Grandfather informs me that is not possible.
I always write out of a need to read something, rather than a need to write something.
She brushed her eyelashes against his chest.
One hundred years of joy can be erased in one second
He was someone whom everyone admired and liked but whom nobody knew. He was like a book that you could feel good holding, that you could talk about without ever having read, that you could recommend.
It made me start to wonder if there were other people so lonely so close. I thought about “Eleanor Rigby.” It’s true, where do they all come from? And where do they all belong?