Skip to main content

Contact

Fill out the form below, or just email me (rosecolflesh{at}gmail{dot}com). I'll get back to you as soon as I can. :)

Fill out my online form.

Popular posts from this blog

The Best Experience in the History of Experiences

Last week, on September 13th, 2013, two amazing things happened. Niall Horan--of One Direction--turned 20! *sends glittery kisses into the wind* I didn't forget you, baby! I promise! I met up with the most amazing person that has ever come into existence . ^^^ *sniffles* Here is a photo of our good-bye hug. Kenz  added the glitter. ;) My family and I had to drive about three and half hours, to get to our meeting place--which was a beautiful Barnes and Noble full of amazingly exquisite  books [it was quite heavenly]. The whole trip there I was bubbling with excitement. Rocking in my seat, tugging at my hair, belting out the lyrics to any songs I knew when they blasted out of the speakers. I had a little brother to my left, a window to my right and a present in my lap--and a stuffed Pikachu at my feet. o.O Finally , we arrived at our destination. I cannot describe to you the feeling of walking up to that bookstore, and having a someone whom you haven't p...

silver linings

 a post inspired by this lovely photo. [ photo via pinterest ] sitting swinging singing head bowed arms hanging voice low thinking blinking shrinking gears turning eyes wide shoulders slumped where did it all go? * * * She doesn't want to look up, only for her eyes to find the dark and terrible surroundings she calls her world. She doesn't want to go back, to the dwelling where words were spoken and exchanged but never taken back. She doesn't want to sit there forever. But that seems like the best option right now. While she swings, she listens and thinks, sings and sinks, the only company she has is the rag doll under her fingertips. It looks worn--just like her. And torn--again, like her. And used--just. like. her. Yet loved--a foreign feeling that has been wasted. She lifts her head to look up at the dark sky, wishing the clouds would split apart and act merciless upon her. Instead, they seem as if to slowly zip open, lightl...

"it's complete"

[ photo via pinterest ] writing. exhaling words onto paper inhaling the smell of ink scribbling furiously shoulders tensing the pencil stops dead in its tracks words are hard writing ceases days pass by no words are exhaled no ink is inhaled the author is taking a break dreams occur inspiration is sparked writing begins again and it doesn't stop "it's complete" two words that mean so much sentences build paragraphs that build chapters that build a book that build a lesson, a story my lesson to you is || don't ever give up thanks for reading. <3 xoxo, Rose pinterest instagram bloglovin