White roses made of embroidery thread, touched at the edges with the most delicate layers ofmauve pink and bright red. Such artistry must be rare, perhaps a hobby of English ladies fromthe past, but the emblazoned threads that created the flowers here have heart, substance, andtexture. As I run my fingertips over the leaves leading
The equator splits the Earth into two portions at zero degrees latitude. Though you can’t touchit, it’s genuine never the less. There’s another imaginary line that divides my life into two halves. Thefirst half I don’t want to remember, discuss, or acknowledge. To remember the good in this time, justcauses the bad to leach through
This is a story, but not really just a story. I’m going to tell you about someone, well,really a collection of someone’s. First, let me explain to you how I found her. It was during my maiden years; I wasblessed to have a series of trials and hardships come into my life. I say I