Fire's Fury

jeffstokely:

Solid advice for any writer, found on a middle school bulletin board.
Via Vladimir Verano

Solid advice for any writer, found on a middle school bulletin board.

Via Vladimir Verano

So I’m reading a new erotic novel. And I tell him it reminds me so much of us. He feels all big and tough thinking I mean because of the erotic sex.

Truth is, this trilogy (Fifty shades -Of grey- -darker- and -freed-) is so much like us, because of everything else too. The biggest part? Ana can portray the everlasting Need for Christian that I’ve felt for you since December 1st, 2010. Her utter contentment spending forever solely him. Everything in their relationship is so much more, even erotic, than all of the sex scenes.

Babe, while the sex is great; my head against your chest and your arms around me will quiet any fear, fix any frown, and keep me running till the day we part. And trust me, the ever looming date of that happening scares mr beyond belief too.

man-made-cynic:

grandchariots:

englishpearl:

A sweet lesson on patience.

A NYC Taxi driver wrote:

“I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes I honked again. Since this was going to be my last ride of my shift I thought about just driving away, but instead I put the car in park and walked up to the door and knocked.

“Just a minute”, answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.

After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90’s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940’s movie.

By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.

There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

“Would you carry my bag out to the car?” she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman.

She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness.
“It’s nothing”, I told her.. “I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother to be treated.”
“Oh, you’re such a good boy”, she said.

When we got in the cab, she gave me an address and then asked, “Could you drive
through downtown?”
“It’s not the shortest way,” I answered quickly…
“Oh, I don’t mind,” she said. “I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice.”
I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening.
“I don’t have any family left,” she continued in a soft voice… “The doctor says I don’t have very long.” I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.

“What route would you like me to take?” I asked.
For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator.

We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.

Sometimes she’d ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, “I’m tired. Let’s go now.”

We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.

Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move.

They must have been expecting her.

I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.

“How much do I owe you?”, she asked, reaching into her purse.
“Nothing,” I said
“You have to make a living,” she answered.
“There are other passengers,” I responded.

Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.
“You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,” she said. “Thank you.”
I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light… Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life…

I didn’t pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?

On a quick review, I don’t think that I have done anything more important in my life.

We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments.
But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

(via Homestead Survival)

i never normally reblog things like this but i felt my heart crack when i finished reading it. proof there are still some nice people left in the world.

Just sitting here crying because of this…