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 on: June 21, 2017, 01:17:08 PM 
Started by John M - Last post by John M
the hours late, the crickets outside my window add a serenading color to the ticking of my desk clock, down in front of me lays a blank page, college-ruled, with the ghosts and scraps of all the erased letters of the words i'm not quite sure how to say. my indecisive hand trembles, the dull point of my number two pencil taps anxiously on the paper leaving little spills of graphite and hesitation. how do you tell someone you love them? how do you ask for more? if only the open window behind me could gently blow in some ideas to get me started... well, she's a girl with dirt blonde hair, freckles dot just below her eyes and across the top of her nose, and a single dimple implodes on her right cheek, only noticeable when she smiles, and when she smiles; i can't help but notice. the feeling it gives races through my gut, wraps around my head, and carries me off into the light of her heavenly glow...

 on: June 21, 2017, 08:43:37 AM 
Started by sleepless_dreamer - Last post by sleepless_dreamer
The drying ink,
An activity common to me,
The tattered envelopes, the sender the same, all pile up,
A lottery of stamps and ink and paper I cannot afford
Ready wherever I go
To perhaps catch a moment I’d like to share,
Though a long journey
I’d give anything to hear the response.

 on: June 21, 2017, 05:43:20 AM 
Started by peachfuzz - Last post by peachfuzz
The sanctuary of a desk. Whereas the peace of thoughts. The peace of writing, of love or of not. The sharpened pencil, the words are clear, and it's hard to compete, when love doesn't appear. The longing letters, remain crumbled and tossed, leaving the sanctuary of a desk, as clean as my thoughts.

 on: June 21, 2017, 03:23:23 AM 
Started by Chris Dudley - Last post by Chris Dudley
There must be a scent of perfume that lingers still
In a shoebox somewhere put away
A scent of perfume in memory at least
If the letters are ever reread.

The letters about how love is so strong
With some news fit in the lines
The letters I wrote to make you feel good
They’re without any scent of mine.

And maybe they’re gone, no shoebox for them
Not put away and hard to find
And that’s OK too, when that love grew
It was back in another time.

Somewhere a shoebox holds its load
With a perfume that shakes memory
And a jumble of words of another time
Of the passion that used to be.

 on: June 21, 2017, 03:07:36 AM 
Started by Redhdgrly - Last post by Redhdgrly
Love letters fill your heart with a nice warm feeling, knowing that someone loves you is the greatest joy, the letters can be from someone who is a friend, telling you how much they love you in a non-intimate way, or from Heavenly Father such as the bible, in the Bible and the Book of Mormon there are many examples of how these works are like love letters, in them he tells us how much He loves us, or you can stay with the most intimate of love letters, from your boyfriend or husband, there are those that are heartfelt, those that are mushy, often using words from songs, comparing your love to a red, red rose, or the sweet scent of flowers, or telling you how much he loves to feel the softness of your skin, or going together to somewhere romantic, like a secluded beach, where you can lie on a blanket and listen to the waves together, lulling you into sleep, the warmth of the sun on your skin turning you both either red or tan, he lovingly helps you with your sunburn, gently rubbing lotion on you, the calmness of the lotion and his hands, the faint medicinal smell of the

 on: June 20, 2017, 11:37:30 PM 
Started by AlohaAlex - Last post by AlohaAlex
Plans unfolded and broke at the seams, pulled apart by our lack of experience and thrown aside like an unused TV.   Summer approached as a barrage of freedom.  All 24 hours to do what I want, when i want.   Devilish mischief tugged on my oversized heather grey tank top, draped on my shoulder like a patriotic symbol that school no longer held us captive.  We were victors of our tiny kingdom, 4 blocks by blocks.   Trouble seemed to follow us around no matter how fast we skated, catching every crack with a rhythmic ticking.   Cigarette smoke lingered its brand new bitter scent, usually followed by an explosion of coughing and then laughter.   We were amateurs, boasting that the rest of the world were fools.   Those teachers, priests, and police officers have have a thing or two to learn from us.

 on: June 20, 2017, 04:46:47 PM 
Started by HeartAttack&Vine - Last post by HeartAttack&Vine
long before pen in hand I lean into the full curves of what I want to say. I steal tiny moments from work, eyes closed, between email beeps, iPhone rattles and customer complaints. I dive into the new wonder of him ...slow ...motion.
I steam in slow replays of that memorable night....the jasmine breeze, the stretching ache as we kissed goodbye and craned our necks waving back and forth till we were ants. Oh boy, I simmered low and slow until the moon waned and waxed again.
My heart is burst like dawn and words seem flimsy like a paper boat at sea.....but I collect them.... s.l.o.w.l.y. from the archeological dig of my heart he started. Under the rubble and ash lies a feeling that resonates like a crystal glass.
Finally, I dance ink through my grandmothers fountain pen and sing this love prayer to him....

 on: June 20, 2017, 12:43:17 PM 
Started by Higgs88 - Last post by Higgs88
Stain-glass windows filter color into the church. The light dances like a free-spirited gypsy, a contrast to the black & white of the sanctuary. My skin feels prickly and cold against the hard dark curve of the pew. Words of formality followed by encouragement, scripture I turn the page carefully in this old worn Bible, eyes straining to read the microscopic words. My mind has already gotten out of church and is hiking through the mountains behind it, breeze kissing my shoulders, sun warming my soul, thanking God for this- my outdoor act of worship--

 on: June 20, 2017, 11:26:57 AM 
Started by John M - Last post by John M
church is as stale as the bread of the body of christ. as a child i was forced to eat it, chew on it, pretend to like it. the one upside to the downer that was every sunday morning, was the taunting of my brother in the silent pews of the packed chamber. he, too young for the single-file orchestrated march to communion and forgiveness, was so eager to have a taste of what the divine priest held in his hands at the front of the line; i'd snicker at him and tell him it tasted like skittles, which of course would set him off in a fit of jealous rage, which then led to my father intervening and whisper-threatening to beat our asses red in front everybody. the thought alone of such an act stiffened us right up, and i'd sit there sucking on the cardboard cut-out of christ until it was soft and mushy enough to swallow. i've always loved music, but the Father whats-his-name was never much of a singer, with his two-tone jingles of prayer echoing all the way up through the rafters, literally left me feeling dead inside, unaroused, slouched in my seat, my ass numb; every time; jesus, just take me away already. as for everyone else, 'peace be with you, peace be with you, peace be with you, (smile), (smile), (wink), and also with you.'

 on: June 20, 2017, 07:13:37 AM 
Started by Redhdgrly - Last post by Redhdgrly
according to my faith the priesthood is all male, they have the power and authority of God, there are two types, the Aaronic and the Melchizidek, they can give blessing of healing and blessings of comfort, they will anoint with oil that has been consecrated by worthy priests, the patriarch of the home should hold the priesthood, the feeling that a blessing gives you is of warmth and peace, the loving warm hands of a father who is acting on behalf of our Father in Heaven, we are Christian, the ancient people of our faith left their homes and traveled long distances through wilderness with ferocious animals and rough open seas far away from their native land, they received many blessing on their journey, such as manna which gave them substance enough to travel on, and a small orb to guide them that only worked through faith, they were also blessed with being able to raw meat during part of their journey, they wrote of their trials and tribulations on plates of gold which

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