kirsten-christiana

Edward and Teresa were known to be inseparable. Teresa was the daughter of Farmer Jones and Edward was a stable hand and an orphan, taken in by the kind farmer who liked his good manners and his attitude to work. Both Edward and Teresa were nineteen that year, and everyone expected that they would soon marry, and that Edward would use his hard-earned money to build a little house for the both of them. Farmer Jones approved of this plan, convinced that he would have nothing to worry about if his youngest daughter married this intelligent and hardworking boy. But that was not to be the case. It all started with Cynthia, the mayor's daughter.

The aloof darkness of night was fading away, and the sun was beginning his upward journey once more. Nocturnal animals crept away to their beds; everyone else was stirring from restful sleep. She opened her eyes, her mind returning from its amazing adventures in the castles she built upon the faithless, ephemeral clouds. Another day, another day of life. Her gaze travelled habitually to the one lying by her side, the one who had made her believe that it was possible to love someone more than life itself. The smile that spread across her face was the sweetest as she lovingly traced the familiar contours of his face with her fingertips. He did

It's an interesting motion, one very worth thinking about. What is reality? According to Dictionary.com, reality is: 1. The quality or state of being actual or true. 2. One, such as a person, an entity, or an event, that is actual. 3. The totality of all things possessing actuality, existence, or essence. 4. That which exists objectively and in fact. That's all very good and well, but what is actual, what is true? What exists objectively? There's an eraser sitting on my table. I reach out and touch it, and feeling the cool rubber between my fingers. Everyone who comes into my room will see it on my table. Therefore, it exists objectivel

One day I will find you, and you'll hold out your hand. "Come away with me," you'll say, and I'll go without a thought. (What is there to think about anyway?) Smoking cigars on the edge of Havana nights, the moon hanging in the sky, a bright glass orb shimmering just for us. Drinking beer outside a rowdy honky tonk, because we don't need champagne, candlelight and serenades to be romantic. Broke and hungry, but so in love, plucking at a guitar by the side of the road, forever you and me.

Would it be necessary to invent Him, if God did not exist? I believe the answer is yes. This thought has come to me time and again, and I definitely feel that it is so. Through the ages, Man has needed to believe in something bigger, bigger than everything he knows. There are obsessions with love and relationships, large concepts that we constantly try to come to terms with. And the biggest, most complex concept of all that we cling on to is that of life. Or rather, the meaning of life. Everyday there is the ongoing search for the meaning of life, for the answer to why we exist, why things are the way they are. We're always reaching out for

In a box I live Receiving and receiving till I have nothing left to give Just a girl in this world Yet another family's precious little baby doll, pearl No complaints, yet discontent Struggling to understand what "carpe diem" meant

The cool air-conditioned atmosphere of the concert hall seemed a world apart from the humid evening air outdoors. And so were the people, dressed to the nines, with their faces that implied superiority over the people who were outside. She looked around at them, the people with their allusions to culture, and wondered how many of them were really cultured, or if they were just pretending, like her. She did not deny that she was pretending, that she enjoyed letting herself imagine that this was something she did all the time, that she was classy and sophisticated. The orchestra members were taking their seats on the stage, naturally and nonc