When I walk in the first thing I think is rot. The air is stale, the lighting is dim, the plaster is cracked and the floors are sagging. I think–I know–that I must have come to the wrong place. Then I see them: three of them sitting in a circle on dilapidated couches. One of them is tall, lanky, limbs too long and out of proportion with spindly fingers that remind me too much of skeletons. The next one looks old, hunched over, with eyes so piercing and intent that it makes my skin crawl and I can barely look away from them. The third one is the least obtrusive in appearance: brown hair, brown eyes, good posture, but something in that bland face makes my stomach knot.
“Well, it looks like we have our visitor.” The smile is like a slash across the face. Three sets of eyes never leave me.
That’s when I know that this was a bad idea.
i remember when my grandmother would come in to pick me up early from school. she’d hafta get a visitors pass. all of the office ladies thought she was my mom because she was so young looking. YOu’d think they’d recognize her after so many countless visits.
There was a visitor rapping at my chamber door. I proceeded to approach the door to greet said visitor, however when I arrived, they did not appear to be there. Had they departed? I haven’t the slightest idea. Needless to say it’s unfortunate I didn’t meet my visitor, but perhaps I will again one day. They could have been a well-known friend or perhaps even a relative, but I wouldn’t have been the wiser. I had been occupied with my painting, as I have a deadline that ends tomorrow. Still, I can’t help but wonder who that visitor was. Rapping at my chamber door, Poe-style.
Návštěvník je někdo, kdo vás ohromí a poctí svou přítomností. Není to jen tak někdo. Má svůj příběh a minulost, či hluboko zakořeněnou budoucnoust. Je to někdo, kdo hned na první pohled vysílá signály, jasně vypovídající o jeho charakteru. Může být najapný a jen arogantně odsekávat na vaše jakkoliv milé otázky. Nebo může být milý a práce s ní bude spíše relax než tvrdá dřina. Nejhorší je, že většina spadá do třetí skupiny. Jsme chladní, málem ani nepozdravíme a jen si hledíme svého. Tohle není přístup, který by hýbal zeměkoulí…
He came without warning. A simple knock on the door that jarred the glass of lemonade from her hands. When she opened the door, he was standing there unimpressive. His clothes were tattered and his hair was a mess but the message he brought was heart breaking. She fell to the floor, landing on her knees, and knew he was more than just a visitor.
A pak přišel . Tvářil se jako každý jiný, ale něco na něm bylo jiné. Z ohnivého pohledu s urputně zelenými odlesky proudila spalující touha. Nakráčel do mého kráku v přiléhavém černém saku, bílé košili s kravatou volně pověšenou na svalnatém krku
I’d like to meet a visitor someday. Someone who drops by unannounced. Sticks around. Does nothing particular. Stays for dinner. I’d like to meet a visitor someday.
the visitor was not alive. he was a ghost but he didn’t know how to see. he was a blind ghost visitor and i was in my bed listening to the blind visitor amble around and bump into the night table. “umph” he said. then he said “boo”. I was freaked out by this blind ghost visitor. what a night that was.
I am a visitor of this website. I found it on google, without knowing it ever existed. I thought it was interesting so i decided to give it a try. I hope something interesting is going to come out of this. Visitor is a noun. A word in eglish.
Years ago, when the door bell rang, everyone in the house jumped up in excitement. They would say “Oh my goodness, we have a visitor!” Now, it’s close the blinds, put the TV on mute, and hope that the assumed missionaries or solicitors don’t notice the car parked in the driveway, think nobody is home, and go away.
The visitor is mysterious, there’s no doubt about that, but that mystery that shrouds him is inviting, as if openly asking everyone, come, get to know me, I want you here beside me. It’s disconcerting, and everyone is visibly ruffled, trying to resist the visitor’s distinct aura.
