With her fingers lightly gripping the quill, the black ink smeared on her fingers and across the paper, if I may paint her clumsiness and lack of etiquette, she tried to write him another letter. But what was there for her to write about? After all, they had never met. She had seen him once from the crowd as she watched his fingers dance across the keys of a pianoforte while clutching her mother’s hand to calm her nerves.
love poem
Six-Sentence Story With Audiobook – Dead Poet
The smell of cinnamon in the room, a burnt candle on the bedside table, an empty bottle of Shiraz on the floor beside the ivory bed, and finally… a lady clutching onto a tattered book while tangled in her silken sheets with a tear running down her cheek.
This website is proudly hosted with Dreamhost — a reliable, beginner-friendly hosting service I genuinely recommend. If you’re thinking of starting your own website, using [my affiliate link on the left] not only helps you get started but also supports my work, as I’ll earn a small commission at no extra cost to you. Thank you for being a part of this journey!