New novel? So I have thought of a new idea for a new book I'm writing and was wondering if anyone would like to suggest pointers or ideas: the main character is a young boy, ( the book / novel will be a buildingsroman which is German for progression... I think, well that's what my English teacher said ) and he progresses through #life such and such and there will be a secret ( I'm not telling for two reasons, 1: in case anyone steals the idea and 2: if it does get published then if I say about the surprise secret then it would ruin the book... That is if you ever get the chance to read it

Love? What is love? An emotion? A feeling? How do we truly know what this word "love" is? Have you ever loved someone? If love is fair then how come most relationships never work out? Trust is another part in this equation, for without trust there can be no love. Trust and love are the foundations on which we humans have in order to keep friends, family and our loved ones close.

Markiplier: lost a friend I know I'm late on the news about what happened to marks friend Daniel, if you haven't heard the news is that Markipliers friend Daniel died after committing suicide, if anyone is friends or knows anyone from cyndago or even if anyone knows Markiplier, please let them know that pretty much every one who subscribed cares and is here for them. Thanks

Senses Can you hear it? No? Take a proper listen. You can hear your heartbeat. Can you hear the rhythm? You can hear each breath you take. Can you see it? See what? Take a look. You can see everything around you. The rise and fall of your chest. The light around you that illuminates Where you are. Can you feel it? Feel what? The water between your fingers. Can you feel your weight sitting or lying down? Can you feel the material of your clothes? You know what anything is by feeling it, You what wood feels like and what fabric feels like. Can you taste it? Taste what? The tea you had this morning, Or the toast you had for supper. You can remember what anything tastes like Just by eating it once. Can you smell it? Smell what? The flowers by the window. Or the smell of coffee. Smells are great... As long as they smell good. Say something. What do you mean? You can use your tongue to speak. You can communicate through speech. We talk to someone each and every day. We are alive and so we can do all five of these senses, unfortunately some people can't see or hear some can't speak. Others have lost the ability to feel anything. We are privileged to be able to hear, see, feel, smell, taste, and speak.

Falling clouds On the top of a hill she stood overlooking her village that she had protected for all these years. No one knew of her existence and yet they needed her to protect them, their livestock, their children and crops. But she didn't mind not being noticed... Until one day she was. In the beginning this girl was just like any other village girl but smarter than the rest. She was the only daughter of a poor family, her father was a farmer but he also he helped make the ale and other alcoholic beverages. The mother was but a housewife she would stay at home with the daughter, she would cook,clean and tend the crops and the daughter would help, then once finished they would tend to the livestock. The girl died protecting her village and even in death she still does.... One day the girl sat on the to of a hill and began drawing, she would draw flowers and trees, birds in the sky, horses in the field or eating apples... She really did like to draw maybe that's an understatement... She LOVED to draw any spare time she could get she would draw, sketch or paint. Her most favourite thing to draw would be the sky. She felt a drifting sensation, floating even, when painting the sky with birds or clouds in them she loved it but that sensation came crashing when she first laid eyes of her village the one she loved,...it was up in flames. The girl saw raiders attacking her village so she ran as fast as she could, she was good with a sword her uncle had taught her how to protect herself from advancing enemies and where to puncture to kill them with one hit. She made it to her house and rushed through the door and to her bed which was a blanket made of sheep skin and straw. Under the bed was her sword she ran outside, it was hectic, people running and screaming, houses and markets being set alight. She saw someone run towards her with a sword in hand she readied herself. The attacker made the first move but she dealt the fatal blow, her sword pierced his stomach and moments later he fell with a thud. She picked up his sword so she was better equipped and able to protect herself. She had fought for hours bruised and bloody till the end, she had managed to take down 17 men and 24 women. She was laid to rest by some of the villagers who had survived. She was laid to rest on that same hill that one she would pour her emotions into just through expression, through her art, her love.