Someone pleasant. Happy, and new. He’s unexpected. He’s glad to see you. He welcomes you with open arms. He’s your dad. Not the one you were born to. Well, he is. But he’s changed. He’s the person you remember he used to be, not the monster he became. This time, you are happy to see him. Glad to hear from him. He looks good and tells you that you do too. It’s been way too long, he says. And it’s true. Ten years? More? Less? Too many by any standard, for sure. But it’s as if nothing has changed. Nothing bad happened in the past. It’s just a father and daughter, happily reunited. Hopefully one day. Hopefully he’ll get healthy. Will he make it to my wedding? Will he be there to walk me down the aisle? I don’t know yet… But I really hope so. I don’t want to be one of those sad girls with no dad. I am sick of being that girl. I have been her for way too long. Longer than the last time I saw him. It’s part of my identity now. It’s part of my DNA. I don’t have a dad. But I really wish I did. I hope it changes. I hope he visits.
When you only have the socks on your feet and the gown on your back, the hospital seems so much more morbid until you show up. It’s the highlight of my day. Once the lights come on and the sanitized halls smell of cheap coffee, I know I’ll see you.
Love- I have always had issue with this one word- Love. Recently, I have found myself accidentally fallen in love with a guy, a guy that I have never imagined myself, in a million year, could have possibly loved.
She was a visitor from another planet, but no one noticed and if they did wouldn’t have cared or so she believed. She loved this planet and it’s smell creatures with their steely and often elusive eye contact.
Just passing through, kind of like Blanche DuBois. That’s what he said he was doing, but he lied. I wouldn’t call eight years a visit. I wouldn’t call eight years something temporary at all.
a visitor is someone who is not usually in your home or wherever you are who is coming to visit. They can me welcome visitors or they could ne unwelcome visitors. Unwelcome visitors are no good. Like a aquirrel coming in through your dog doors, they are unwelcome visitors. But what are you supposed to do with unwelcome visitors like squirrels. They are so cute, just like dogs and cats. My favorite dog is a corgi. I like there long ears. My niece said to be the other day when she saw a corgi that it was an enormous bunny rabbit. I just laughed at her. I think she looks up to me. I hope she does. I want people to look up to me. LIke when I become a teacher, I want the children to become curious and wonder about things and i want them to look up to me and be like me so that one day they can tell there children about me, like I have told you about unwelcome visitors. Dont be an unwelcome visitor.
The man looked out of place somehow. He was wearing a black suit and was carrying an attache case, with a hat that you would only normally see back in the 1940s-50s era. His eyes were deep set, the darkest irises I have ever seen, and they seem to be…otherworldly. “Good evening. May I come in?” the man asks. “I…uhm, I don’t think I should. My…my dad will be very upset with me,” I say in my most convincing voice. The man blinked only once and took forever to reply. It is as if he was reading me. He let out a deep sigh. “It is extremely important that he gets this message,” in the calmest tone I have ever heard any person speak. “The council will be waiting for him. Tomorrow, at 7am. No excuses.” Something about the way he said it that was so final. And with that, he turns and walks away. My dad was in the kitchen. As I was about to tell him about our strange visitor, he put his index finger to his lips, making that universal gesture of silence. I know what this means now. The last time I saw him make that sign, we ended up in England. This means only one thing: we are going on the run again.
I feel like I’m a visitor in this home even though I’ve been here for months. I want to go back home where I belong. I want to be with my friends, my family, my boyfriend, those that love me and know me best. I don’t want to feel like the new girl all the damn time, the otucast, the one with the funny accent. I want to go home.
i don’t know what to write. STOP PRESSURING ME, OKAY? This is confusing. My life is confusing. I’m a tortured soul. lolno. I’m not. I lost my wallet, guys.
Sometimes, i do not like when visitors come to my house. They stay too long. My parents talk for a long time. I just want to be able to shower and walk to my room without people staring at me. They drink all our milk. I just want to relax without people expecting me to be polite. That is all.
I have many visitors in my life. People that I meet that come and go. People are my passion. I want to know these visitors.. but they never stay. And I really don’t care too much..
I am so busy, so stressed, and so sleep deprived. There is little freedom and no extra time. So many pieces I’m trying to attach, I’m moving so fast, there is no looking back. The only moment I stopped to take a breath was a selfish one that turned into a mess. I’m sorry, but I have no time for surprises or company,
especially not for the uninvited guest inside of me.
