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Literature Text
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
On our next study date,
I was privileged to learn
How well your year was progressing.
"It's only been
A week and a half,"
You said happily,
"But I love all of my classes,
And...
Things at home
Are..."
You struggled for the words,
But I understood all the same.
You smiled
At our unspoken agreement
To leave your home life
At your house
Unless you were in danger.
"I'm glad,"
I replied,
Reaching for your hand
While reaching for a better word
To describe what I was feeling,
Because "glad"
Might never be enough.
On our next study date,
I was privileged to learn
How well your year was progressing.
"It's only been
A week and a half,"
You said happily,
"But I love all of my classes,
And...
Things at home
Are..."
You struggled for the words,
But I understood all the same.
You smiled
At our unspoken agreement
To leave your home life
At your house
Unless you were in danger.
"I'm glad,"
I replied,
Reaching for your hand
While reaching for a better word
To describe what I was feeling,
Because "glad"
Might never be enough.
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Literature
First Flight
How frightening that first flight must have been,
hearts racing into the unknown,
and I should wonder how those men felt
at the first takeoff into the air,
gusts of wind beneath fragile wings,
if not for loving you.
Literature
Cadence
it was the softest idea that occurred to me,
while tracing the fresh memory of
your fingers on my skin,
calming me, like the sun going down on the wet, green earth;
this was the tenderness in your face as my tired tears
wet the cushions.
I was wholly encased in your warmth.
there I was slowly suspended, embryonic;
not still, but in a state of cadence,
returning to myself - harmonic
and returning.
you've seen me,
I arrive back to you every morning at the end of my long journeys,
the night still fresh in my cold hair
and the smell of quiet lingering between my fingers;
all the stars still clinging to my clothes and
I arrive at your body. th
Literature
Untold Stories- The Unsinkable Ship: Prologue
-6:43 AM, April 10th, 1912- Southampton, England
Nicholas Thatcher woke up extra early today. He gasped, waking up immediately. He sat up in his hotel bed, looking at the clock. Smiling, he got out of bed, careful not to wake Sofia (his sister) who was sleeping next to him. He went bare foot on the wooden floor, past the bed his mom and Amber (his other sister, twin of Sofia) were sleeping in. The 11 year old kneeled in the wooden chair that was pushed up to the high window so he could look out.
Their hotel in Southampton overlooked the White Star Line's Pier. Nick could see it from their floor of the hotel, just barely. In that ocean dock
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