Have you ever seen a woman patting her head fiercely? She’s trying to get relief from the weave that she is wearing. It’s a sad thing to behold, but that’s what a weave does to a person. It’s itching like cray. And so it goes.
i went to get a couple of movies today and some dude asked me why i dont have a weave. i have always had a low cut for as far back as i can remeber. people have always talked about me but the thing is, i do not care anymore. i like my hair, the people i care about like my hair. it is my hair, and thats good enough for me. i dont need a weave!
She never knew how to weave time like her mother had. She came from a line of time travelers that had lasted hundreds of years, and she was the one to break it. “You have to weave the strings of fate,” he mother was fond of saying. It made no sense.
What if I weave you a story, one skein truth, one skein prevarication and wishful thinking? What if I weave it from grass and glass and the fingernail clippings of the best of us? The worst? What if I weave you something too good to be believed? Why do I so frequently use questions in free writing?
my life was complete, a soul looking for no incomplete puzzle until i found him…he spin my heart so well i felt it leap each passing seconds i look at him,he was my WEAVE.
Weave in and out of traffic. Congested. Tired. Just want to get where I’m going. Weave in and out of people at the grocery store. Weave around thought sin my mind, so tangled and harmful and confusing. Weaving my way through life. Do others have more of a straight path, or are they just wandering blindly, too?
As we weave into the thoughts of humanity,
we brink onto the mental slides of reality,
two seeds,
one blue pill-seed,
one red pill-seed,
men
and
women. Boys
and
girls.
In a mosaic way,
she likes to stray,
he makes a move to stay,
right in front of her moving lips,
dropping jokes and tips.
He questions as he sips his morning mocha latte,
and whispers to himself,
will the bottom of this latte,
have the answers to her questions?
A thought he’ll never know,
unless he networks enough,
to get a taste,
a blow,
of the winds of diversity.
So many colors, so many shades,
the only way to find his hue,
is to pay his due(s),
and socialize passively-agreesivley,
and come about,
anew. A constant yet pleasant struggle
Weave. I loved to make those paper placemats in elementary school where we would weave the different coloured papers to create our very own placement to use for the Thanksgiving dinner they served us! Funny that one of my favourite things to do to help make that dinner was to peel the carrots and potatoes!
She put her hands into mine, weaving the fingers together. They’d never break apart. That was the day I knew it was too late to let go – no matter what I did, she had me sewn into her, and she’d sewn herself into me. That was the beginning of the end]
In and out, zig zag. 60 miles per hour and no helmet. Her heart was pounding and the wind was screaming in her ear. The light turned yellow and slowing down felt like quitting. She stepped on the gas and held her breath. Never saw the Honda careening towards her from the side.
Gazing up at the wall of hair was a bit daunting. Some were long, others were short. The shop had every type of color and style imaginable. Aeisha tried to picture how each of them might make her more beautiful. A half an hour later, she was still staring.
These were the stories he told everyday, the ones he would weave from talking to people, by listening in the background, by following up and not letting go. The stories revealed and challenged and accused and comforted.
weaving in and out of traffic, you weaving your fingers through my long silky hair, that’s the time when it’s all worth it the pain of having long hair, cuz i know you love it, love to touch it, love that it goes all the way down to my butt even though my mom thinks it’s too long and getting straggly
weave in and out of peoples lives to make them better, bring them closer to the joy of knowing Jesus, for there is no greater JOY than knowing and loving him.
The car, driven by a young man of hispanic appearance, started to weave erractically in and out of the traffic, narrowly missing the rear of many cars as it ducked in and out. The young driver, flushed and agry looking, mputhed profanities as he drove reklessly between cars. His passenger, a young woman
it’s new year; we always start to weave new book; at the end of year you will find what you will wear the next year; is what you learned during the year!!
It’s quite difficult to weave through all the chaos inside my head. It is a bunch of scattered and clustered nonsense that hits you all at one time. It is extremely challenging to quiet the mind.
weaving time, weaving together memories of the last year. weaving hair to make a new me. a basket to carry my detoxifying meals from the farmer’s market.
“Oh what a tale we weave,” Radamant said leaning back on the two legs of a wooden chair after the Skeleton King’s soliloquy. The Skeleton King scowled at Radamant and swung his cutlass at one of the legs, sending Radamant sprawling.
Weave, like a hair weave or to weave in and out of traffic. Or maybe like a weaving loom for knitting or a blanket. I think I had a weave to make a scarf when I was a child.