Every time I close my eyes, I fear of falling deep asleep. Because I know that if I do my visitor will come to haunt me. He terrifies me to the core. Part man, part ghost, I know no more. Whether he is real or not, he teaches me what no girl aught to be taught. He teaches lessons on unhealthy fear and how to keep paranoia near. Every time I close my eyes, I fear of falling deep asleep. Because I know that if I do my visitor will come to haunt me.
he walked in the house like a visitor
not sure if he should take off his boots
or track the muck of miles walked
of foreign lands and strange winds
all over the wood floor
he’d known for years
I know if I were to end it all, we would never be this close again. You, this person I seem to know like the back of my hand would not even acquaint to being called an acquaintance. Like the ashes falling off a cigarette you would cease to exist in my life. From frequent visitor to complete stranger.
a visitor came to the door, no one knew who it was or where they came from. Michael was suspicious and had a right to be. Turns out this visitor was to be feared, turns out they would never be the same.
I am a visitor. I am confused on where to be and where to go. I don’t want to be here because I feel like a red flag in a sea of white fish. I am not supposed to be here. I have my own home. I can’t go back there, but I need a place to call my own again. It isn’t bad here, it isn’t wrong here. It is already claimed and I can’t stay.
One day I was sitting outside waiting for my mom to get home from work, when I heard a crash. I ran into the room to investigate when I saw a masked man holding a crow bar.
i hate having visitors over because you have to be polite, look decent, and act like you enjoy having them over when you really don’t. I especially hate when they stay longer than an hour. I can’t feel comfortable in my own home.
Eeeeeeee, I don’t know about that, Cholly. We have visitor, waiting downstair. Why you no say you want to go bang-bang earlier? Why you wait? Now this man he waiting want talk to us… Eeeeeeeeeee.
When I walk in the first thing I think is rot. The air is stale, the lighting is dim, the plaster is cracked and the floors are sagging. I think–I know–that I must have come to the wrong place. Then I see them: three of them sitting in a circle on dilapidated couches. One of them is tall, lanky, limbs too long and out of proportion with spindly fingers that remind me too much of skeletons. The next one looks old, hunched over, with eyes so piercing and intent that it makes my skin crawl and I can barely look away from them. The third one is the least obtrusive in appearance: brown hair, brown eyes, good posture, but something in that bland face makes my stomach knot.
“Well, it looks like we have our visitor.” The smile is like a slash across the face. Three sets of eyes never leave me.
That’s when I know that this was a bad idea.
i remember when my grandmother would come in to pick me up early from school. she’d hafta get a visitors pass. all of the office ladies thought she was my mom because she was so young looking. YOu’d think they’d recognize her after so many countless visits.
There was a visitor rapping at my chamber door. I proceeded to approach the door to greet said visitor, however when I arrived, they did not appear to be there. Had they departed? I haven’t the slightest idea. Needless to say it’s unfortunate I didn’t meet my visitor, but perhaps I will again one day. They could have been a well-known friend or perhaps even a relative, but I wouldn’t have been the wiser. I had been occupied with my painting, as I have a deadline that ends tomorrow. Still, I can’t help but wonder who that visitor was. Rapping at my chamber door, Poe-style.
Návštěvník je někdo, kdo vás ohromí a poctí svou přítomností. Není to jen tak někdo. Má svůj příběh a minulost, či hluboko zakořeněnou budoucnoust. Je to někdo, kdo hned na první pohled vysílá signály, jasně vypovídající o jeho charakteru. Může být najapný a jen arogantně odsekávat na vaše jakkoliv milé otázky. Nebo může být milý a práce s ní bude spíše relax než tvrdá dřina. Nejhorší je, že většina spadá do třetí skupiny. Jsme chladní, málem ani nepozdravíme a jen si hledíme svého. Tohle není přístup, který by hýbal zeměkoulí…
He came without warning. A simple knock on the door that jarred the glass of lemonade from her hands. When she opened the door, he was standing there unimpressive. His clothes were tattered and his hair was a mess but the message he brought was heart breaking. She fell to the floor, landing on her knees, and knew he was more than just a visitor.
I am nothing but a visitor to this world with a time limit to do all that I can
Peace, is the only word we need at this moment in this World!
