Author :Nadia Al Najjar I headed up to ""said"". Free office beckoned. Kiev that from him. I lifted my cloak a little ride through the water. I watch my feet as I do in my childhood fear of the sting of a jellyfish or broken glass. See clean under the water, that these of the sun. What do people do who don't Creek have and sea? How moisturizes their sorrows and one is? To prevent the buy and sell of their secrets? He is my refuge when Add me lower when you smile also. Templates ""lessons"" in the case of a constant movement between the two banks of the creek. I meet make templates of paper and call it a push toward the other bank. When we grew up a little bit we started writing messages on scraps of paper, small windows in those boats. Created to resemble us. We choose the later stories and anecdotes from someone who tries his luck to get those messages. We make him read it. Drilling my name and her name. Cross the creek to look for. Gone, Marion, left with all the boats and issues that we wrote. Maybe it lives somewhere under the depths of the creek, probably near that of the ship that brought my mother on board the same day."
