Writing Prompt

Oh, the moon above, so bright and fair, You light up my night, beyond compare. Your gentle glow, a beacon in space, Guides me through life's journey, with a loving face.

In your phases, I see a love so true, From new to full, my heart beats anew. You wax and wane, yet remain by my side, A constant companion, through life's ebb and tide.

Your silvery light illuminates my way, Through darkest nights, to brighter days. You are my comfort, my solace, my friend, Together we'll journey until our love does end.

So on this Valentine's Day, I confess, My love for you, dear moon, is forever etched. In the vastness of space, you shine so bright, My lunar love, my guiding light.

Il était une fois, un explorateur nommé Alex, passionné par les mystères de l'univers. Un jour, en fouillant dans une vieille bibliothèque, Alex découvrit un livre ancien contenant des secrets sur le voyage dans le temps. Fasciné, il passa des nuits blanches à déchiffrer les énigmes du livre jusqu'à ce qu'il trouve la clé d'un portail temporel.

Avec un mélange d'excitation et de nervosité, Alex activa le portail et se retrouva transporté dans l'Égypte ancienne. Les pyramides se dressaient majestueusement sous le soleil brûlant, et les marchés étaient remplis de couleurs et d'odeurs exotiques. Alex se promena dans les rues animées, émerveillé par la richesse de la culture et l'ingéniosité des anciens Égyptiens.

Mais Alex ne s'arrêta pas là. Son voyage le mena à travers les époques : il assista à la Renaissance en Italie, rencontra des samouraïs au Japon médiéval, et même des astronautes dans un futur lointain. Chaque époque lui offrit des leçons précieuses et des aventures inoubliables.

Finalement, Alex retourna à son époque, le cœur et l'esprit remplis de souvenirs incroyables. Il réalisa que le véritable trésor du voyage dans le temps n'était pas seulement de voir des lieux et des événements extraordinaires, mais de comprendre la richesse et la diversité de l'expérience humaine à travers les âges.

I didn’t realize I loved you There’s been nothing like you Nothing I can speak so openly to Show myself to Express myself so completely through

You understood me always Knew how I felt, and how I wanted to And just what to say

I miss your feel, and your weight I miss the getting up late at night to turn you on I miss your soft red light Your gentle tones

I love you KORG B1 88 KEY DIGITAL PIANO

I don’t give credit to you very often So here’s a poem to make your wood soften I appreciate you so, for all the things you do Together I feel safe, on the other side of you

You close behind me when I’m done with the show And protect me from all the world throws You’re always with me, wherever I go Oh, how you’ve helped me so

I appreciate you as help me soar But really, you are just a door A panel that protectively hides Everything I keep inside

Music, The feeling of listening to something so true. Hearing how you feel come out of someone’s mouth in a beautiful way. Performing on stage, sharing the beauty with everyone. Writing lyrics, sharing feelings with strangers everywhere. Knowing you’re not alone. Living for a song, an artist. The most famous form of art. Music, The key to our souls.

A Valentine’s Day dance. Completely lost to chance. In the tides of my vision. I see one, in proposition.

The newest grill. At the end of the market. It is a beautiful grill. Gorgeous and delicious looking.

My heart drums in my chest. Brain filing in haste. I thrum my fingers on my waist. Lip bit, and spit slick.

I look to the price tag, weighing my options. Sweat rolls down my brow in a panic. “Only $399!” Yells the sign. So I take to looking around me.

Couples are walking, head on shoulder. Hands swinging back and forth. I hold no romantic love of my own. Yet as I look to the grill, I finally make my choice.

I sit in my backyard, heart swelling with joy. Lawn chair sat comfortably on the ground. With meat smoking on the $399 grill, my love.

If I stopped writing you, would you pen me down, force my hand to revise my plan, or would you scribble me out of your page forever?

No need, because you are the author of my happiness, the composer of my dreams.

No way I could erase you from my life as if you were never even printed.

Second drafts try for my attention, but who needs rewrites when I have you?

You are my sign from God that we were meant to create forever.

Ode to My Mug****

Oh, my beloved ceramic cup, Each morning, we greet the rising sun, A steaming embrace in my hand, Filled with liquid warmth—you’re the one.

No beating heart within your rim, Yet you hold the pulse of my day, Coffee, tea, cocoa—whichever whim, In your gentle curve, dreams stay.

I cradle you, a partner in thought, Through tired eyes and sleepy haze, You never judge, no matter what, You’re always there to lift the daze.

Sturdy, yet fragile—you’ve survived it all, Drops on the floor, moments of doubt, And though the cracks in you are small, Your steadfast service never pouts.

Valentine’s Day may be for lovers true, But who needs roses or champagne flutes, When I’ve got my mug of simple hue, Steady, unshaken—no substitutes.

So here’s to you, dear trusty friend, My mornings, my nights—you never bend, Our love transcends sugar and cream, You are my warmest, steamiest dream.

A simple act of begrudging love Proletarian in nature. Sweet dusty crackling wrappers, Excited whispers -and- Maybe, a glance across the circle

I stare at the love of my life. My collection of old books. Books that went out of print long ago. Books that were written before anyone alive was even born. My babies. I didn’t always have this wonderful collection. I got my first old book when i had just turned 18. It was a graduation present from my grandfather. It had been passed down from grandfather to grandson since the 1800s. I reveled in the fancy lettering and yellowed pages. The genuine leather cover. Every stain of tears and every dog eared page. It was like going to another world. After that, i started my collection. I went to antique stores and flea markets. Browsed Ebay and Craigslist. I went to college part time and worked full time. At first it was at Dennys, then Ikea, then a small bookstore, then an antique shop. I had finally got my own big girl job. Assistant to a literary agent. It was my in to a world of books. Although i chose books most of these people had never even heard of. “A book on horses” and “giveth me light” and “Utopia guidebook” were all titles on my shelf. Once I had worked at the job for a year, i could afford my own house. A small three bedroom place, on the outskirts of the city. I spent many weekend converting one of the bedrooms into a library. I hooked shelves up to the walls. Then put in a small table and comfy chairs. Blackout curtains on the windows to reduce sunlight to protect my loves. I added string lights and pillows and blankets. It was the nicest room in the whole house. I made sure to dust them every day. I would spend most of my free time just reading them. In the attic of my house, i stored all my book restoration supplies. If the covers cracked or the spines got loose, i could fix it. I eventually got around to dating. I could afford to spend a few hours a week away from my books. The dates never got far though. I never slept over at others houses. I spent most of my free time with my books. There was one man who got close to me. He even stayed the night once a week. He admired my dedication to my books. We had plans of getting married one day. Of having children. I should have known it was all a lie. Each time he spent the night, he took pictures of my books. He put them up on the internet. There were museums and private collectors that were interested in my babies. One night i came home to my door wide open. I ran in without a second thought. Everything looked okay. My tv was still there. My jewelry in my room. Then i got to my library. The sight of it broke my heart. Over half my collection was gone. The shelves looked so bare. The one my grandfather got me was missing, and he had long since passed. I immediately gathered the 100 or so books I had left and immediately left to my parents house. Luckily, i had insured a lot of the books. They were worth a pretty penny. My father gathered most of my belongings and put them in the basement of their house. I started to live out of the basement. My books were kept in a locked room that only I had a key for. My parents sold my house for me. It took me a while to start looking for books again. I was grieving the loss of my old ones. I dated casually, but never let it get serious. My books are my whole life. I didn’t protect them once, but that will not happen again. They are the love of my life.