Writing

As dry as sand, 

wrung out and shrunken from the cold,

loose and shivering like dead hemlock needles in a parched winter wind, 

puddling and sifting in the wake of footsteps.

Why do we wonder? 

Is is a quiet rebellion? Refusal to accept It as it is? 

A mental shield to protect from routine and repetition?

Is its continual persistence to blur the harshness of reality?

YOU WILL NEVER KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT US HAHAHAHAHA Sorry that is NOT my sentence. Okay here is the real thing: It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine. That is the name of a song by the band REM.

Phones are a touchy topic as of recent years. They came out in the early 2000s and have catapulted into relevance to a point where the majority of people have them or something similar.

My favorite comfort item is a doll my aunt gave me. I named her Didi; I don't really know why, but that's been her name for just about as long as I can remember. 

The doorway would replace where my closet is. Instead of seeing my messy closet with random clothes thrown about, it would open to something else. My doorway would take me to the woods.