Because in the end, we are all irrelevant. Especially me. {A series of notes and letters written by a girl called Chloe McMullen, found in places you would least expect}

It was a rainy day, in New York no less. One held a cup of coffee, wishing for the rain to stop. One held a hand full of old books, savouring the moment. short story #98 poetry #51

❝And imagine that your mind is a blue sky, & every cloud represents a thought.❞

Little poems that I make along the way

*UNDER EDITING* "Diamonds in the rough." "Maybe if we could choose, we would have chosen otherwise. Or maybe, we wouldn't." "I'd like to think that this should be the epitome of normal. There has been too many stories of heroes, kings and queens. Everything left unsaid has become unreal." "Oh, no, I don't regret them. I never said I regretted them. They just led me into this." "We are different. And that's alright." "Maybe it's because I didn't have a normal life... that I want you to have one." Sarah Amber Smith is the wife of a therapist. This is her story.

If you had a book of all the lies you’ve ever told, would you read it? As a fallen angel, given the job of being the Angel of Lies, Charlie Lyar has this book in possession. The lies of everyone, everywhere, compressed into a small book. Holding such a big responsibility should scare him, since all in all, he’s only 17 in mortal years. What happens when this careless angel boy leaves this book of lies in a coffeehouse, turning only to find that someone has already read their little chapter of lies? A fallen angel can’t mess up more than once, can he?