http://slow.writerscafe.org/stephanee_d The original writings of author stephanee en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776343716 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 I don't know.I say this. As I go throughthe motion. Heavy. Tilting. Leaning overwith limbs that feel leaden andeverything feelslocked beneath the tumblingtower of best intentions.It could be wrong. WhatI am doing.All this breathing. This heartbeating. Loving.Fleeting. I a.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/stephanee_d/325430/ She longs forhis attention.His hands. His mouth.His everything pressingwith what is hard, andunyielding, where she is soft curve,and ocean...only, she hassmall pieces of skyfrom her window, interrupting.She has green leavesturning burnt orange atthe tips, and soon, there.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/stephanee_d/324000/ This is a work-in-progress... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/stephanee_d/323040/ Red DoorShe was lying on the couch when it struck her . . . staring at the terra cotta pots, which were mottled, their bottoms turning dark, standing out against salmon-shaded soapstone towers and bowls that served as her only concession to frivolous decoration. The.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/stephanee_d/322936/ Fourth Floor Thunder07.24.08in their dimly litsection ofbuilding (four walls,a bed slept in by strangers,a TV—staring blankly, reflectingthe pastel painting on striped wallswith peaches and apples dangling nearthe ceiling),lightning illuminatesstucco, the green, slanted.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/stephanee_d/322639/ Empty Rooms09.27.08She was so much sadder thanwe knew in her black socks,with a shock of pink and white irises;with her sweater, the color ofsliced cucumbers and dijon mustard;with her brown hat, and beaded necklacetwisting over the flat plains of her stomach.She wore tur.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/stephanee_d/322633/