live with it for the next thirty or so years, working day after day after day to pay it off. It was too big. It was too expensive. It was more than we needed. And yet I signed the paper.
His name. The soft loop of the letters. I trace them with my fingers and wonder if I’ll ever see him again. It ended too soon. It was a night like this and he was working.
Her pudgy hand grips the pencil like a knife. Madeline. She writes, it’s the first time she’s ever written her name. The “l” is far from straight but it’s pretty impressive.
Signed off, singed on, singed up. It all starts with a sign up. Get started, go. But what if I don’t want to. What if I want off the bus? Is it a done deal because I signed on to go. Have I singed my life away? It is all over now. Over the hill, overdrawn. Over.
Not sure if this is what I signed up for. I want out! I want a do over. I wan to end the class.
The ink bled down the page as he signed his name, right at the bottom. He had promised he would never sell the old farm house, but it was beginning to drive him mad. Screams echoed through the constantly, deadly cold hallways and the stairs would often creak and groan even when nobody traveled them. The house was haunted, yes, he had know that for quite some time. But recently, a different realization had bloomed within him, one that had left him with no other choice than to sign the papers.
Everyone is signed for a mission. Everyday. Everywhere. There’s no point in not doing it. We were signed for it so it’s our job to pursue our mission. Life is our mission.
She sighed her name at the bottom in a single flourish. “There. We done?” she asked, shoving the document away from her as though it’s very existence annoyed her.
Jackson sighed but nodded. “Yeah, we’re done for now.” he said as he began gathering the rest of the papers together, readying them for the safe return to his briefcase.
“Good, I was getting bored.” she declared before standing and moving towards the door. “‘Sides, I got places ta be, ya know?”
He sighed again, louder this time. “Tasha, a word of advice?”
She looked back at him. “What else am I payin’ ya for?” she asked wryly.
He laughed. “I’m saying this as your friend AND as your lawyer.” he began. “Just…try not to get married again before the week’s out, huh?”
She flashed him a smile that was all sexuality and dimples. “No promises, Jackie-boy.” she said, turning back. “No promises.”
With a swish and flick of the wrist she signed the last document. Her signature looped, a flourish of black ink slightly splattered on yellowed paper. With a sigh of relief she stood, waving her attendant away and taking a sip of her lukewarm tea.
The signed autograph stared at me with untold stories. What do you mean? A passing fan gets 10 seconds of someone’s time for what? Why does the feeling in my mouth taste so bitter? Could this scribble change my life forever? Will it appreciate with time and eventually bring me some happiness? How is there so much value from another’s scribble?
you have been signed in. now, that you have entered the real life, let’s take step 2. you have been out og the internet for like 25 seconds now. that’s good. but you gotta keep trying. i know you can. you are a strong person. you are the best. don’t think of the others. think of what you can do, and you will do it!! I believe in you.
I signed my name at the bottom of the paper. It was a huge document — 53 pages to be exact — that I had just read. This was the commitment I was making to myself, to my country, to my people. It was no small job. The document was filled with warnings about how my life would probably be lots shorter, too.
The letter I held in my hands was all I had left of him now. That’s all that he’d deemed fit to leave me with; after everything we went through, after all of the memories, all of the love, all of the pain… He had vacated my life like I was nothing, taking everything with him and only leaving me with this piece of paper. This flimsy letter…
As she penned the final slanted letter of her signature, she knew that something terrible would happen to her brother. Something unmentionable. There was no turning back
The document was signed on the dotted line. The divorce was final,finally. No more being in this no man’s land of no longer married but not quite unmarried. Yeah closure at last!
He had a tuxedo and stood before me with a welcoming smile. I knew what I had done and I needed to push on. But I was afraid now that he was here. He hold the curious pen close to my hand and like any business man, smiled softly. I would never knew that I could have signed the contract for my soul so easily.
i signed lots of papers the other day. that’s it.
He passed her the piece of paper that held more worth than weight. At first she eyed it, refusing to make a move.
“You better make the right choice,” he snickered.
“Fuck off.”
