With her fingers lightly gripping the quill, the black ink smeared on her fingers and across the paper, if I may paint her clumsiness and lack of etiquette, she tried to write him another letter. But what was there for her to write about? After all, they had never met. She had seen him once from the crowd as she watched his fingers dance across the keys of a pianoforte while clutching her mother’s hand to calm her nerves.
love poem
Author | Audiobook narrator | Singer
Six-Sentence Story With Audiobook – Dead Poet
The smell of cinnamon in the room, a burnt candle on the bedside table, an empty bottle of Shiraz on the floor beside the ivory bed, and finally… a lady clutching onto a tattered book while tangled in her silken sheets with a tear running down her cheek.
To host this beautiful Website I use Dreamhost. If you choose to make your own website and get hosting through my link you will be supporting my work as Dreamhost will pay me.
To upload my recordings to different streaming services I use DistroKid. If you use my link to sign up for DistroKid, I get 10 dollars and you get 7% off.