Confidence To Write The First Screenplay oleh Matthew Berkowitz

I stood at his grave. The people had finally cleared out. Now it was only me and him. I bit my lip, there would be no lebih tears. He didn’t want that. I sat down, and went into the depths of my mind.

I still remember the last ciuman we shared. We had been in the forest on the far side of town. He pinned me against a tree, and crashed his lips to mine. Our lips moved so perfectly together. My tongue flicked out and ran along his bottom lip. His mouth dropped open and I eagerly entered.

He had been the dominate one in the relationship, no pertanyaan about it. But sometimes, he liked to see me take...

"Olga Wilson." called my 8th grade history teacher, Mr. Franklin.
I looked up at him dazed. I know this may sound weird, but I've always admired how he looked like. cokelat tanned skin with short curly black hair and honey-brown eyes. He always dresses up like those people in old 1990s educational videos. But either way, I always thought he was beautiful. If he was the same age as me, I'd tanggal him. But he's on his 30s and he's married and has 2 teenage sons. So he's out of my list.
"Ms. Wilson." he called me once lebih with his soothing voice. "Daydreaming again?"
"I guess." I sighed.
Everyone...

I am from a dad who showed me cinta –till I turned four
--A navy man with no lebih room for me
To burned bridges with family, friends and loved ones

From the chilly blue ocean, days spent at the golden beach,
And time spent hiding from the world

From days spent with despair and wishes for death
To days with unending laughter and forced smiles

The hopes of tomorrow being destroyed
And memories that become tarnished

From helping raise four younger siblings
And growing up too fast
To begging my friend not to die

From my tears, joy, and fears
To finding the Father who always loved me

From being too terrified...

As I gasp for breath while I drown the pain in morphine
While my jantung beats in tune with the rolling static hills on the metal screen
I lay on my deathbed reflecting on my life
I can say I had a good one although it was filled to the brim with tidal waves of hurt
I laughed in delight while running through the golden fields embracing the open skies and wearing a halo of warm sunshine
I climbed trees and swam in the salty zamrud, emerald sea
But Moma was always working hard at the kantin, diner filling out orders for sugary milkshakes and greasy fries
And brother Tim was always out too late fixing old radios who sang...