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The Westholm, Nevermore
Visiting my mom in Upstate New York always brings a sense of nostalgia, a reminder of the simplicity and innocence of childhood. Today was no different. As I drove through the familiar streets of where I used to live, the memories came flooding back, each one a vivid snapshot of a life that once was. My visit to mom was brief yet heartwarming. We chatted about everything and nothing, sipping soda in her living room, surrounded by the comforting smells of home. But amidst our conversations, I couldn’t shake off the feeling of transience. Nothing ever stays the same, I thought. I was born, and one day I’ll die. The…
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Red And Purple Sunrise
This morning, I witnessed something magical. As I peeked through my window, the sky was transforming into a breathtaking canvas. The red and purple hues of the sunrise blended together in a multitude of fiery colors, casting a gentle glow over the world. The red was so deep and passionate, like the warmth of a cozy fire, while the purple added a touch of mystery and depth. Watching this spectacle, I felt a sense of peace and wonder. It was a reminder of the beauty that begins each day, often unnoticed in our busy lives. I stood there, mesmerized, letting the colors wash over me, filling me with hope and…
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Nostalgia’s Embrace
As I sit quietly, the soft hum of life buzzing around me, I can’t help but be swept up by waves of nostalgia. The memories of old friends, their laughter echoing in my mind, bring a bittersweet ache to my heart. I miss them—not just their presence, but who we all were in those untouched moments of our past. There’s a certain melancholy that comes with the memories of cities as they once were. Those streets and corners where I left pieces of my younger self, where every building and every turn held a story, a secret, a smile. I long for those cities with an innocence now colored by…
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Return To Bleecker Playground
In the soft embrace of nostalgia, I wandered back to the streets of my youth, my footsteps retracing paths worn by the innocent glee of my childhood. I returned to Bleecker Playground, where decades had folded into mere whispers of time, I stood, silent, recalling memories that seemed as if they came from another lifetime in some forgotten dream. The carousel of life had continued on, seemingly without me, reflected in the vibrant eyes of the children around me—carbon copies of my own young, curious self. They were radiant with the unbridled joy of life, their hearts pulsating with dreams yet to unfold, just as mine did, now forty-some years…
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The Evolution Of My Artistic Self
Recently, it occurred to me that there is an artist nesting inside everyone. Within me, this artist has taken many forms, a metamorphosis that has shaped not only my work but also who I am. My journey in artistic expression began with prose – words were my initial muse. They danced from my mind to the paper with a grace I could never replicate in the physical world. They were my partners in the intimate tango of storytelling. Each sentence was a step, each paragraph a pivot, turning my inner monologue into a dance I could share. But, as with all first loves, my relationship with prose evolved. It was…
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I Am The Queen Of Introspection
Lying in the quiet of the night, I’m often reminded of a line from a classic Simon and Garfunkel song, “The Sounds Of Silence”, “Hello darkness, my old friend.” It’s during these silent moments that I converse with myself, navigating the intricate pathways of my thoughts, feelings, and emotions. This is my realm. I am the queen of introspection. Life has thrown its fair share of curveballs, and with each experience, I’ve taken a step back to understand it, to see how it fits into the bigger picture of my journey. Many may see this as overthinking or overanalyzing, but for me, it’s my way of connecting the dots. As…
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The Midnight Owl’s Unspoken Story
In a forest swathed in the velvety embrace of the night, an enigma called the Midnight Owl reigned. This owl, with plumage as dark as the inky black sky and eyes that shimmered like a nebula, was no ordinary creature. It was said that this owl knew every secret, every whisper of the trees, every heartache of the beasts, and every dream of the stars. The Midnight Owl was a keeper of stories, a guardian of memories, and an observer of all things under the night’s canopy. Yet, there was one tale that the owl didn’t know: the story of you. Every night, when the world lay blanketed in silence,…
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Of Cakes And Conspiracies
The knife used to cut the cake of celebration is the same one that inevitably gets used to stab one in the back, is an idea that recently came to me, harsh as a proverb, and laced with the kind of wisdom that is usually earned through a painful sequence of experiences. It wasn’t until the undulating waves of life had crashed upon my shores a few more times that I truly understood its depth, its reality, and its almost predestined inevitability. I recall the early days of my ambitious youth, days colored with the hues of success and nights scented with the fragrance of victory. Those were the times…
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Whispers In The Cosmos: Reflections At Dawn
The dim light of dawn seeped through my curtains far too early this morning, disturbing a sleep I might have wished endless. In the quiet, with the world around me still lost in dreams, my mind wandered to the heavens. I gazed out my window at the stars, those mysterious spheres of incandescent gas that burn with fervent passion millions of miles from our grasp. They twinkled indifferently, not just as celestial ornaments, but as profound reminders of our mortality, reminding me of our minute existence in the grand vastness of the universe. Each flicker resonated within me, an echo of the unsettling truth that our time here is but…
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My Diary From Age 7
Oh sweet nostalgia, how you catch me in your sugary snare! Gather ‘round, lovely people, for today I share the most illustrious words of a budding young authoress—7-year-old me! Lovingly preserved by my mom, the diary documents the grand odyssey to my grandparents’ farm in Upstate New York. Prepare for a rollercoaster ride through the wacky, whimsical wonderings of my juvenile mind. Ah, the undeniable zenith of my childhood obsessions—Ghostbusters! The adventures of Spengler, Stantz, Venkman, and Zeddemore were my daily bread, their fearless ghost-busting my divine inspiration. My diary teems with the tales of my own spectral pursuits amid the charming disarray of my grandparents’ farm. Ah, one can’t…
