Rianna Shaikh's Blog

LEUVEN, BELGIUM – SEPTEMBER 3, 2013: The Crucifixion. Paint form St. Michael church (Michelskerk) from year by Lambert Joseph Mathieu 1804 -1861

 

 

 

        Le Seigneur est mon berger; Je n’en aurai pas envie. 2 Il me fait reposer dans de verts pâturages ; il me conduit au bord des eaux tranquilles. 3 Il restaure mon âme, il me conduit dans les sentiers de la justice, à cause de son nom.       Yours,    Kate

 

 

 

      لا ينبغي لها أن تكون هنا.

She’s not like us.

An outsider.

A different kind.

A unholy woman.

She’s not good, though she act kind.

She’s wicked.

She’s evil.

She’s unhappy.

She is spoilt.

She is dark like the night.

She never liked us.

She thinks she’s great.

She thinks she’s better.

She’s evil as her mother.

She’s a bad wife.

She is a شيطان.

She’s not like us.

She is ليس مثلنا.     She my darlings, may just one day direct your faith.
And fate.          Keep at it, kindness is on her way in.

              Your writer,                  A  She Haevn: holy ground     

Dearest,    Long days prancing in the sand, wondering why the sun came out today. Happy you are; to be here, alive, well laughing with your toes in sand.      I pranced in the sand wishing you were in my hands, hands in my hand.
Wishing the sun never left. Daydreaming that you are here, Still and life didn’t take people we love. I smile laying in bed with sand on my feet and a smile on my face.         Anez        By moi terrified: the beach

 

 

Baroque artistic image of a tale of love and renaissance in the garden of colors”

“A woman’s heart is a cave full of day yet dwells only in darkness.”

 

Dearest,

         I want a love that never dims.
One that never fails when all hell temps.Or one that reminds me not of my mother’s heartbreak.I don’t want one that will change with time; I want one that will strengthen  the core of my lady lineage.

I don’t want Juliet’s love;

or Marie Antoinette’s illicit jaunts.

I don’t want to be compared to a love that’s full of brightness a week in et then it flourishes only with anger and Tears.

I never want Madame Bovary’s luck either.non, jamais.I don’t think love exist without our beliefs.
I don’t think love will exist without you dearest, chin up and keep dancing forward.Until I see you again,monsieur Make Belief.

    Hily Bemit

    Love me (a book)This is me trying: Taylor swift

 

 

Old fresco with beautiful woman from Palazzo Vecchio in Florence

 

 

“I failed myself when I believed you;because you are the most debasing of men.You know no love nor do you know to live loving God.And you call yourself my brother?”

—————————————————————-

            My dearest,
When you are first called, you may not answer,but time will hold you hostage. I smile writing this because it’s so painful when she walks to you;holding  you her ransom. People throw themselves off mountains and cliffs, because her eminent embrace is of that of a mother that never loved you , never kept you et one that will trade you for a penny to wolves of evil.       So if time beckons you a change of heart to become better; take it.

 

Take it while you can.

Don’t be late et foolish. For my dearest, life will uproot you and throw you like the seeds to the soil.

        Your writer,        Jain Kate

                 A book of lost lettersYou are a memory:
message to bears

 

             World,

 

      The night came et I realized that this world is no longer full of hope.            The fires are everywhere, the wind is fiercer than when I was 7 and the people are more bitter than lemon. But yet I stand somewhere here watching there and praying that we will all be saved for a fire of hate can burn us all to ashes.     I know my grand mother would hold fast to her rosary and prayer she would ignite a match and light a candle, for us the humanity. For one world, one life, and one love.

It’s what we need.

Stop the fires, start the love.                  Em Flow                   Book of  2023

 

daylight: David Kushner

 

 

    “Hail Mary full of grace tbe lord is with thee.”