It’s a new year, so let’s tell stories that we can pretend we’ve never heard before. Our daughters will fall in love and weave dead flowers into each other’s hair. We’ll watch them grow and get used to holding hands, while your husband pours us glass after glass of cold iced tea. Even in the chilly winter mornings, it tastes so sweet, and the lemon makes my soul pucker up in all the right ways. Don’t worry: I’ll pay for our daughters’ wedding.
The crowd was thick with beings of all races milling about and minding their own business. She was just small and thin enough to weave her way through everyone with a bit of ease.
She knew she shouldn’t glance back so much- focus on the task at hand- but she needed to be sure he wasn’t still following her..
She looked again.
He was…
Weave the threads of my life as God intends and opens up his desires for me. Make a strong rope as a reminder. Use the rope to mark pages, like a rosary, as a reminder.
Penelope sat at the loom. She hated to weave but she hated the absence of Odysseus more. She couldn’t choose the colors: hours of indecision. Her hands, especially as the years passed, hardened with arthritis bumps. Weaving one inch of material meant hours of torment. She used hot poultices and icy water to reduce the pain. And then she went back to weave some more. She ignored friends, she ate less and less and all the feminine flesh fell off her body, she woke up in the middle of the night to return to the loom and weave one more row. She’d do anything to bring him back. And one day she did. His ship sailed into the harbor. He emerged. He looked at her and did not know her. When she looked into his eyes, she saw her reflection. Mortified, she ran back to her loom to weave him away.
as she weaves in and out of the traffic, she caught sight of him. She hadn’t seen him in years and it almost stopped her in her tracks. she wanted him to notice her too, but at the same time she wanted to remain hidden.
Have you ever seen a woman patting her head fiercely? She’s trying to get relief from the weave that she is wearing. It’s a sad thing to behold, but that’s what a weave does to a person. It’s itching like cray. And so it goes.
i went to get a couple of movies today and some dude asked me why i dont have a weave. i have always had a low cut for as far back as i can remeber. people have always talked about me but the thing is, i do not care anymore. i like my hair, the people i care about like my hair. it is my hair, and thats good enough for me. i dont need a weave!
She never knew how to weave time like her mother had. She came from a line of time travelers that had lasted hundreds of years, and she was the one to break it. “You have to weave the strings of fate,” he mother was fond of saying. It made no sense.
There is a spider completely focused at the corner of the doorway.
I have to admit that I admire, and am a little jealous of, his dedication. How can he put so much of himself into a fleeting thing?
What if I weave you a story, one skein truth, one skein prevarication and wishful thinking? What if I weave it from grass and glass and the fingernail clippings of the best of us? The worst? What if I weave you something too good to be believed? Why do I so frequently use questions in free writing?
Weave – that’s what I do better than most. With my feet lifted off the ground I once new I float.
I bring things together, intertwining back and forth, through and over and under. The outcome? A holder.
In and out,
back and forth,
intricate layers of color and texture and warmth.
Her hands move expertly over her work,
maker of memories and comforts.
my life was complete, a soul looking for no incomplete puzzle until i found him…he spin my heart so well i felt it leap each passing seconds i look at him,he was my WEAVE.
She pulled the thread and the weave of the fabric puckered as she kept pulling the thread.
Weave in and out of traffic. Congested. Tired. Just want to get where I’m going. Weave in and out of people at the grocery store. Weave around thought sin my mind, so tangled and harmful and confusing. Weaving my way through life. Do others have more of a straight path, or are they just wandering blindly, too?
I would like to weave your hair to promote my online business. it will be a piece of my art work.
It’s not easy to weave a well-done lie.
She’s a master, she is. You can never tell which are lies and which are half-truths and which are full truth.
Be careful of her, my boy. She’ll tear you to pieces if you get too close.
As we weave into the thoughts of humanity,
we brink onto the mental slides of reality,
two seeds,
one blue pill-seed,
one red pill-seed,
men
and
women. Boys
and
girls.
In a mosaic way,
she likes to stray,
he makes a move to stay,
right in front of her moving lips,
dropping jokes and tips.
He questions as he sips his morning mocha latte,
and whispers to himself,
will the bottom of this latte,
have the answers to her questions?
A thought he’ll never know,
unless he networks enough,
to get a taste,
a blow,
of the winds of diversity.
So many colors, so many shades,
the only way to find his hue,
is to pay his due(s),
and socialize passively-agreesivley,
and come about,
anew. A constant yet pleasant struggle
in forces of life.
we weave the scriptures of God’s Word into our hearts and mind to enrich our relationship with Him and be prepared to share Him with all we meet.
the tapestry weaves the threads.of our lives.
Connecting things to create something new. This new item may be more useful or beautiful but is always more complex.
