Dear Elizabeth, your writing moves me deeply. I am in Lucca, sipping my cappucino, flooded with memories, but now, prefer to think of them as rivers, not floods. So many different lives within one. I send you love.
I tried to comment on this the other day and I wasn't signed in, blah blah blah, and now I've lost my train of thought. But I DID want to come back and say that I positively loved the sentence "It’s nearly October, apple chill, chapel hill."
I just saw the musical Peter Pan. Peter was a boy, not Mary Martin. I always thought I could be a girl like Peter, flying with TinkerBell, battling the pirates, the master of my fate. Not so..
Memories are hammocks we swing on in the summer...then fall comes and we put them away to gather dust and cobwebs.
that was gorgeous writing! so evocative and dreamy.
Beautiful ❤️
Could there be a better writing prompt than "rivers"? Perhaps "memory". Although, for me they are so often one and the same.
This is beautiful, Elizabeth.
I am left breathless ♥️♥️♥️
Gorgeousness. This.
Dear Elizabeth, your writing moves me deeply. I am in Lucca, sipping my cappucino, flooded with memories, but now, prefer to think of them as rivers, not floods. So many different lives within one. I send you love.
I am left wondering, remembering, thinking about how it is that I would write the memories seared in my heart.
As always, time often stops when I read your writing and I am often left seeking connection; so out I go.
This is lovely.
I tried to comment on this the other day and I wasn't signed in, blah blah blah, and now I've lost my train of thought. But I DID want to come back and say that I positively loved the sentence "It’s nearly October, apple chill, chapel hill."
Lovely and moody. Sorrow wears so many masks.
Jeezus Elizabeth.
I just saw the musical Peter Pan. Peter was a boy, not Mary Martin. I always thought I could be a girl like Peter, flying with TinkerBell, battling the pirates, the master of my fate. Not so..
Memories are hammocks we swing on in the summer...then fall comes and we put them away to gather dust and cobwebs.
Much love dearest.