I had a strand of my life that I thought I could never retrieve. While walking home one day, however, I realized that I never wanted it in the first place. I’m glad it’s gone.
hair, string. guitar. dress,scarf, but the and she wore a pink red bow bandana shoes candy bugs frog men tree and always love of family and life and god
one strand of hair kept falling in my face. There was nothing I could do. It wouldn’t have mattered if it wasn’t for the fact I was presenting the pitch of my life. An opportunity I might never have again. A single strand fell between me and fame, me and eternity. A single strand that was interfering with an otherwise perfect train of thought. Who would have thought. I just couldnt focus. No one had a pair of scissors. That probaby would have been too dangerous anyway. I just had to do it, I just had to. But my mind was blank. No more thoughts. So I said, It would only take a single strand of thought to seize this opportunity. I think you all are focusing too big. Go smaller, leaner. Tune it down to the size of a single hair. Get it in your lens and be sure it is so focused that you cannot mss. That is the trick. You cannot miss if you have the strand of thought I am proposing. I mean it. I thought I would have to come her e with a big presentation, but then I realized little can be better. Small as a strand of hair I said. I watched their faces. I was amazed. They were sitting their, all eyes focused on me. I had them. By a single strand of their greasy hairs I had them all!! Who would have thought? It was all so easy. The best laid plans of man and wmen have rested on something so small, millions of times, I bet. I knew that I had won this round.
I have been stranded in my life by vehicles, horses, and most hurtfully friends but I have never been stranded by myself.
There is a strand in Galveston, Texas that I loved to visit when I was young but I fear aging and responsibilities keeps me for what I love and therefore I must ask “Have I become stranded?”
Finding myself. Finding myself stranded. A single strand a rope in my hand, on a tropical island. Fear, human instinct, takes over. Fading to black, is my situation.
and i was stranded with her on the white beach where we laid and told each other stories of where we’d come from before it all. she took my hand and held it. from sunrise to sunset it was all silent but a million words were spoken. then the rescue boat came. I never saw her again but i can still feel her silky clutch on my hand.
of hair. i have none . i sut it all off and exposed a bald spot that keeps getting bigger. my decision making skills are rudimentary at best. i hope that was the right use of the word rudimentary. oh well.
A strand of hair? A strand lost in time. A car going down a rainy street. Chhesey? Back to strand. It’s a fragment, a piece. It can almost be a metaphor. ALl your problems summed up in one moment of lucidity. This timer makes me nervous.
i’m stranded on a deserted island in the middle of the ocean. or that’s the way it feels sometimes. my life is floating across a vast ocean of limitless possibilities. or are they maelstroms?
wetterstrand hahah. No that’s not too funny. That’s the name of my 9th grade computer science teacher. She had a patch of white hair on the back of her head… and would drink 6 slim-fasts every day for lunch. i really don’t know what else to say… i’m pretty stoned
a strand of hair grasps my hair in sweet frustration. Intoxication slowly taking over that which haunts the babies of the night. The babies? Where did they go? Too many to count we try and tell time in the dark. Tomorrow’s another day…another time…another place. Tomorrows sweet. Try to tell me to stop. I won’t I won’t.
the strand of her hair spilled down her back and into a small pile on the duvet. her naked back glistening with the smell of sex and sweat. her long hair looped on the top of her head was already coming undone. to me she looked like an immortal goddess, perfect.
I awoke in the morning, a little bleary eyed and hung-over. I could feel the warmth of a human body next to me and a single strand of hair accross my face.
I was stranded on a beach with only one sock. I found the sock to be quite contagious of the feeling of awkwardness. This was peculiar to me since my whole life I had been used to wearing 2 socks. But since I was now only with the one I became acutely aware of the lesson of the socks.
he had a strand of hair in his face as he spoke. the light cascaded off of the golden brown in it, and the color reminded me of coffee and cream in the mornings when i was a child. i love him like i love the day, and green things in the summertime.
a strand of hair was caught in the barbed wire fence as she was trying to cross over to the greener pasture. Stands of water fell from her forehead as she was struggling to get lose from the wire. There was no help to be had and she continued to struggle.
I walked alone away from the place, taking my car keys with me. I wanted her to wonder where I went, Was I ok, did I leave with a girl? The mystery of it was all I had.
a strand of hair had blown loose from her very up tight bun. “what” she asked the man sitting behingd the counter. “A girl cant have a shitty day?”….grudgingly the man lifted his eyes from the floor and kissed her full on the mouth.
a small line of sand that jutts out from the shore to the sea. A strand of sand is a place where seagulls fly and search for food that makes them happy. Strand is also a theatre, or cinema.
