There were so many people in the world, and each person had different-looking hands, and so many people had such beautiful hands, she thought. Hands so soft their touch reminded you of melting butter. Hands with palms that were as white and as pure as snow. Hands with long, lovely, beautifully nimble fingers. Hands fascinated…



This write is something that I was hesitant to bring out to the world for a long time-- for this is a very, very tentative write.  It's something that doesn't really, well, fit in, for lack of a better word. So please read, and be gentle on it. They were talking about something, and she…


I marvel at the girl as she pushes herself up the many flights of stairs to the very top of the building, as she does everyday-- clutching at the railing as though for dear life, her each breath gasping, ragged, a sign of the struggle that her body bears, as her legs drag her up the stairs, one whole, the other not.

Sketches, #2

"They call this city metropolitan. They say it makes anybody feel at home, whatever place they hail from. They say it welcomes all......but when you don't even know what the people around you are saying, how can you feel at home? How can you ever find your place in this vast ocean of strangers that sweeps you along with it?"