its not that i dont know you; i know you quite well. but for some reason i want to analyse the shit out of that signature of yours. i want to know the things you arent telling me and i know there are things youre not telling me; i know its probably not as bad as it seems, but i know there are things you dont want me to know. you act like i know all there is to know about you… but there are things i dont know. you don’t want to tell me everything; and as i look at your signature on that dotted line time after time… i see it there too.
It wasn’t signed, the note that she left. But…I knew it was from her. Her characteristic handwriting, the spirals dotting her i’s. It was more than obvious. Maybe that’s why she didn’t sign it, she knew I would know who she was.
Nick carefully signed the letter in his best cursive.
“Why cursive?” I asked, making a funny face.
“Hardly anyone cares about cursive these days. That’s why it’s the perfect way to address the Seers. They’ll understand how important it is to us.”
What is there to be written about the word signed? Often people tend to end letters by signing them, adding a little piece of themselves into what can otherwise be a rather bland combonation of words.
Nock carefully signed the letter in his best cursive.
“Why cursive?” I asked, making a funny face.
“Hardly anyone cares about cursive these days. That’s why it’s the perfect way to address the Seers. They’ll understand how important it is to us.”
he signed the piece of paper he couldn’t believe he had just signed away his freedom and all for her he had given up his life and freedom so that she could be free, he wasnt sure
signed sealed delivered im yours the radio is on ey didnt turn it on. someone is in the house. no. the radio isnt on. it was a dream, eir mother singing. singing in the shower it was very dark and red. carpet in the bathroom is never a good thing.
signed blank page wondering stop, a pall of smoke, then whipping like a dog’s tail, rainwater pouring from the eaves, spattering the garden, flattening the flowers, sign here on the dotted line, in the allotted time, and do it one over prime.
Laptop in hand she signed onto Facebook, just like any normal day. Continued with the normalcy, she searched through the list of online friends looking for that holy, unholy green dot by that holy, unholy name. Is this green dot a go ahead, or should it be red like a warning to slow down and think. She take a breath and types a simple message before pressing the button, sending her heart into the void.
He signed it. She met him. He shook her hand. Wow… She clutches the book to her chest turning in circles. To meet the man who writes the men of her dreams. And he smiled at her when she blushed and stumbled over her own names.
“With love, Lyndon James.”
i sogned the document and it sealed my destiny. This is it. This is where my adventure finally begins. Off to a new world, a new life. Im ready to start? I dont know. Forgetting everything could be the easy way out or it coukd be just what i need. so here i go. I signed the document holding my future and erasing my past.
I signed a treaty with the president today. It said that all the hybrids were to be dropped off in a certain location near Peru. I never expected the world to run this way. We’ll all die
Arthur sighed as he glanced over at the American in front of him, whom was holding up the signed document between his thin, pale fingers.”So it’s settled,” he murmured quietly, almost inaudible. Glancing down at his lap, Arthur sighed. He didn’t wish for this to happen. That document tore a hole in his heart.
when you packed up that box and put it in the back of my pickup truck I knew. I would never get to hear your beautiful singing, and watch your dancing when you did the dishes. I would never get to see the confused look you’d get when i’d say your name and pull you out of your dream world. I would never get hear those stupid noises you made when you got tired, or your puppy yawn, or your high pitched sneeze.
The signed form took place in a small banquet hall, on the fourth floor of the civic building. Amy had to wait in line all day to sign it. By the time she got to the front of the line her feet had gone numb with the cold. The heat was, like in every other building, defunct.
“Name?” asked the lady with the red hair.
“Claire Yups,” she replied.
(She never gave her real name at these things.)
i sign the document with even thinking twice, what have i done, this is it. Does everything change now going forward. Is this what i have been waiting for, does it matter now … i already signed it.
I signed up for the upcoming race. I didn’t realize what I was getting in to, but it didn’t matter. The race matters not quite as much as the preperation. I now had something to prepare for. It is the process that counts; not the summit.
The way is signed, the work is signed, and yet I can decipher my way through neither. What to do in this world of simultaneous rush to take credit and impossibility of knowing. I always sign my letters, Best
Sometimes inspiration is hard to come by. Other times you feel it so strongly that it’s all you can do to keep it from pouring out of your every orifice. Right now isn’t one of those times.
Signed,
Writer’s Blocked
I don’t like signing things. It makes me worry. Who sees this? Who could replicate my signature in a matter of seconds, signing a document that could bring upon us the end of the world? I don’t know. I don’t like signing things. I am always very secretive about it. I always ask who will see my signature when I sign things. I get weird looks, people think I am crazy. But it is not important. I am a bit paranoid when it comes to privacy. I do not like signing things.
Bullshit. That’s what I signed up for.. Lies and bullshit. False sentiments and promises. And to think I gave it all up for the lies of a man whom I did not love in the first place.. Bullshit.
I signed the end of the letter saying my goodbyes. It was suicide letter. I knew that it would never be read. I write these all the time. Then I burn them. It’s self-therapy I guess. Makes me feel okay. A little bit. Only a little bit.
She signed the letter with her name. She had thought for a while about using her sister’s; after all, he would have rather heard from her anyway. But it was all over now, and it didn’t matter anyway.
