A Sentiment._What's In A Neighbour_Where did it all go wrong?_The Final Letter
Catalog Guide:
A Sentiment.
Of the many hardships that face two bodies in love, none can be more so pleasurably frustrating and rewarding as the distance that separates, and in there, binds those two, who may think one another to be a rewarding spectacle, should the present and the future unite them.It had begun as a chance encounter - somewhere along spinning the wheel and gazing idly - through a passage of time during which one is a solitary reaper, but how beautifulwww.onedoor.cc might this stroke of hand become, should from such a wayward action, arise an encounter with someone who you think is 'light, delightful, and a good repre...
What's In A Neighbour
As I slave over my hot stove in the suppressible heat, I feel happy. Yes, it's stinking hot outside, and my husband never cooks, but I like helping my elderly neighbour. Which is why I'm sweating while cooking in the house instead of swimming at the beach.You see, my neighbour, Kate Milford, is very old and can't do much anymore. She doesn't have anyone to help her in the house because she can't afford it, so I make her meals and clean her little bungalow when needed. She insists on paying me, but I do it out of the kindness of my heart. Kate reminds me of my own mother, who passed away a few ...
Where did it all go wrong?
From time to time, everyone needs that bit of luck, whether it be just to have a day out without it raining or the car getting through the MOT, to more serious situations like seeing a loved one get through a difficult situation. But what happens when everyone around you seems to be having all your share of that luck, the good luck and you have a dumpster full of the bad type. Well such a thing seems to be happening to Reese. You would not believe what she went through. It's now Thursday night, so I will take you back to the beginning...Tuesday night. Yes, only two days prior. However, things ...
The Final Letter
The night draped over the neighborhood like a glittering black veil, covering all in a quiet, vacant still. Not a creature stirred, not a car passed through the damp streets, no branches blew. The only movement that existed came from the metronome like drip, drip, dripping of drops of water from the tips of leaves and edges of rooftops that glistened in the clear of the night. Not a light stood lit in any house. With the exception of one small, oil lamp in the upstairs bedroom of #9 Fawkes Avenue, where a spindly man sat hunched over a desk much too small for him, his overgrown limbs crammed ...