I have quite a number of younger friends. Friends who are five years younger or more. I love them dearly. They always seem so fresh and unharmed. They’re like my special delicate orchids. No matter how much I would want
I’ve been procrastinating on writing. The idea that I could be over sharing or pouring out parts of me that seem too vulnerable and feel like I’m setting myself up for pain keeps haunting me. I constantly feel the need
This feeling makes me feel bold Makes me feel special, like two teaspoons of gold Makes me feel wanted, like a jewel a-hold Makes me feel yearned for, in its slavery I’d gladly be sold This feeling makes me want
When a pianist loses his keys, A designer, her sketch pencils, An addict, his fix Or an add alcoholic his brew. When music looses tune, Or a carpenter his wood. When coal turns white, And the Dead Sea comes alive.
The unburnt is the identity of my Law class at Riara Law School. We are comprised of loud, opinionated, diverse, sassy human beings who’s age varies from approaching 30 to barely-in-my-20s. The Chronicles of the Unburnt are random stories on