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Life is but a day – A fragile dew-drop on its perilous wayFrom a tree’s summit.

Life is but a day - A fragile dew-drop on its perilous wayFrom a tree’s summit.

Life is but a day – A fragile dew-drop on its perilous wayFrom a tree’s summit.

She suddenly felt herself gasping for air, as if she’d momentarily forgotten how to breathe. She rocked back in her chair and nearly fell over, then slumped against the green-covered table. The bowl fell from her fingers, shattering at her feet, broken glass scattering everywhere

I know nothing of writing books properly. I write in the same manner I live life: one feeling at a time. If this makes me a bad writer, then I might hope to author several bad books

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