Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • The warm mattress beckons with a warm striped quilt, where I can tuck my head and escape from reality, so fast, running to reach the world where I belong truly. Where nothing is permanent, yet nothing temporary, where everything is a figment yet everything has a deep rooted reason for being there. Where nothing can be deciphered and everything is a mystery. Where no one in the world except me can design what happens and what doesn’t, who enters and who doesn’t, where I can meet you and sit endlessly, under the ghost-lit tree, where we can talk, falling asleep on each others shoulders, listening to the birds chirp as the night turns into many mornings. This chill in my fingers today, reminds me of that time, when hours could afford to stand still and the nip in the air was just enough to sit close by and talk for 37 hours and more.

    Never running out of conversation, or love. Never running out of somnambulant smiles.
    • Share

    Connected stories:


Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.