MizukiNakamura24

Life is like Greek yogurts. You know, like those passion fruit ones.    The concept of it is so beautiful and tasty and simply scrumptious that you can’t wait to peel back its foil lid and dig into its contents. But then, all your dreams, hopes, and aspirations are crushed into a ball just like that foil lid because all you see is a thick, white substance with translucent liquid floating atop of it; there’s no passion fruit nor seeds anywhere to be found.      Alas, once you get a spoon and get right down to the bottom of its unappetising exterior, you pull everything from the bottom upwards and get to see all its gooey, yellow

They asked me, "Are you a writer or an artist?" What they don't seem to understand Is that writers are artists, too. However, writers do not paint pictures with paint; Writers paint pictures with words. Unlike the artists that take photographs with cameras, Writers take mental snapshots of scenery And later transform them into beautiful sentences That can be read with great ease. So to answer their question, I replied with: "I am an artist-- But an artist that has the gift Of changing the life of someone Using powerful sentences That consist of paltry words."

    “Hey, Ivan?” I ask, gaining my boyfriend’s attention, “what do you love the most about me?”    Ivan looks at me curiously, raising an eyebrow. Twiddling my thumbs, I wait for an answer.    “What do you mean?” he replies. “There are so many things that I love about you – I could never pick just one.” I turn away from his adorable expression in an attempt to hide the subtle redness on my cheeks.    Sighing, my head lays down on the hill of grass. Laying still, I contemplate everything about Ivan and I – not only as individuals, but as a couple.    I’m a consider