United States

I write for myself and share pieces for you to enjoy as well!
Hardworking • Funny • Nice • Sarcastic • Curious
Am a writer to advocate and entertain

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OMG THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 140+ FOLLOWERS!!! Your one follow means a lot for me and I really appreciate. One follow, one new friend. On our road to 200! (lol)

Working on two novels!
Magnum- Posting one chapter every week! *coughs*

District 3•Dauntless•Abnegation•Erudite
Favorite Books:
The Hunger Games
Maze Runners

"A reader lives a hundred lives before dying"-?
"The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt by heart" - Helen Keller
"You don't know what you got till you lose it"-Some Smart Person

The Windowsill

January 18, 2021


    I sit by the dusty windowsill, staring into space as the cushions beneath me flatten out. Lolo's name slips out of my mouth and she quietly cuddles into my lap. I take another sip from my bitter green tea, thinking to add a tiny bit of sugar to take some bitterness off, but procrastinate. Out the window, snow covers the ground like a thin sheet of blanket. A toddler with bright red boots run through the snow leaving a footprint trail with stars on it. My hands stroke Lolo's course orange fur as she meows into my knee, feeling something vibrate in it. A squirrel near my building sits as still as the building itself, only to move its head. A pickup truck slowly backs away from the parking lot and disappears in the churning blizzard. My hands bring up my mug to take a long sip as I move toward my nightstand. Lolo jumps of my lap suddenly making me flinch. Lolo hops back onto my lap reminding me of a bunny as I go back to the windowsill. Some loose hair has fallen on my face as I moved back to the windowsill and Lola starts playing with it. I tuck it underneath my ear when I see a snowflake touch the window and melting into a streak of rain. The wind blows hard outside making the squirrel run back to its tree. My breath makes a circle of steam on the window. Unconsciously, my fingers touch the cold glass to make a smiley face. I long for another sip of tea, so I get the mug. The rim of the glass touches my lips, but not a single drop comes in my mouth. My arms reach out to put the mug back in its place and sit back on the windowsill.


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  • January 18, 2021 - 9:13am (Now Viewing)

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