And with that, she dangled the pen in her hand, angling it toward the paper as if she was going to sign it. He watched her hand inch closer and closer to the paper, awaiting the moment when they would collide, thus forming his dream.
Before he could react, she stabbed his arm with the pen, and ran.
Hey
I don’t know how else to start this, so here we go.
I am in love with you. I have been since the first moment I laid eyes on your beautiful brown eyes framed so perfectly by your thick black lashes. I got so lost in their depths, I thought for sure I would drown. But I have no problem with that you see, because getting lost in your eyes is one step closer to get lost in your soul and I want to know you, every part of you intimately. Even the parts you try to hide from the rest of the world because you fear rejection. Know this, I could never reject any part of you because like i said I am in love with you.
Signed with all the love my heart could possibly give
signed, mccarthy. Signed, somebody. Somebody. Somebody. Here. A somebody. Yeah, I’ll be somebody maybe. Maybe this signature, this something, means something, makes me something, some body. Some body. A body. A shell. But so much. Signed, some body. Signed, a hand making a stroke from the mind.
paper pen contract delived sealed stevie wonder justin timberlake sign language signet swan sinead wrote agreed on the dotted line letter envelope autograph picture
she signed the back of the check will a light blue pen and a barely visible frown. Anybody passing by wouldn’t have noticed it, after all, he hardly noticed it himself, but it was there all the same. She handed him the check with the faded picture of an ocean view and turned on one heel. he stared down at her beautiful, looping signature and was reminded of everything they once had.
Treaties are signed. Love letters are signed, usually with hearts and cupids with bows and arrows. Get Well Soon cards are signed, sometimes by well meaning people.
Hearts are signed. With the names of loved ones, broken memories, and angry scars. A soul can be signed, with a purpose by the hand of God.
She signed the last of her message and then sat down to read the note. It was hard to breathe and even harder to make out the words through her tears.
This would forever change her world. There would be no turning back, but she tried not to question her own decision. She reminded herself that this was not merely the end of a chapter, but it could signal a whole new beginning. . . a new beginning that she desperately needed. It was one that she had to convince herself that she deserved.
i signed up for a job the other day, I was such a mess. I know for sure that they’ll never call me back. why would they want to hire someone as stupid as I am? i wouldn’t even want to call back myself for this job… couldn’t I be more perfect ? damn it was just a fucking job interview.
I signed an agreement with the devil to sell my soul and he was like are you kidding me and I said no I really want to. He was like look at your face man. you can’t sign here.
So I left and kill satan in my dreams daily.
Signed, sealed, delivered, I’m yours?
I don’t like to think of anything I write as definitive, as the final say on anything that binds it to me and marks it as standing truth. I don’t think any signature can be true always, that any promise goes without an expiry date. The earth is waiting to quake, possibility dueling improbability through every ink splotch on papyrus; I, I meaning us all, can’t know what our hearts will entice our minds to trigger our bodies to fall into tomorrow, because of or against the path of our souls.
ernfjewkdmeffj signed
i’ve written this word like 6000 times and i dont even know what it means
I immediately signed the contract for the lease for my house. The scary part was that a) I don’t know what a lease is and b) I don’t own a house.
I signed a paper. It was not just any paper, it was the contract for the lease of my house. I don’t even know what a lease is, I don’t even own a house. That was the scary part.
The contract is sealed. Funny really. Just a couple drops of blood and yet I will be damned for eternity. I don’t care. I will gladly give my soul a thousand times over just to be with her. She is worth all the pain and damnation. Nothing else matters.
редбулл
He signed his name on the line and suddenly the bottom of his stomach dropped out and he realized that signing that was probably not a particularly good idea then he caught sight of the salesman’s smirk and he worried.
I think of music. I have no interest in music. Signed makes someone’s life but not mine- music is great but talent is something I don’t have much of.
I walked into the store. There was a girl trying to communicate with a clerk. She made another motion with her hand, and the clerk yelled, trying to get her to hear him. I stepped up and looked at the girl.
