writer, bibliophile, mega film enthusiast and thought daughter!
Life doesn't require a fixed definition of meaning, yet we still search the very edges of our drive. We create our purpose in the pulse of being alive.
By angela about a month ago in Poets
First record: A gesture corrected mid-air, before error was even possible. No external cause detected. The subject seemed unaware of the interruption.
1.0 Introduction Following rupture, the heart will enter a state of melancholia: a dimming in the chest cavity, a static flatline where warmth used to reside,
It's easier to love you in the dark, When your face is an outline and your breath warms the distance between us, Our truths evaporate into whispers.
By angela 2 months ago in Poets
Occasionally, I allow myself the brief pleasure of picturing waking up to a world void of so much murder, violence and hatred
By angela 3 months ago in Poets
When things stand still, do you, like me, question what happens with the unfinished? Where does it go, and where does it all end up if it isn't boxed away, preserved like remnants of history?
By angela 4 months ago in Poets
In my restless dreams I see your face I feel your embrace and I am made of light- safe in your arms I sense your soft scent, notes of lavender, old book pages and the smell of humid rain
By angela 6 months ago in Poets
A Love Letter to the One Sleeping in My Bed To the one who now sleeps where I too once slept By now, the walls will have forgotten my name
By angela 7 months ago in Writers