A pak přišel . Tvářil se jako každý jiný, ale něco na něm bylo jiné. Z ohnivého pohledu s urputně zelenými odlesky proudila spalující touha. Nakráčel do mého kráku v přiléhavém černém saku, bílé košili s kravatou volně pověšenou na svalnatém krku
I’d like to meet a visitor someday. Someone who drops by unannounced. Sticks around. Does nothing particular. Stays for dinner. I’d like to meet a visitor someday.
the visitor was not alive. he was a ghost but he didn’t know how to see. he was a blind ghost visitor and i was in my bed listening to the blind visitor amble around and bump into the night table. “umph” he said. then he said “boo”. I was freaked out by this blind ghost visitor. what a night that was.
I am a visitor of this website. I found it on google, without knowing it ever existed. I thought it was interesting so i decided to give it a try. I hope something interesting is going to come out of this. Visitor is a noun. A word in eglish.
welcome and thank you. it is my pleasure seeing you.is it visit or …. (with something else ending to it ? or it doesnt have an end?
Years ago, when the door bell rang, everyone in the house jumped up in excitement. They would say “Oh my goodness, we have a visitor!” Now, it’s close the blinds, put the TV on mute, and hope that the assumed missionaries or solicitors don’t notice the car parked in the driveway, think nobody is home, and go away.
The visitor is mysterious, there’s no doubt about that, but that mystery that shrouds him is inviting, as if openly asking everyone, come, get to know me, I want you here beside me. It’s disconcerting, and everyone is visibly ruffled, trying to resist the visitor’s distinct aura.
Someone pleasant. Happy, and new. He’s unexpected. He’s glad to see you. He welcomes you with open arms. He’s your dad. Not the one you were born to. Well, he is. But he’s changed. He’s the person you remember he used to be, not the monster he became. This time, you are happy to see him. Glad to hear from him. He looks good and tells you that you do too. It’s been way too long, he says. And it’s true. Ten years? More? Less? Too many by any standard, for sure. But it’s as if nothing has changed. Nothing bad happened in the past. It’s just a father and daughter, happily reunited. Hopefully one day. Hopefully he’ll get healthy. Will he make it to my wedding? Will he be there to walk me down the aisle? I don’t know yet… But I really hope so. I don’t want to be one of those sad girls with no dad. I am sick of being that girl. I have been her for way too long. Longer than the last time I saw him. It’s part of my identity now. It’s part of my DNA. I don’t have a dad. But I really wish I did. I hope it changes. I hope he visits.
Visiting new places is so fun. The frightening feeling of being somewhere you don’t recognize or understand. Life changing, every time.
When you only have the socks on your feet and the gown on your back, the hospital seems so much more morbid until you show up. It’s the highlight of my day. Once the lights come on and the sanitized halls smell of cheap coffee, I know I’ll see you.
One word- it makes me think of Love.
Love- I have always had issue with this one word- Love. Recently, I have found myself accidentally fallen in love with a guy, a guy that I have never imagined myself, in a million year, could have possibly loved.
She was a visitor from another planet, but no one noticed and if they did wouldn’t have cared or so she believed. She loved this planet and it’s smell creatures with their steely and often elusive eye contact.
visitor
you visit me
in my dreams
my nightmares
haunting me
torturing me
i relive it all
when you visit
i try so hard
not to sleep
but i give in
there you are
haunting me
in my nightmares
visitor
Just passing through, kind of like Blanche DuBois. That’s what he said he was doing, but he lied. I wouldn’t call eight years a visit. I wouldn’t call eight years something temporary at all.
a visitor is someone who is not usually in your home or wherever you are who is coming to visit. They can me welcome visitors or they could ne unwelcome visitors. Unwelcome visitors are no good. Like a aquirrel coming in through your dog doors, they are unwelcome visitors. But what are you supposed to do with unwelcome visitors like squirrels. They are so cute, just like dogs and cats. My favorite dog is a corgi. I like there long ears. My niece said to be the other day when she saw a corgi that it was an enormous bunny rabbit. I just laughed at her. I think she looks up to me. I hope she does. I want people to look up to me. LIke when I become a teacher, I want the children to become curious and wonder about things and i want them to look up to me and be like me so that one day they can tell there children about me, like I have told you about unwelcome visitors. Dont be an unwelcome visitor.
