I’m embarassed to admit this.
I dream of spending days in coffee shops, telling stories.
I dream of writing words day and night.
I dream that I am good enough.
That I am good enough and that people would read the words
And pay for the words.
Should this embarrass me.
I dream that this could be my life.
Painting pictures with words. Galleries, shared.
confessions are self-serving
Life somehow is chasing rainbows with a stranger; with that, you'll never be lonely.
With a Challenger-deep Sentiments
Words are beautiful beyond meanings
Novelist, Poet, Wordsmith
weird alien 👽
the literary asylum
Understanding someone’s way with words isn’t as simple as you think.
Talk Books. Drink Coffee.
WITHIN ARE PIECES OF ME
Poetry from an English Hart
.......is writing
Lucidly in shadows. Poetry from a hand that writes misty.
Occasional Musing
Poetry, story and real life. Once soldier, busnessman, grandfather and Poet.
Because poetry. And petals.
thoughtsgather 