First true romance I ever read was Jane Eyre. Quite typical to say the least. Mostly in family library there was only classical russian drama and science fiction, so Bronte’s book really stood out. One of the first books where I remember I started to get a whiff what a relationship was at all.
I thought I’ll just leave this fat chin picture here.
To me, the girl says, “You know what a ‘P*rn Buddy’ is?”
Do we have only one the only and the one? What to do if you lose one? Short story where no one call tell where my real life ends and storytelling begins.
Enjoy the short story and leave your comments below.
In the age of emails, regular mail and handwritten notes become something of a sacred object. If a person put enough effort to hand-write now it means a great deal.
When I need to figure out my thoughts, I write. Not in a blog but on a paper. And I feel how poisonous thoughts, diluting veins from inside, leave the body, with only slight long-awaited feeling of emptiness and smell of cedar oil with mint.
Mouth was filled with a familiar sensation of blood. That wasn’t even funny anymore. One thing when a gum bleeds a bit and tongue’s end feels the taste, and absolutely another – when there’s so much blood you start to search for a sink to spit in.
As I was running down the hall of the apartment where I used to live 10 years ago I was feeling nauseous from the iron-ish taste. I couldn’t understand Dracula’s “blood is life” since it seemed so disgusting. “I wonder how my blood’s taste would change with my diet” – I though on a by-the-way note.