http://slow.writerscafe.org/rebekahrw The original writings of author Rebekah W. en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776055787 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 What words are there to portray what is in my heart?For the first time, words fail me.How do you create something that has never been done?For the first time, art fails me.You are deserving of so much more than my whimsical mind could muster,but perhaps I can surprise us both.I've never been good at.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebekahrw/1183246/ Steady as the wind blows,surely as the birds sing,my heart is growing fonder each time yours beats.Steady as the wind blows.Higher than the mountain tops,taller than the trees,my love for you never ceasing to grow,higher than the mountain tops.Stronger than the hurricanes,certain as the sunrise,my a.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebekahrw/1183234/ Must all good things come to an end?I like to imagine they don't.How boring the sun would become without seasons of snow...And while I know time is always progressing,how can it be that all we have will merely be a lesson?One would do well not to mention your namewhen speaking of things that have co.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebekahrw/1183233/ A young book sits dusty on the shelf.For such a short life, it has gathered quite the film.The curiosity of a single mind could help,if someone could just find the will.If the spine were to be cracked,many great stories the reader would see.A collection of loves, tears, and laughsjust waiting for so.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebekahrw/1183232/ I laugh as I try to find you,a hide-and-seek game, of sorts.That's all we ever play.You hide, I seek...Carefully, so as not to scare you away.Sometimes my search becomes a panic.I can't find you.I know you're there, hiding around one of these dark corners,but it seems as though just when I'm about t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebekahrw/1183231/ The drops - they fall like bullets from the sky.Each one stings my skin, reminding me of my pain.Maybe the bullets aren't so bad...At least if I can still feel,I know my pulse remains.Yet, with the shift of perspective,the bullets become feathers,brushing my skin like a mother caressing a frightened.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebekahrw/1183230/