The Craft of Metaphor

I poke my finger. Gently, I press it to see where I have punctured it yet again and a bead of blood tickles my skin. Shallow. I slide my needle through five green beads, five red. My nose nearly touches the cloth as I force the metal and fabric into conversation. This small item is…

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To Breathe a Life of Narrative

Is it in our human nature to create stories? I understand that I am but a measly cross-section of a race which has existed for thousands of years and very well may continue for thousands more; however, seeing as I, too, enjoy flaunting my bipedalism, boasting the opposability of my thumbs, and exercising the incredible…

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