 

         Dear world,

  

       I always wonder what the carousel of chaos is out there, as I don’t know. I tried to step back to the days of evergreens et freedom when I had no one or place to belong to. Nothing.
No one had I crossed up in hearts. Yet when I step out of here,  the rivers et torrents fall to my feet.I stay conflicted at it.Had I missed something?By the looks of it i had missed all the memos.   So I don’t know what’s the noise about but please remember, from my path to yours,

 

    I don’t know you.

      Ever so writing,

        Bells B                  A book of letters

You are a memory;
message to bears

The vow.

I do.

I don’t.

I choose a life I can’t reverse.

Do I want to?

Mildy, but no.

Yet I still feel

Like I do isn’t what I wanted. But I must say I do because there’s a line of people waiting to applaud my necessary necessity as a person that makes decisions look good. But deep inside of this person I am,I want to run away from this reality. I want to dip my feet in uncertainty et run wild like I did when I was 16 et doltish to my core.

Remember that, that day my then best friend and I Dakota  Parked her mother’s  Volvo on the driveway of that castle In belle Terre as we  ran through the castles gate, whilst the old lady screamed through the intercom,

“ you are both trespassing.”

Poor creature, she was her own prisoner in her own

I do.

But Yah we did that. And it was
the best wrong I ever did.    I  Would not encourage you to be reckless as such, a few more minutes and we would of both been in the back seat of Mr Coops car.
Uff. Life when young is a far better one that getting older.
Relish a cup of nostalgia? 

      Back to saying  I do.

      Love is castles in belle Terre, 

        Carrie Kacey Philips      the book of letters 

 

Carrie: Europe

don’t forget me: night traveler

“ All that glitters is not good or bad, just run from it. Unlike mother dearest, who took it all and then called it home.”

 

 

              The Brookvilles

 

I walked in the grand foyer and it was empty. Marble et disappointments in the Chandlier hanging 20 doltish feet high.

When really who needs all this when we can’t even be husband and wife in real life?

     We are not even good actors Chance. You are engulfed on Wall Street  and I am bedecked mad in grief. But yet here I stand with my Louis valise armored with loathing, to be back here, Right here where I started.     Gosh this love game is more stupid than my mother and father pretending to have loved Me. Well let’s hand it to them, I once held  a picture of us when she held me for the first time, it was an iconic tragic look in her eyes. Nevertheless, I was still named Sophie Becks. Now well desperately now, I wait for you  my husband to be home from your exhausting chase on Wall Street.    That and your thousand secretaries who would do just anything for you. I know, highly do,  I am the woman who cares not. A moment in life i as a little girl
never
imagined to feel.   So please hurry home, your divorce is being served.After dinner, first we must play our part in civil humanity, In Loubottoms et Chanel, like the beginning except we both look exhausted now.Vite Vite!                       Your loyal wife,          Sophie Becks U2: with or without you

Ps. This piece of madness is
beautiful as I feared I couldn’t write
her as ruthless as i once did. Welcome back darling Sophie
, Book 4.

 

              The way home.

        

“Roads are made to be traversed. Good or bad it’s a path for you to decipher.”
I would want to run and slide down mountains just for the thrill of being alive. Though my knees knock and tremble as I think of adventure. I think adventures are for born gallivants.     I admire you. I think had I been born with a bone for adventure,  I’d never be a Mrs. I imagine you a Mr and it’s easier. You can just wake up and leave. Though your slate roof beckons you or a wife, maybe your dog. It calls you home.
Home isn’t a place without you dearest, so go;Go home.    For the sake of us; the humanity we hold fast of, go home. And this time, make it a home. The empty walls seek for a master to belong to. Or a mademoiselle that dreamt her whole life to be a wife. Women dream when they are little, to built homes and marry a prince. Little do they know that it’s silly as heck. Well until you are 40, then reality steps in and you look around and that’s all you have. What’s beside you.     So home you go- when you get there you’ll look around and that’s what you need.        I use to think otherwise
but my age is a constant
reminder that I am not
like Emeline anymore rather
a Stewart. Hopefully better
looking than Martha.       Ever so,       Reine P   A book of letters Roxette: must of been love