Little Birdie > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

Fading them into bleak, into pale, into nothing at all.

It’s been twenty-seven years, so tell me, does she still smell of cinnamon and apples?

Her eyes were the city lights.

I have loved you - you were my King.

I'm sure you'll taunt me if you ever find my ruins.

Where has my love gone for all things meaningless?

These riots are but the start.

When my heart beats surrender.

A humble wish.

One-sided love.