It can be hope, a ting, a desire for what could be left. most people hope and need and desire what many lack, and that “strand” that small inkling of this sought for new freedom to resign in the hands of hope. That light at the end of the preverbial tunnel. This new chance to move to and through the next path of life. A strand of hope.
the strand of hair leapt into my imagination and strangled my thoughts. it was the one i carefully picked up after she left my house after an intense bout of lovemaking. i don’t know where she is now.
hair pieces tangle and knot as we moan and groan and sweat and bet that this thing won’t last till next week.
it’s all a bit too common, those messy strands in your eyes..i’ve seen them before and they alert me that you are no different than anyone else i’ve ever seen.
I was stranded there. Just me in the sand, no one else was there. How could they leave me with waves crashing so? So alone in the night with sea water in my hair. I think fast and swim away. The night swallows me whole. This is the right way for me to go.
a strand of hair should always be cut regularly. like right now, on what not to wear, this girl just totally freaked out because nick cut, like, two inches off of her long, frizzy hair. what she sees in a strand of hair is not what everyone else sees; it is not reality. This reminds me of something the author of Rich Dad, Poor Dad said about always staying up with current trends.
depends on my internet connection it just happens that last year I haven’t swam at all I miss swimming a strand of something a right hand of a guy on my neck orange color i8s nice what can I do about it?
stranded on the strand, i stand.
alone, morose, distracted.
she writes about you all the time. i don’t know how to deal with it. i wish i wasn’t jealous.
hell, but i am. and so i stand, and strand, this patch of land, my sadness fanned.
I had a strand of my life that I thought I could never retrieve. While walking home one day, however, I realized that I never wanted it in the first place. I’m glad it’s gone.
hair, string. guitar. dress,scarf, but the and she wore a pink red bow bandana shoes candy bugs frog men tree and always love of family and life and god
hair, univeristy paper, DNA, blonde, single, crime, delicate
one strand of hair kept falling in my face. There was nothing I could do. It wouldn’t have mattered if it wasn’t for the fact I was presenting the pitch of my life. An opportunity I might never have again. A single strand fell between me and fame, me and eternity. A single strand that was interfering with an otherwise perfect train of thought. Who would have thought. I just couldnt focus. No one had a pair of scissors. That probaby would have been too dangerous anyway. I just had to do it, I just had to. But my mind was blank. No more thoughts. So I said, It would only take a single strand of thought to seize this opportunity. I think you all are focusing too big. Go smaller, leaner. Tune it down to the size of a single hair. Get it in your lens and be sure it is so focused that you cannot mss. That is the trick. You cannot miss if you have the strand of thought I am proposing. I mean it. I thought I would have to come her e with a big presentation, but then I realized little can be better. Small as a strand of hair I said. I watched their faces. I was amazed. They were sitting their, all eyes focused on me. I had them. By a single strand of their greasy hairs I had them all!! Who would have thought? It was all so easy. The best laid plans of man and wmen have rested on something so small, millions of times, I bet. I knew that I had won this round.
a strand of wheat hangs from the rafter above me longing to return to the field beyond. Ripped from it’ home, friends.. to feed me. how impersonal.
I have been stranded in my life by vehicles, horses, and most hurtfully friends but I have never been stranded by myself.
There is a strand in Galveston, Texas that I loved to visit when I was young but I fear aging and responsibilities keeps me for what I love and therefore I must ask “Have I become stranded?”
Finding myself. Finding myself stranded. A single strand a rope in my hand, on a tropical island. Fear, human instinct, takes over. Fading to black, is my situation.
and i was stranded with her on the white beach where we laid and told each other stories of where we’d come from before it all. she took my hand and held it. from sunrise to sunset it was all silent but a million words were spoken. then the rescue boat came. I never saw her again but i can still feel her silky clutch on my hand.
of hair. i have none . i sut it all off and exposed a bald spot that keeps getting bigger. my decision making skills are rudimentary at best. i hope that was the right use of the word rudimentary. oh well.
of string and time and breath and spit
so breathe
let pull
let be
A strand of pearls might be found by someone stranded on a desert island, but only if they can hold their breath long enough while pearl diving.
hair, musical strings, string, river,
strand sweater unraveked unwind unwind unwind work undone cancelled out in the blance of stop and go
A strand of hair? A strand lost in time. A car going down a rainy street. Chhesey? Back to strand. It’s a fragment, a piece. It can almost be a metaphor. ALl your problems summed up in one moment of lucidity. This timer makes me nervous.
