She didn’t know what she was seeking, didn’t know if she had any questions but the sea was calling and knew she would find some answers..
The waves knew all her secrets, the sand had heard her stories patiently every time she had no one to tell them to.
The beach was sprinkled with smiles, intertwined hands, and promises of eternity..drenched in the golden hue. The sun was kissing the sea good night.
She sat on the sand breathing in the romance.
In the moment best viewed by two, she thought of the one she wanted to be there with. Maybe that was the question which was lashing with the waves.
She filled her lungs with a deep breath of salty air and decided, she didn’t want just anyone there. She wanted someone who would rather be there than anywhere else in the world. Someone who couldn’t imagine being with anyone else but with her.
She knew she deserved her moment in the sunshine
I read stories because they make me believe. Stories are fragile, created by balancing words on air with only imagination to hold them together. Stories are confounding, every beginning isn’t clear and all endings aren’t happy. I read cause it fill my mind.
I write stories to make sense of the chaos in my head. I write stories that I live in and the stories live in me. They help me understand, they help me in being understood. There are stories that end too fast and leave me craving, there are the ones that never end, they go on forever even when I stop reading.
Long stories are seductive, they wrap themselves around, like soft velvet as you read, you fall in love and the affair continues. A short story has a different feel to it. Like Stephen King said “A short story is like a kiss in the dark from a stranger”
Stories make the world perfect with words knit together in harmony, making reality palatable by adding a squeeze of fiction to it.
I make my stories, while my stories make me!
Photo credit: Ashutosh Khandkar http://framingreflections.wordpress.com/