I finally signed the papers. I had been worried about them for the longest time. I was worried about what would happen, what people would think of me. But all those thoughts are gone now. Vanished, like the way the light leaves one’s eyes when they are dead and gone.
One time I signed a piece of paper stating I wanted to get a divorce. It was the best and worse thing that I ever did. I do not regret it, nor do I show it off like it’s great. He and I just weren’t meant for eachother although I did love him.
He signed my yearbook quickly. I was hoping for a “You’re really cute. Wish I could have gotten to know you better, he’s my number #######.” But all I got was a “Have a good summer.” Guess I should have saw it coming seeing I didn’t talk to anyone, all year.
She signed the papers. It was a done deal, but now she had to live with the results. After she agreed to this monumental commitment, it was now time to meet the child she pledged to raise. Nobody could help her plan or prepare for this coming moment, yet she wasn’t even thinking about herself, she was only enwrapped in the child’s mind: waiting for it’s new mother.
and with a pen i signed at the end of the paper that would send me to the other side of the world. i can’t stop thinking that i would be a whole different person if i had never did that little action just a year ago
The letter was not signed. The envelope was not stamped. Yet it had arrived at the house without the assistance of the United States Postal Service. It had been sneaked through the mail slot, as it were, dropped into the cluster of gathered dog hair reassembling into into a strange silhouette against the hallway carpet.
As the recipient stooped down to retrieve the mail, the unsigned letter poked upward, its red sheen most alarming. It was not a Valentine’s Day message. It was something much worse.
Signed. Sign language. As a hard of hearing person this is a big word for me. It allows me and some other people to talk, even when i can’t hear what they’re saying. Also makes people stare at me, which isn’t always that great. :p
I have signed my death sentence. I saw the other day a frightened lady being harassed my a strange man, I knew I had to help. When I got close to wack the head of that man i saw it was the PRESIDENT!
He was sexually abusing the lady, and I saw. He gave me a terrible look and said… you’re being watch.
its not that i dont know you; i know you quite well. but for some reason i want to analyse the shit out of that signature of yours. i want to know the things you arent telling me and i know there are things youre not telling me; i know its probably not as bad as it seems, but i know there are things you dont want me to know. you act like i know all there is to know about you… but there are things i dont know. you don’t want to tell me everything; and as i look at your signature on that dotted line time after time… i see it there too.
i signed a paper. paper a signed i.
signing papers is something i do. do i something is papers signing.
It wasn’t signed, the note that she left. But…I knew it was from her. Her characteristic handwriting, the spirals dotting her i’s. It was more than obvious. Maybe that’s why she didn’t sign it, she knew I would know who she was.
thin line at the bottom of the page I scribble in a hurried messy jumble “here” i shove the paper at him “i hope this is what you wanted”
Nick carefully signed the letter in his best cursive.
“Why cursive?” I asked, making a funny face.
“Hardly anyone cares about cursive these days. That’s why it’s the perfect way to address the Seers. They’ll understand how important it is to us.”
What is there to be written about the word signed? Often people tend to end letters by signing them, adding a little piece of themselves into what can otherwise be a rather bland combonation of words.
Nock carefully signed the letter in his best cursive.
“Why cursive?” I asked, making a funny face.
“Hardly anyone cares about cursive these days. That’s why it’s the perfect way to address the Seers. They’ll understand how important it is to us.”
he signed the piece of paper he couldn’t believe he had just signed away his freedom and all for her he had given up his life and freedom so that she could be free, he wasnt sure
signed sealed delivered im yours the radio is on ey didnt turn it on. someone is in the house. no. the radio isnt on. it was a dream, eir mother singing. singing in the shower it was very dark and red. carpet in the bathroom is never a good thing.
signed blank page wondering stop, a pall of smoke, then whipping like a dog’s tail, rainwater pouring from the eaves, spattering the garden, flattening the flowers, sign here on the dotted line, in the allotted time, and do it one over prime.
Laptop in hand she signed onto Facebook, just like any normal day. Continued with the normalcy, she searched through the list of online friends looking for that holy, unholy green dot by that holy, unholy name. Is this green dot a go ahead, or should it be red like a warning to slow down and think. She take a breath and types a simple message before pressing the button, sending her heart into the void.
He signed it. She met him. He shook her hand. Wow… She clutches the book to her chest turning in circles. To meet the man who writes the men of her dreams. And he smiled at her when she blushed and stumbled over her own names.
“With love, Lyndon James.”
i sogned the document and it sealed my destiny. This is it. This is where my adventure finally begins. Off to a new world, a new life. Im ready to start? I dont know. Forgetting everything could be the easy way out or it coukd be just what i need. so here i go. I signed the document holding my future and erasing my past.
I signed a treaty with the president today. It said that all the hybrids were to be dropped off in a certain location near Peru. I never expected the world to run this way. We’ll all die
Arthur sighed as he glanced over at the American in front of him, whom was holding up the signed document between his thin, pale fingers.”So it’s settled,” he murmured quietly, almost inaudible. Glancing down at his lap, Arthur sighed. He didn’t wish for this to happen. That document tore a hole in his heart.