The man looked out of place somehow. He was wearing a black suit and was carrying an attache case, with a hat that you would only normally see back in the 1940s-50s era. His eyes were deep set, the darkest irises I have ever seen, and they seem to be…otherworldly. “Good evening. May I come in?” the man asks. “I…uhm, I don’t think I should. My…my dad will be very upset with me,” I say in my most convincing voice. The man blinked only once and took forever to reply. It is as if he was reading me. He let out a deep sigh. “It is extremely important that he gets this message,” in the calmest tone I have ever heard any person speak. “The council will be waiting for him. Tomorrow, at 7am. No excuses.” Something about the way he said it that was so final. And with that, he turns and walks away. My dad was in the kitchen. As I was about to tell him about our strange visitor, he put his index finger to his lips, making that universal gesture of silence. I know what this means now. The last time I saw him make that sign, we ended up in England. This means only one thing: we are going on the run again.
I feel like I’m a visitor in this home even though I’ve been here for months. I want to go back home where I belong. I want to be with my friends, my family, my boyfriend, those that love me and know me best. I don’t want to feel like the new girl all the damn time, the otucast, the one with the funny accent. I want to go home.
Someone new, someone exciting, with stories I’ve never heard and adventures id die to be a part of.
i don’t know what to write. STOP PRESSURING ME, OKAY? This is confusing. My life is confusing. I’m a tortured soul. lolno. I’m not. I lost my wallet, guys.
i don’t know what to write. STOP PRESSURING ME, OKAY?
Sometimes I feel like a visitor in my own home, my own family, my own LIFE! A stranger that no one says a word to. Does the visi
Sometimes, i do not like when visitors come to my house. They stay too long. My parents talk for a long time. I just want to be able to shower and walk to my room without people staring at me. They drink all our milk. I just want to relax without people expecting me to be polite. That is all.
I have many visitors in my life. People that I meet that come and go. People are my passion. I want to know these visitors.. but they never stay. And I really don’t care too much..
I am so busy, so stressed, and so sleep deprived. There is little freedom and no extra time. So many pieces I’m trying to attach, I’m moving so fast, there is no looking back. The only moment I stopped to take a breath was a selfish one that turned into a mess. I’m sorry, but I have no time for surprises or company,
especially not for the uninvited guest inside of me.
Every time I close my eyes, I fear of falling deep asleep. Because I know that if I do my visitor will come to haunt me. He terrifies me to the core. Part man, part ghost, I know no more. Whether he is real or not, he teaches me what no girl aught to be taught. He teaches lessons on unhealthy fear and how to keep paranoia near. Every time I close my eyes, I fear of falling deep asleep. Because I know that if I do my visitor will come to haunt me.
he walked in the house like a visitor
not sure if he should take off his boots
or track the muck of miles walked
of foreign lands and strange winds
all over the wood floor
he’d known for years
I know if I were to end it all, we would never be this close again. You, this person I seem to know like the back of my hand would not even acquaint to being called an acquaintance. Like the ashes falling off a cigarette you would cease to exist in my life. From frequent visitor to complete stranger.
Someone who you welcome to someplace or home. They come over and visit to see you and your family too. They are your VISITOR.
a visitor came to the door, no one knew who it was or where they came from. Michael was suspicious and had a right to be. Turns out this visitor was to be feared, turns out they would never be the same.
I am a visitor. I am confused on where to be and where to go. I don’t want to be here because I feel like a red flag in a sea of white fish. I am not supposed to be here. I have my own home. I can’t go back there, but I need a place to call my own again. It isn’t bad here, it isn’t wrong here. It is already claimed and I can’t stay.
One day I was sitting outside waiting for my mom to get home from work, when I heard a crash. I ran into the room to investigate when I saw a masked man holding a crow bar.
i hate having visitors over because you have to be polite, look decent, and act like you enjoy having them over when you really don’t. I especially hate when they stay longer than an hour. I can’t feel comfortable in my own home.
Eeeeeeee, I don’t know about that, Cholly. We have visitor, waiting downstair. Why you no say you want to go bang-bang earlier? Why you wait? Now this man he waiting want talk to us… Eeeeeeeeeee.