Cara Thereon

I am a writer who wants nothing more than to express myself through my words. I’m old enough to write what I like and live where the weather suits me best.

I am a writer who wants nothing more than to express myself through my words. I’m old enough to write what I like and live where the weather suits me best.

Obsessed

I keep another site that houses the multitude of stories living in my brain. It’s private so it takes the pressure off me to perform, and I find I am freer in my writing. I wrote this today. This piece isn’t construing anything so please don’t view it as anything other than pure fiction. I …

Abide

What does it mean to miss someone? Better to have love and lost Than to never have loved at all? But when the pain is so acute you can’t breathe Could the comfort of “never had” Ease you into a good night’s sleep? Nothing hurts worse than longing But hope is a powerful thing And …

Switch

A comment was made, spawning this short story. I didn’t plan on posting because I have a regular short tomorrow, but couldn’t quite help myself. “Bend over.”The words flew from my lips like a shotgun blast, startling me with the force. Just speaking them opened something dormant inside of me. It unfurled, lodging in my …

of lips and tongue

Something I wrote this week.  I enjoy sharing my unedited musings with you. Part of me wishes I could craft perfectly written stories that grab you by the throat, but sometimes I write because I like the way something feels. That’s enough. Mature content! Reader discretion is advised. — A taste Of my honey I’d …

Inspiring!

While I’m typically disinclined to do the award shtick, I figured I’d christen the new spot with its first blog award. Rushmore Judd was kind enough to nominate me for the Very Inspiring Blogger Award. Check out his blog here or here) And The Rules: 1. Display the award logo on your blog. 2. Link …

Catch Me

A little afternoon poetry prompted by the  The Sunday Whirl. — As I traverse sunny streets I think of you Your shadow walks beside me, your memory an apparition The march of time gone by echoes like the tap of my high heels on cobblestone The whistle of an arriving train reminds me that things …