ajslove22

  I question the worth of countless nights bent over a laptop, a steaming mug of tea in one hand and the other returning my glasses to their determined place instead of sliding down my nose.   I question the worth of ink-stained hands, sparks of sudden, uncontrollably brilliant flow of creativity; The words flowing like water into my mouth after a long, scorching summer afternoon in my hometown, bringing sweet relief.  I question the worth of writing beautiful words, pouring my heart into scrolling, detailed words on a page and having other people delve into it, feeling my journey.   I question the worth

Tea and Tattered Pages By: Alexandra Stinson Prologue: -Present Day- Some days I wonder when I got to be so lucky. It certainly wasn't always this way. Perhaps it started when I bought that first flat, or maybe the first time I entered that magnificent old bookshop. It could have  been the first time I met him; that seemed likely. These are the types of things I like to ponder on a day such as this, whilst staring out my window at the stormy sky, cuddling up with a classic novel and sipping my cup of Peppermint tea.     To some this might seem to be a bit of a drab routine, but I find it splendid. I'd like to think my companions- Arth

 What on earth am I doing here? you wondered as you handed your dance ticket and light jacket away and were admitted inside the dance hall.  You blew on your hands and rubbed them together, hoping the friction would warm them from the cold outside.  You weren't used to how cold it is in Canada. You tugged at your backless, sparkly black dress and you recalled how you got into this mess.  Yesterday your friend Alfred F. Jones introduced you to his younger brother, Matthew, and suddenly you were going to a dance with said boy.  You weren't told any other details, except that you were to dress up because it was a formal dance.  Seeing as you'd