The Next Lord Of The Central City.
She tucked it back in the brown paper bag and decided that perhaps she should take her brother up on his offers to teach her some recipes; and when she did his cinnamon buns would be top of her list.
Waves come, transient yet always there, rising, falling. They scatter the light, the hue of the water ever changing yet always familiar, always blue. How could I fail to love them as they dance inward to crash on the pebbles? How could I fail to appreciate the salty air or the cold caress of the breeze? They are stalwarts of this ocean-side life, present and passing, always the same and never.
Yesterday the sea was laid flat and my emotions also, as if one were a reflection of the other. Today,
Bab Populer