There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed - Ernest Hemingway -
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Stories by Margaretha Yola
hometown
How many times, have I seen this snow in my dreams? Over and over, it came back to me. The snow was always so...
Kisah Sebuah Surat
"Ella, ada surat untukmu!"
Kubuka amplop itu, dan tanpa kubaca nama pengirimnya pun aku tahu dari...
Fade Out
Where are you?
The wet street felt like an ice as I dragged my bare feet. The cold wind wrapped my skin and...