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Lyndsey Evenstar

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Leaving to Serve for 18 Months
  The following is my farewell to you all for the next 18 months, as I am leaving next week to serve a mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. When I return, I fully intend on blogging once more. So, stay tuned and I will be back with m...

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The Truth About Poetry
The thing about poetry, is that most people often associate it with depression/sadness/breakups. I think there are a few reasons for this, however, what I really want to get at is that a lot of people write poetry on these things because the feelings evoked...

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Sitting by the Willow Tree
No, I didn't design this image-but isn't it epic? If only my artistic skills would permit me to create this magic.  To be real though, a 'Hello' from Lyndsey has been long overdue. I've been to college -hurrah I've held a real job, I've even met a few fri...

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Fading... away...
They say the best way to know someone else, is to put yourself in their shoes. Only, for the mere specs of humanity on this planet, putting one's self in someone else's shoes is complex. Sure, you can dream. You can pretend, you can visualize. --but, nothin...

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The cards for Brandon Sanderson's #Mistborn House War have been upgraded, now we're working on adding House Erikeller:

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Confessions of an INFJ
To say people are my forte, would be odd from an observer's point of view. I conduct myself with a cool dispassion, bordering on contempt. I am outwardly friendly, but ultimately unreachable in an infinite number of ways. The question is, why? I confess thi...

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Death of the Sun
Our thoughts bleed like rain, madness ensues; from the death of the sun. We are born in fire---crystallized in the thoughts of a broken world, the valves of our hearts, pump sand through our veins. Nothing matters. There is no feeling. Silence. Stop this bu...

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I need to remember to follow this one, her writing is hilarious!

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A thousand words, and nothing to say
My hands have spent the last few minutes hovering over this keyboard; poised like a tidal wave, just before before it crashes back into the turning sea.    There are things I want to say, yet I don't know how to say them. I'm unsure of where---or how, to be...

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I don't remember how old I was when I decided I wanted to be a writer. All I know, is that since then the desire to create has consumed me. However, perfectionism has become my downfall. Its feed off the doubts I've willingly handed it, and tainted the only...
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