A Book Of Poems Novels & Stories

I whisper. This time, the tears don’t feel like weakness. They feel like healing. Like something finally beginning. ************************ Unspoken Desires - Book 3…. Coming Soon

“If I do need anything, I’ll let you know. Thanks for asking .” He slowly returned to the desk. She then moved to the bookshelf and straightened the spines. She saw Titles in law, finance, and travel. But there was a single slim poetry volume book tucked sideways; it was as if it had been hidden rather than shelved to be noticed. The vent whispered loudly. Somewhere down the hall, a floorboard complained. The manor kept its own soundtrack; today, it sounded like a held breath.

Yam sliced it open slowly, hands trembling. Inside was their book. “The Art of Staying.” Cover: a sunflower. A crooked shelf. Two mugs—one chipped. And behind it all, the suggestion of a fan, mid-spin. Franc stared at it like it might whisper back. “Feels unreal,” Yam said. Franc flipped through pages. Some with artwork. Others with Yam’s poetry. Their story—wired beginnings and all—now bound in matte finish. “I think this book breathes,” Franc said.

" The writing was messy and rushed. Whoever wrote this didn't know how to write properly. The letters were small, making it harder to read. I snapped out of it and put the notebook back into the drawer and glanced at the book. It was a black leather book with golden lettering. I grabbed it and opened it. It took me a moment, but I could finally read the title. "Roses are red, violets are blue, the king's daughter is beautiful" It was a poem by William Shakespeare. I frowned and flipped to a random page. It was a drawing of a young girl dressed in a long white dress and a crown. She smiled at me sweetly.

"It feels like a place where you can actually hear yourself think. I bet you’d like studying here." "I would," I said. "It beats the noisy student center back home." We walked through the rows of books. Jax stopped. He pulled a small book from the shelf and handed it to me. It was a book of poems. "Read the one on page 42," he said. I opened it. The poem was about a bird that finally learned to fly after being kept in a gold cage. I looked up at him, my heart skipping a beat. I didn't know what to say. I just held the book.

It came as no surprise when he expressed wishes of becoming a writer and being the supportive sister I was, I always loved reading his short stories. Anything he wrote, I read. Standing up, I opened the box to be met with the sight of books ranging from Virginia Woolf to Maya Angelou. Sifting through the books my hand immediately stopped once I caught sight of a bundle of pages joined together haphazardly that had the words Tim's Poetry Book written on the first page. I never knew he wrote poems and this had me intrigued as I retook a seat on the bed. Planning to flip through it, the knock on the door halted any further movements on my end as I looked up to find the smiling face of my mother

Kennedy POV. The weather was bad, but I needed to get that new book, it's Robert birthday gift, who'd knew a grown up man would kill for the newest werewolf love book. I got into my car, drove carefully toward the local book store, they had the new book reserved for me. It was supposed to one quick drive, until I walked into the library. A girl was sitting on a bean bag, her blond hair was covering her eyes with overgrown bangs, she tried to huff them away from her face but to no use. She looked young, maybe she's just here with her parents, looking down at the book she had in her hands it was a kids story. Does she read for the local kids? Or is it just for her?

- I told him. He nodded and pulled several books out from one of the stacks and set them in front of me. I opened the top book and ran my fingers over the runes in the title. It was beautifully written as if each word was drawn with love and attention to detail. Now that I looked at it, it reminded me of a combination of Norse and Old English. Nerrian pulled his chair closer and pointed to the first word, speaking it in my mind than out loud in Draygonian. With his help, I repeated the word over and over again until I perfected it.

Forever bound by Tuberose's art, In the Fragrance of Love, we'll never depart. As I finish reciting the poem, my heart is filled with a profound sense of connection and appreciation for the words that have touched my soul. At this moment, I realize the power of Tuberose's poetry to capture the essence of love and evoke emotions that transcend time and space. With the book held close to my heart, I continue to delve into its pages, immersing myself in the fragrant world of love that Tuberose has created.

It wasn't until she noticed the strange book tucked away in the corner that she was able to distract herself from her thoughts. "I almost missed one," she whispered. As she walked over to it, she noticed that its cover was worn, and it seemed to emit a faint glow that caught her attention. Maybe it's how the moon perfectly acted as its own spotlight that made it seem so glowy, but it's not just that. She somehow felt a little hint of amusement as she stared at it. As she approached the book, she saw the shinny title written on it, Lunaria, and she couldn't help but be intrigued. The moonlight shining down on the pages illuminated the words in a way that made them seem to come alive.