Fingerprints

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OK, you've made it this far with life. And most still have so much more to look forward to. But don't forget your past, never. If you give up your past, you might as well have just given up who you are. The people you met, even in passing, and the places you saw are what made you who you are today. Even if you came from a small town in the middle of nowhere, or a huge metropolitan where you were just another face in the crowd. The place you called home, and all those people that lived there, touched your life. Touched it and left a mark, like a fingerprint. That person that walked past you on the sidewalk left a print, and then on the person they next met. And you left yours on them. But, now your mark has changed, and so has theirs. Every experience no matter how small, altered that fingerprint. That's why no two people are the same. They've all had their fingerprints altered.


AU: Yeah, I know. Weird. But that's what ended up on the paper when I just sat down to write. Like it or not, let me know. Thanks!
-bueberry
Last edited by bueberry on Sun Sep 28, 2008 3:49 pm, edited 1 time in total.




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Hey!
I know this piece is really short but sometimes I like reviewing these teeny ones...gives me a bit of a break...

the places you saw are what made you what you are today


the places yo saw are what made you who you are today....

or a huge metropolitan where


or a huge metropolitan what? huge metropolitan city?

all those people that lived there, touched your life. Touched it and left a mark,


after touched your life I would change the fullstop to a semi-colon :)

oh and fingerprint is one word!
Olivia
xxx
If you wake up in the morning and all you can think of is writing, then you're a writer...



For a short space of time I remained at the window watching the pallid lightnings that played above Mont Blanc and listening to the rushing of the Arve, which pursued its noise way beneath. The same lulling sounds acted as a lullaby to my too keen sensations; when I placed my head upon my pillow, sleep crept over me; I felt it as it came and blessed the giver of oblivion.
— Mary Shelley, Frankenstein