“I ate the last Hotpocket,” my brother said, coldly.
With tears in my eyes, I responded, “Why would you do this?”
“Because they’re delicious.”
what if I never write again?the internal humdrum of the mind derives my facilities.a place I never want to go,yet crave on a hazy day.
A haiku;
The definition
of friend — is subjective to
the values you hold.