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Recommended: My first kiss (essay
The dry snow crunched under my heavy footsteps as more of the crystal flurried down forming a blanket of powder. I felt the arctic air whistle past when my friend began complaining of his waning energy supply. It was a long day because of all the shopping that had to be done for the holidays. We just returned from an exhausting trip to the mall and decided to stop by Red Mango for some nourishment. We were starving. In that split second, I made a decision I would end up remembering for the rest of my life. Red Mango was the first time when I saw Deepika; the girl I fell in love with at first sight. I came to order a plentiful serving of luscious and sweet Madagascar Vanilla frozen yogurt covered in coconut sprinkles. The first thing I saw …show more content…
She was a short in stature and had dreamy eyes; they were shining like diamonds in the sky. Her hair, black as the night, glistened under the incandescent bulbs of the cafe. It was very obvious that she was going out to a party later today; however, she was not with any friends. I informed my friend that I was going to engage in a conversation with her and see if I can take her out. I approached her steadily and casually grabbed a chair in order to spark a conversation. At first, it seemed like she was very reserved and did not want to utter a single word. However, she ended up starting the conversation right when I sat down with her. I found out that she had been waiting eons at this Red Mango cafe for her Tinder date to show up. She mentioned that she had been talking to him for a couple of days and they decided that they would go out for dinner. Her face already expressed upsetting emotions; she knew that her date was not going to come. To lighten the mood, I changed the topic so I can know more about her. We ended up talking for a long time about all kinds of things: cars, relationships, and cheesecake. It turns out that her personality was similar …show more content…
The only thing that was missing was a romantic walk through Lurie Gardens located in Millennium Park. We arrived in Chicago around a quarter to midnight and parked right off of Michigan Avenue. At first glance, the garden was breathtaking. The moonlight had brought out the internal beauty of the bushes and trees. The plants had glistened like beautifully cut jewels that have been polished over and over. I was allured by the simplicity of this garden and its features; I was just amazed by how simple shrubbery can set a romantic mood. We finally decided to walk inside and travel around the entire park. Deepika was bewildered by how perfect the moment was; the night was silent as hands of time. However, I was more enchanted by how her earrings had shimmered in the light. I was captivated by her presence and her charm. Furthermore, we finally finished walking around the park and decided to go to Buckingham Fountain to end the night. Surprisingly, the fountain was still running at midnight and there was nobody in sight. It was a great way to end the evening. I had an amazing time with Deepika and decided to finally lean in for my first kiss right under the splashing waters of the fountain; it was
“Winter Evening” by Archibald Lampman, and “Stories of Snow” by P.K Page are two poems describing the human experience of winter. Winter is seen, by some, to be blissful, magical and serene. Winter could also be described as pure and heavenly, with the white snow resembling clouds. However, others have a contrasting viewpoint; they paint winter in harsher light, giving the impression that winter is bitter and ruthless. Others still, have a mixed viewpoint and may recognize both the positives and negatives to the season.
cold, harsh, wintry days, when my brothers and sister and I trudged home from school burdened down by the silence and frigidity of our long trek from the main road, down the hill to our shabby-looking house. More rundown than any of our classmates’ houses. In winter my mother’s riotous flowers would be absent, and the shack stood revealed for what it was. A gray, decaying...
Under the pear tree on that spring afternoon, Janie sees sensuality wherever she looks. "The first tiny bloom had opened. It had called her to come and gaze on a mystery. From barren brown stems to glistening leaf-buds to snowy virginity of bloom. It stirred her tremendously" (10). Gazing across the garden...
In short, this is a story of a random meeting of two strangers, and an attraction or feeling that is overlooked and ignored. A man describes a lady such that you could only envision in your dreams, of stunning beauty and overwhelming confidence of which encounters of the opposite sex occur not so very often. The mans attraction is met by a possible interest by the lady, but only a couple flirtatious gestures are exchanged as the two cross paths for the first time and very possible the last.
There once was a water droplet named Raine, she was thousands of years old. Her routine consisted of going through the water cycle, she got to see new things each day and explore. Sometimes she ended up in the same place, but most of the time she got to see new things. In this story you are going to hear about one day when Raine went to Fruitvale.
He pressed back into the seat, as though to hide, and noticed an exceptionally pretty, small blond girl enter the bar, with a guy, who was tall to her small, dark to her blonde and lean to her curvaceousness. He was dressed in a red shirt hanging over black jeans, had a beard, and very pale face. She shone like a lamp beside him. He watched them covertly.
The falling snow soon covers the irregular jagged surface of the earth and this visual scene is gradually overwhelming the senses and sensitivity as the mind is going in a state of numbness. In such a state of numbness one becomes concerned and confined with ones own self. The poet is trying to find refuge in the lap of nature but the cold whiffs of night seals out his approach. The falling snow has further aggravated the chances of his meeting with nature.
They woke up and trudged on, through the deep and treacherous snow. “Roar”, all of them stopped in their tracks, they looked around but saw nothing except for the thick blanket of pure white snow.
The snowman opened his eyes to two small children. A boy and a girl standing in front of me. Dressed in fluffy jackets, mittens, and the cutest little knit caps, they were the most adorable children ever. Giggling they pressed a black hat his head. "What do you think this snowman is missing", the boy asked the girl.
I stepped out of the chilly November air and into the warmth of my home. The first snowfall of the year had hit early in the morning, and the soft, powdery snow provided entertainment for hours. As I laid my furry mittens and warm hat on the bench to dry, I was immediately greeted with the rich scent of sweet apple pie, pumpkin pie, mashed potatoes, and the twenty-pound turkey my mother was preparing for our Thanksgiving feast.
The freezing wind had chilled my hand to the bone. Even as I walked into my cabin, I shivered as if there was an invisible man shaking me. My ears, fingers, toes, and noes had turned into a pale purple, only starting to change color once I had made a fire and bundled myself in blankets like ancient Egyptians would do to their deceased Pharaohs. The once powdered snow on my head had solidified into a thin layer of ice. I changed out of the soaking wet clothes I was wearing and put on new dry ones. With each layer I became more excited to go out and start snowboarding. I headed for the lift with my board and my hand. Each step was a struggle with the thick suit of snow gear I was armored in.
There was something satisfactory in the attention of this individual with good clothes….She realized that she was of interest to him from the one standpoint which a woman both delights in and fears. Her manner was simple, though for the very reason that she had not yet learned the many little affections with which women conceal their true feelings.
The snow that was predicted to be several inches by the end of the weekend quickly piled up to around eight inches by that evening. At times, the snow was falling so heavily you could hardly see the streetlights that glistened like beacons in a sea of snow. With the landscape draped in white, the trees hangi...
She raised her hand in a swaying motion with the desire to slap me. I caught her hand centimeters away from my face, “Mango, I am going to finish this story if you like it or not.” She looked at me with tears in her eyes. I had won. At least I thought.
captive by a sheath of frost, as were the glacial branches that scraped at my windows, begging to get in. It is indeed the coldest year I can remember, with winds like barbs that caught and pulled at my skin. People ceaselessly searched for warmth, but my family found that this year, the warmth was searching for us.