http://slow.writerscafe.org/kimburlee The original writings of author Kim King en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776071549 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 she pressed her body up against the sink and stared at the faults in her reflection. she drew burden on herself for the heart that was stitched on her sleeve. her hair had been shorn, two inches too short and her nails were bitten down to the core. her chin was a narrow arrow pointed south a.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/kimburlee/987778/ the digital alarm clock that she has never used reads 5:41. she could sit with a book of composition in her lap for hours and just stare at those slow moving, odd shaped numbers. she could stare at them and think of writing about HIM. afterall, he's only in her mind almost every aching secon.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/kimburlee/891610/ I remember her well at the Chelsea hotel.  Seeing her for the first time out the window. I had already been high for what seemed like days at a time, with the first sight of her making me sober. She had legs that were lean and a walk so mean, I could only imagine the story her eyes told.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/kimburlee/890756/ I was born on the wrong side of the bed. It was a January and the first frost had just blanketed itself upon our small and desolate town. My father sat alone in the corner of the room, weeping, as I attempted the first suckles of what little milk my mother had to offer. Her frail body still .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/kimburlee/890691/ He was on his way home to visit due to a lucky breakfrom the University. With a grueling seven hours ahead of him he knew he’d makeit, thanks in part to the three double shot coffees he consumed just two hoursprior. It was only he and the summer sky accompanied by the desolate highwa.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/kimburlee/890689/