My Storytelling Mind

He spent most of his time in that corner of the garden; she commented on it often, exuding disappointment. He would nod, smile into his soup, and consider what book to take with him the following morning. What his wife didn't know, couldn't possible know, was why he chose that particular tree each morning. On the estate next door, there would pass a young woman; he assumed she was a maid in the house but she returned with new fascinating books and he knew he would love her if he could only work up the nerve. Find this blurb on Pinterest ! Photo: Jack Batchelor, Flickr .

The burning light rose every evening inside the abandoned train on the tracks. And every evening, he went out to see it, straining his eyes to see anything past the brilliant red of the window panes. But he could never see anything. Find this blurb on Pinterest ! Photo: ghost train, by cover of darkness, Flickr.

164, that's what it said, printed with strong typewriting strokes, under the peeling corner of the bedroom wallpaper. Page 165 soon followed, apparently glazed on the back of said tarnished wallpaper, teasing her with novel possibilities. Curiously, however, she found no other pages in the vicinity.  Find this blurb on Pinterest ! Photo: (c) Anett Holmvick, Flickr.

Blurb coming soon... Find this blurb on Pinterest ! Photo: love letters (c)  Siréliss .