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Writer's Block: The Things We Carry
Mar. 15th, 2008 08:16 am[Error: unknown template qotd]
My memories. My dreams. Those little fears that creep up and stop me in my tracks, cold and shivering from knowing I should proceed, but cannot. And then there is the love--the warmth of my mother's arms, the caress of my lover, the hot breath of my child on my neck as she slumbers, the sip of hot tea with a friend. ... Oh, and I guess my cell phone and my keys, even if I leave my purse in the car.
My memories. My dreams. Those little fears that creep up and stop me in my tracks, cold and shivering from knowing I should proceed, but cannot. And then there is the love--the warmth of my mother's arms, the caress of my lover, the hot breath of my child on my neck as she slumbers, the sip of hot tea with a friend. ... Oh, and I guess my cell phone and my keys, even if I leave my purse in the car.