i’m stranded on a deserted island in the middle of the ocean. or that’s the way it feels sometimes. my life is floating across a vast ocean of limitless possibilities. or are they maelstroms?
wetterstrand hahah. No that’s not too funny. That’s the name of my 9th grade computer science teacher. She had a patch of white hair on the back of her head… and would drink 6 slim-fasts every day for lunch. i really don’t know what else to say… i’m pretty stoned
a strand of hair grasps my hair in sweet frustration. Intoxication slowly taking over that which haunts the babies of the night. The babies? Where did they go? Too many to count we try and tell time in the dark. Tomorrow’s another day…another time…another place. Tomorrows sweet. Try to tell me to stop. I won’t I won’t.
suddenly, the fibers split, and everything was lost for good.
the strand of her hair spilled down her back and into a small pile on the duvet. her naked back glistening with the smell of sex and sweat. her long hair looped on the top of her head was already coming undone. to me she looked like an immortal goddess, perfect.
I awoke in the morning, a little bleary eyed and hung-over. I could feel the warmth of a human body next to me and a single strand of hair accross my face.
I was stranded on a beach with only one sock. I found the sock to be quite contagious of the feeling of awkwardness. This was peculiar to me since my whole life I had been used to wearing 2 socks. But since I was now only with the one I became acutely aware of the lesson of the socks.
I stood at the top of the strand, looking down over the populace grinding their way to work. On and on they went, one after the other.
Me, I was stranded atop them all. Able to see beyond their daily lives, separate, yet yearning to be amongst their banality.
he had a strand of hair in his face as he spoke. the light cascaded off of the golden brown in it, and the color reminded me of coffee and cream in the mornings when i was a child. i love him like i love the day, and green things in the summertime.
a strand of hair was caught in the barbed wire fence as she was trying to cross over to the greener pasture. Stands of water fell from her forehead as she was struggling to get lose from the wire. There was no help to be had and she continued to struggle.
I walked alone away from the place, taking my car keys with me. I wanted her to wonder where I went, Was I ok, did I leave with a girl? The mystery of it was all I had.
a strand of hair had blown loose from her very up tight bun. “what” she asked the man sitting behingd the counter. “A girl cant have a shitty day?”….grudgingly the man lifted his eyes from the floor and kissed her full on the mouth.
a small line of sand that jutts out from the shore to the sea. A strand of sand is a place where seagulls fly and search for food that makes them happy. Strand is also a theatre, or cinema.
I need to wash my strand of hair that is hanging dirty on my head.Reminding me of the Grand Strand beach. All that sand/
a strand of hair, golden and full of curl fell loose from her tie and fell upon her beautiful face, only to further magnify her radiant beauty.
It can be hope, a ting, a desire for what could be left. most people hope and need and desire what many lack, and that “strand” that small inkling of this sought for new freedom to resign in the hands of hope. That light at the end of the preverbial tunnel. This new chance to move to and through the next path of life. A strand of hope.
the strand of hair leapt into my imagination and strangled my thoughts. it was the one i carefully picked up after she left my house after an intense bout of lovemaking. i don’t know where she is now.
I walk alone along the strand waiting for a her to appear, but she never does. Stranded.
I can’t go back there now. Not ever.
hair pieces tangle and knot as we moan and groan and sweat and bet that this thing won’t last till next week.
it’s all a bit too common, those messy strands in your eyes..i’ve seen them before and they alert me that you are no different than anyone else i’ve ever seen.
I was stranded there. Just me in the sand, no one else was there. How could they leave me with waves crashing so? So alone in the night with sea water in my hair. I think fast and swim away. The night swallows me whole. This is the right way for me to go.
stranded on the planet. no one can understand what that means. How does one unstrand?
a strand of hair should always be cut regularly. like right now, on what not to wear, this girl just totally freaked out because nick cut, like, two inches off of her long, frizzy hair. what she sees in a strand of hair is not what everyone else sees; it is not reality. This reminds me of something the author of Rich Dad, Poor Dad said about always staying up with current trends.
It’s very funny to write something on this wall
depends on my internet connection it just happens that last year I haven’t swam at all I miss swimming a strand of something a right hand of a guy on my neck orange color i8s nice what can I do about it?
livess on my head like a tenant i have to pay for and take care of.he lives off of my food and energy .snake skin i say snake skin.