“Writers do not have the privilege of sleep. There is always a story coming alive in their heads, constantly composing. Whether they choose it or not.”
“Writers do not have the privilege of sleep. There is always a story coming alive in their heads, constantly composing. Whether they choose it or not.”
Coco J. Ginger
“I near felt bad he choose to be so evil to me. I am a forgiving woman, but my pen... oh my wicked wicked hormonal she-pen.”
Coco J. Ginger“...I feel like a traitor, a phony, a fake. But I am a hypocrite with the best intentions, and I need kissing desperately.”
Coco J. Ginger“Tricks ripped and you tripped, tricked yourself by falling slowly.I’m the winner in this game,unable to stoop to your level of shame.Unwilling to reply to your words of ache.”
Coco J. Ginger“I miss your silent stature, your avoided days of disaster, your present state of distress.I’m cinnamon, cloves and fire, you are the rested cedarwood of desire.”
Coco J. Ginger“Writers do not have the privilege of sleep. There is always a story coming alive in their heads, constantly composing. Whether they choose it or not.”
Coco J. Ginger“She wanted to write to him. Tell him she was glad he was back, that he was alive, that he was home and safe. But words to him no longer fit right in her her mouth.Words which belonged in his ownership were no longer hers to give. Silence was the only acceptable state her heart would grant. He would never know what he missed, because she refused to be heard in his presence. All the words he could have had, all the phrases he might have danced with. The smiles which would have been imprinted upon his heart, would never be. And his lips would never be able to reply to the words she could not say.”
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