Because of Montmartre_Are the Cherry Blossoms Blooming?_Hike of Shame_Droplets of Rain
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Because of Montmartre
The official interpreter took out her elegant pen in crimson red and placed it on the table. She had a black too, but this occasion deserved a real color. She was seated next to her client; the Councilor was opposite of them. In the President’s residency this may be the only office she never visited before - the President’s Special Councilor's office.Very special, she could say, but she rarely expressed her own thoughts at work. Instead, she took out a notepad and removed her purse behind her back. He could be observing her every move... Impossible, this is a business meeting.The very special...
Are the Cherry Blossoms Blooming?
A glass box placed in a void of white,It’s owner and prisoner the same.The key sat by their knee,But the jailbird only wished to stay. ————————————————————It was raining almost every day now, now that the snowfall had stopped.Rin preferred it to the biting frost that would come to nip at her nose, and cause her to havewww.onedoor.cc a sore throat every morning. Even so, the overcast that greeted the world each day, making it hard to distinct dawn from dusk, did nothing to lift anyone’s spirits.Some days were better than others.Her friend (or rather someone who ins...
Hike of Shame
The skin of his forehead had deep set rivulets that reminded me of the valleys melting glaciers leave behind on a mountainside. I wondered if I could stick pennies in between their folds. Would they stay? How many could I fit across the great expansion of his neanderthal-like skull?“There’s obviously the problem of induction, among other things…” the man droned on. I watched with rapt fascination as a single loose piece of flesh dangled off his top lip. I bet whether it would drop into his mouth or fly across the room towards me the way his spittle did as he prattled on about his philosophies...
Droplets of Rain
Walking alone in a lonely alleyway isn’t the safest way for a casual nineteen-year-old to spend her weekend. She should be at a party, hanging out with her friends, or watching a movie with a loved one. But this is the only shortcut to where I buried my heart. My sweetest and bitterest bittersweet childhood memories. My whole life was buried in the lone treehouse in the Merehill woods. The place where I made those bittersweet memories that I miss making so, so bad. No one spotted it, nor claimed it. So lonely it was. The path on which I was walking was blocked by a drop. A drop of water. More...