Después de desmadejar su corazón, la abuelita comenzó a tejer con su sangre una cobija para quitar el frío del pequeño que tanto amaba.
how to weave together so many disparate personalities into one cohesive fabric of humanity?
Weave. I loved to make those paper placemats in elementary school where we would weave the different coloured papers to create our very own placement to use for the Thanksgiving dinner they served us! Funny that one of my favourite things to do to help make that dinner was to peel the carrots and potatoes!
She put her hands into mine, weaving the fingers together. They’d never break apart. That was the day I knew it was too late to let go – no matter what I did, she had me sewn into her, and she’d sewn herself into me. That was the beginning of the end]
A desorative design made from fabric, wood or metal.
In and out, zig zag. 60 miles per hour and no helmet. Her heart was pounding and the wind was screaming in her ear. The light turned yellow and slowing down felt like quitting. She stepped on the gas and held her breath. Never saw the Honda careening towards her from the side.
Gazing up at the wall of hair was a bit daunting. Some were long, others were short. The shop had every type of color and style imaginable. Aeisha tried to picture how each of them might make her more beautiful. A half an hour later, she was still staring.
These were the stories he told everyday, the ones he would weave from talking to people, by listening in the background, by following up and not letting go. The stories revealed and challenged and accused and comforted.
weaving in and out of traffic, you weaving your fingers through my long silky hair, that’s the time when it’s all worth it the pain of having long hair, cuz i know you love it, love to touch it, love that it goes all the way down to my butt even though my mom thinks it’s too long and getting straggly
weave in and out of peoples lives to make them better, bring them closer to the joy of knowing Jesus, for there is no greater JOY than knowing and loving him.
The car, driven by a young man of hispanic appearance, started to weave erractically in and out of the traffic, narrowly missing the rear of many cars as it ducked in and out. The young driver, flushed and agry looking, mputhed profanities as he drove reklessly between cars. His passenger, a young woman
it’s new year; we always start to weave new book; at the end of year you will find what you will wear the next year; is what you learned during the year!!
It’s quite difficult to weave through all the chaos inside my head. It is a bunch of scattered and clustered nonsense that hits you all at one time. It is extremely challenging to quiet the mind.
weaving time, weaving together memories of the last year. weaving hair to make a new me. a basket to carry my detoxifying meals from the farmer’s market.
“Oh what a tale we weave,” Radamant said leaning back on the two legs of a wooden chair after the Skeleton King’s soliloquy. The Skeleton King scowled at Radamant and swung his cutlass at one of the legs, sending Radamant sprawling.
Weave, like a hair weave or to weave in and out of traffic. Or maybe like a weaving loom for knitting or a blanket. I think I had a weave to make a scarf when I was a child.
A veces hay que desmadejar los dolores para dejar que nuestro tejido se trame con otro corazón.
I weave a basket because my mother said she needed it. I hope my mother to like it.
It’s a new year, so let’s tell stories that we can pretend we’ve never heard before. Our daughters will fall in love and weave dead flowers into each other’s hair. We’ll watch them grow and get used to holding hands, while your husband pours us glass after glass of cold iced tea. Even in the chilly winter mornings, it tastes so sweet, and the lemon makes my soul pucker up in all the right ways. Don’t worry: I’ll pay for our daughters’ wedding.
The crowd was thick with beings of all races milling about and minding their own business. She was just small and thin enough to weave her way through everyone with a bit of ease.
She knew she shouldn’t glance back so much- focus on the task at hand- but she needed to be sure he wasn’t still following her..
She looked again.
He was…
weaving in and out, struggling to find importance in the maze of emptiness
like strands of silk
the complete picture coming together
Weave the threads of my life as God intends and opens up his desires for me. Make a strong rope as a reminder. Use the rope to mark pages, like a rosary, as a reminder.
Penelope sat at the loom. She hated to weave but she hated the absence of Odysseus more. She couldn’t choose the colors: hours of indecision. Her hands, especially as the years passed, hardened with arthritis bumps. Weaving one inch of material meant hours of torment. She used hot poultices and icy water to reduce the pain. And then she went back to weave some more. She ignored friends, she ate less and less and all the feminine flesh fell off her body, she woke up in the middle of the night to return to the loom and weave one more row. She’d do anything to bring him back. And one day she did. His ship sailed into the harbor. He emerged. He looked at her and did not know her. When she looked into his eyes, she saw her reflection. Mortified, she ran back to her loom to weave him away.
as she weaves in and out of the traffic, she caught sight of him. She hadn’t seen him in years and it almost stopped her in her tracks. she wanted him to notice her too, but at the same time she wanted to remain hidden.