The divorce was final, and he couldn’t stop it.
when you packed up that box and put it in the back of my pickup truck I knew. I would never get to hear your beautiful singing, and watch your dancing when you did the dishes. I would never get to see the confused look you’d get when i’d say your name and pull you out of your dream world. I would never get hear those stupid noises you made when you got tired, or your puppy yawn, or your high pitched sneeze.
The signed form took place in a small banquet hall, on the fourth floor of the civic building. Amy had to wait in line all day to sign it. By the time she got to the front of the line her feet had gone numb with the cold. The heat was, like in every other building, defunct.
“Name?” asked the lady with the red hair.
“Claire Yups,” she replied.
(She never gave her real name at these things.)
i sign the document with even thinking twice, what have i done, this is it. Does everything change now going forward. Is this what i have been waiting for, does it matter now … i already signed it.
I signed up for the upcoming race. I didn’t realize what I was getting in to, but it didn’t matter. The race matters not quite as much as the preperation. I now had something to prepare for. It is the process that counts; not the summit.
The way is signed, the work is signed, and yet I can decipher my way through neither. What to do in this world of simultaneous rush to take credit and impossibility of knowing. I always sign my letters, Best
Sometimes inspiration is hard to come by. Other times you feel it so strongly that it’s all you can do to keep it from pouring out of your every orifice. Right now isn’t one of those times.
Signed,
Writer’s Blocked
signed yours truly.
the effortless pen and paper glide together
in un-amassed fluidity.
bruising the surface
as their words puncture the soul.
as the words piece together
as a story is formed
has beens,
want to bees,
love muffins,
and buttercups..
fill this empty page with faceless memories
containing pain and sorrow
containing a signature from none other than…
yours truly.
I don’t like signing things. It makes me worry. Who sees this? Who could replicate my signature in a matter of seconds, signing a document that could bring upon us the end of the world? I don’t know. I don’t like signing things. I am always very secretive about it. I always ask who will see my signature when I sign things. I get weird looks, people think I am crazy. But it is not important. I am a bit paranoid when it comes to privacy. I do not like signing things.
Bullshit. That’s what I signed up for.. Lies and bullshit. False sentiments and promises. And to think I gave it all up for the lies of a man whom I did not love in the first place.. Bullshit.
I signed the end of the letter saying my goodbyes. It was suicide letter. I knew that it would never be read. I write these all the time. Then I burn them. It’s self-therapy I guess. Makes me feel okay. A little bit. Only a little bit.
She signed the letter with her name. She had thought for a while about using her sister’s; after all, he would have rather heard from her anyway. But it was all over now, and it didn’t matter anyway.
I finally signed the papers. I had been worried about them for the longest time. I was worried about what would happen, what people would think of me. But all those thoughts are gone now. Vanished, like the way the light leaves one’s eyes when they are dead and gone.
One time I signed a piece of paper stating I wanted to get a divorce. It was the best and worse thing that I ever did. I do not regret it, nor do I show it off like it’s great. He and I just weren’t meant for eachother although I did love him.
He signed my yearbook quickly. I was hoping for a “You’re really cute. Wish I could have gotten to know you better, he’s my number #######.” But all I got was a “Have a good summer.” Guess I should have saw it coming seeing I didn’t talk to anyone, all year.
She signed the papers. It was a done deal, but now she had to live with the results. After she agreed to this monumental commitment, it was now time to meet the child she pledged to raise. Nobody could help her plan or prepare for this coming moment, yet she wasn’t even thinking about herself, she was only enwrapped in the child’s mind: waiting for it’s new mother.
The pen squeaks against the creamy paper. The round letters she spent so long practicing. Now she was 18. Now the letters mean something.
на официальном веб-сайте можно увидеть большой набор свежих новостей про новости интернет газета
i once signed a piece of paper and it burst into flames and the ashes flew into the sky and blocked out the sun killing us all in only a month.
and with a pen i signed at the end of the paper that would send me to the other side of the world. i can’t stop thinking that i would be a whole different person if i had never did that little action just a year ago
The letter was not signed. The envelope was not stamped. Yet it had arrived at the house without the assistance of the United States Postal Service. It had been sneaked through the mail slot, as it were, dropped into the cluster of gathered dog hair reassembling into into a strange silhouette against the hallway carpet.
As the recipient stooped down to retrieve the mail, the unsigned letter poked upward, its red sheen most alarming. It was not a Valentine’s Day message. It was something much worse.
I have just signed in for the MBA courses, all around America. Hopefully I’ll be accepted in Havard, if not, I can go to other great schools too.
I wish I had re-
This is what I signed up for, so back off, and leave me alone.
Signed. Sign language. As a hard of hearing person this is a big word for me. It allows me and some other people to talk, even when i can’t hear what they’re saying. Also makes people stare at me, which isn’t always that great. :p
I have signed my death sentence. I saw the other day a frightened lady being harassed my a strange man, I knew I had to help. When I got close to wack the head of that man i saw it was the PRESIDENT!
He was sexually abusing the lady, and I saw. He gave me a terrible look and said… you’re being watch.