“Can I interpret for you?” I signed and said aloud.
segnato in italiano, una parola di cui fatico a comprendere il significato, forse vuol dire sfregiato, forse appuntato, forse non centra niente. perchè sono qui? dovrei essere triste
Chicken scratch makes me itch…unless it’s when signing my name.
this is as official as I’ll ever be:
never sell your soul to harmony
I signed off on the mortgage, sighing as I did so. I didn’t want this house. It was all her decision, and I would have to live with it for the next thirty or so years, working day after day after day to pay it off. It was too big. It was too expensive. It was more than we needed. And yet I signed the paper.
His name. The soft loop of the letters. I trace them with my fingers and wonder if I’ll ever see him again. It ended too soon. It was a night like this and he was working.
Her pudgy hand grips the pencil like a knife. Madeline. She writes, it’s the first time she’s ever written her name. The “l” is far from straight but it’s pretty impressive.
phallic, viceral.
Signed off, singed on, singed up. It all starts with a sign up. Get started, go. But what if I don’t want to. What if I want off the bus? Is it a done deal because I signed on to go. Have I singed my life away? It is all over now. Over the hill, overdrawn. Over.
Not sure if this is what I signed up for. I want out! I want a do over. I wan to end the class.
The ink bled down the page as he signed his name, right at the bottom. He had promised he would never sell the old farm house, but it was beginning to drive him mad. Screams echoed through the constantly, deadly cold hallways and the stairs would often creak and groan even when nobody traveled them. The house was haunted, yes, he had know that for quite some time. But recently, a different realization had bloomed within him, one that had left him with no other choice than to sign the papers.
The house was alive.
Everyone is signed for a mission. Everyday. Everywhere. There’s no point in not doing it. We were signed for it so it’s our job to pursue our mission. Life is our mission.
She sighed her name at the bottom in a single flourish. “There. We done?” she asked, shoving the document away from her as though it’s very existence annoyed her.
Jackson sighed but nodded. “Yeah, we’re done for now.” he said as he began gathering the rest of the papers together, readying them for the safe return to his briefcase.
“Good, I was getting bored.” she declared before standing and moving towards the door. “‘Sides, I got places ta be, ya know?”
He sighed again, louder this time. “Tasha, a word of advice?”
She looked back at him. “What else am I payin’ ya for?” she asked wryly.
He laughed. “I’m saying this as your friend AND as your lawyer.” he began. “Just…try not to get married again before the week’s out, huh?”
She flashed him a smile that was all sexuality and dimples. “No promises, Jackie-boy.” she said, turning back. “No promises.”
With a swish and flick of the wrist she signed the last document. Her signature looped, a flourish of black ink slightly splattered on yellowed paper. With a sigh of relief she stood, waving her attendant away and taking a sip of her lukewarm tea.
The signed autograph stared at me with untold stories. What do you mean? A passing fan gets 10 seconds of someone’s time for what? Why does the feeling in my mouth taste so bitter? Could this scribble change my life forever? Will it appreciate with time and eventually bring me some happiness? How is there so much value from another’s scribble?
you have been signed in. now, that you have entered the real life, let’s take step 2. you have been out og the internet for like 25 seconds now. that’s good. but you gotta keep trying. i know you can. you are a strong person. you are the best. don’t think of the others. think of what you can do, and you will do it!! I believe in you.
i signed it.
and yet nobody could understand my wishes any better.
I signed my name at the bottom of the paper. It was a huge document — 53 pages to be exact — that I had just read. This was the commitment I was making to myself, to my country, to my people. It was no small job. The document was filled with warnings about how my life would probably be lots shorter, too.
The boss signed off on it. Extreme circumstances, and all that.
I shoved my hand in, deep, past the elastic skin, the fat layer, the thin and curving rib bones. I felt the heart in my palm, and squeezed.
And Jason Pike was no more.
“…Yours sincerely, Adam.”
The letter I held in my hands was all I had left of him now. That’s all that he’d deemed fit to leave me with; after everything we went through, after all of the memories, all of the love, all of the pain… He had vacated my life like I was nothing, taking everything with him and only leaving me with this piece of paper. This flimsy letter…
I couldn’t understand it. After everything… Why?
As she penned the final slanted letter of her signature, she knew that something terrible would happen to her brother. Something unmentionable. There was no turning back