
The burning wind
In the burnt wind, the murals curl with radiance, painted by burning weeds. The houses have opened balconies in the old town
This is a section dedicated to creative writing. We want to offer a space where imagination has no limit. We want to create a place where imagination is stimulated and we are always thinking out side the box.
In the burnt wind, the murals curl with radiance, painted by burning weeds. The houses have opened balconies in the old town
Why are we always talking about our roots? What does this mean? People always say: never forget your roots! The
I have come to a moment in life when I have questions, many questions. But, I guess, it is only
Dear companion of my days… To think it was true that your eyes saved a hidden illusion when our sight crossed
Querida compañera de mis días: Pensar que llegué a creer que era cierto que tus ojos guardaban una ilusión escondida
There is a memory-related phenomenon of which every single one of us, whether we like it or not, have been
So now I know… I was young enough to believe nothing will break us, stepping hand-in-hand into the other side.
Entonces ahora sé… Yo era joven y quería creer que nada nos separaria, pisando mano a mano dentro del otro
Recently I have tried to remember the topic, but I don’t exactly remember what or how I thought about marriage
Recientemente he tratado de hacer memoria al respecto y no me acuerdo exactamente qué o cómo pensaba a cerca del
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