Articles, essays, poems, short stories and tips on writing

Oh mi amor, death whispered once more, sighed once more, and a curtain of mist clouds my mind, My heart has frozen, and my eyes have flooded hopelessly, And I am drowning, drowning in the tears of your departure. The roses you left me are dwindling into decay and ashes, All I know is that I am no more, All I know is this consuming sorrow that eats my flesh, my soul, Leaving me crawling and hoping for some light. I am cast adrift into the darkness, Haunted by the ghost of your touch, Longing for a warmth that's forever lost, Forever swallowed by the abyss of sorrow. What am I to do, But to let you go? I am sliding away into the cold, As I send you my ashy kiss, As I drink my own tears. The shadow within grows, and that sunset I beheld fades away, Leaving me obscured, secluded, for you are no more, What else is there in this bottomless dead existence, Fading away, fading far away, And my heart in vain cries. Solace walked away from me, All your joy consumed, Leaving me with a bunch o

For the first time, yes, I have left a big chunk of my heart in Leon, Spain. I say and own the words I write because it is the plain truth. Never have I felt such a feeling of sadness at the coming back to Madrid and leaving that extraordinarily unique place behind. I was amazed at the locals who are so kind and talkative, their energy spurt out everywhere like fountains of rainbows and good humor. People from Leon will embrace you as if you were their own. They will strike up a conversation as if you had known them all your life, and the genuine care and respect in their words are heartwarming. They also have this wonderful sing-sung accent that is captivating because it sounds beautiful. They surpass frivolities and instead, they enjoy life, and the simplicity they carry themselves with is admirable. This is because they prioritize simple pleasures like having a cup of coffee with a dear friend or going for a walk in a park surrounded by fountains and trees, over acquiring up-market

Para Martín, el simple acto de levantarse era una fuerza poderosa que se traducía en la sensación del frescor matutino como si de ello dependiera su existencia. Y no era en vano. Él encarnaba uno de esos personajes capaces de hacer revolotear la mente y el cuerpo, un torbellino imbuido de pasión por todo lo que representara la belleza. Cuando sus ojos se posaban directamente en los tuyos, te sentías desnudo, como si una llama eterna brillara en sus ojos color miel. Apenas dirigía su mirada hacia la gente mientras hablaba, pero cuando lo hacía, te sentías a su merced, como si su mirada penetrara las paredes de tu alma y corazón, dejándote expuesto en el acto. Sin embargo, no me quejo, pues bajo el resguardo de su aura y sus palabras, sentí  el calor reconfortante de esa mirada de fuego. Me embriaga su mirada, me bañan sus palabras. Sí, así es Martín. Así es él, en quien me he enamorado. Para él, la vida era una fiesta que le ofrecía deliciosos manjares y placeres los cuales él aprovecha

Rage, sadness, solace, rapture, depression, she falls into the pit over and over again, and from the broken pieces she rebuilds herself... again...in pain? off the disheartened broken sunset she feeds on the memories of his dwelling, while a choir of voices is heard, in waves, free of pain. Rage makes the soul walk in sticks, and softly bandages the heart and the mind covers it in silk, to better sense the reality in a soothing way, where her deceiving soul and passion raise the flag of his heart. Sadness, oh that ugly bitter one which marks the silhouette of the candle, and causes havoc in the room of her solitude, why should it stay with her when solace conforms her deepest desire, is it not enough to witness her pierced heart bathed in the blood of sunsets and tears? Rapture seems to have abandoned her with just a broken glass of wine, have mercy on her, bathed her in petals I say! yet no-one hears the clamour of her voice, my voice, there is just solitude in the streets embalmed by

Writing an FCE essay might be challenging for certain people. There are guidances that your teacher / tutor must let you know. Here you will find a couple of examples, one of which fulfills the task as opposed to the other which simply does not. There is also an analysis based on the quality of the writing .  The assessment regarding a piece of writing is based on the following:  1. Content Focuses on how well you have completed the task, in other words, if you have answered the question. 2. Communicative Achievement Focuses on how appropriate the writing is for the task and whether you have used formal or informal style appropriately. For example, is the style right for a magazine article? 3. Organisation Focuses on the way you put together the piece of writing. Are the ideas logical and ordered? Have you used paragraphs and linking words? 4. Language Focuses on vocabulary and grammar. This includes demonstrating the range of language that you know, as well as how accurate it is. RUBR

Based on the imperfections that represent life in general, I must admit that it is quite challenging to come to terms with this notion. Constantly, we are led to believe that our behavior, academic success, work promotion, and having a well-off standard of life should be regarded as perfect. However, in my humble opinion, these notions are far from perfect or even real, mainly because they are a representation of the reality that takes shape in our minds. For instance, if someone can imagine living a perfect life—being healthy, having a nice cozy home surrounded by an idyllic environment—they may do their best to transfer that mental reality into the palpable and tangible day-to-day life we live. However, this "new" reality will likely be represented not in detail but as a similar copy to the one they had already imagined. In this tangible reality, that person will likely face certain limitations and obstacles to overcome, in addition to the possibility of getting sick or, pe

As human beings, we are inherently flawed. Imperfections and mistakes are an integral part of our existence. While we constantly strive to become better versions of ourselves, we often find ourselves succumbing to the abhorrence of what is commonly referred to as sin. This concept calls us out when we engage in actions that not only go against our own moral principles but also infringe upon the beliefs and values of others. As individuals, we are driven by a desire for personal growth and the pursuit of righteousness. We set high standards for ourselves, envisioning a future in which we embody the best version of who we can be. However, this journey towards self-improvement can be arduous and demanding. It requires constant self-reflection, introspection, and a willingness to confront our own shortcomings. It is crucial to acknowledge that the notion of sin varies across different belief systems and cultural contexts. What may be considered a sin in one religion or culture might not ho

What am I to be in the universe of your departed love? After all this time, my heart still breaks, yet I pretend to carry on by making a cup of coffee in the morning, even though I can still see the cracks in my facade. Perhaps I should replace it with a new one, shifting the burden of your memory to another bag. Maybe the brown-leathered one, as it aligns better with today's fashion and would be easier to carry along. Sometimes, as I light a candle and play that sonata that glimmers under the moonlight, my tearful eyes betray me and tears escape. No matter how many times I lock them away, they still find a way out. The rhythm takes me on an emotional journey, while my mind sifts through the remnants of the moments and memories we shared, only to be buried once again. And once again, I feign sleep, forcing my mind to dream a dream of dreams. Yet, your ghost, your memory, your scent, still linger, so I adorn another mask and pretend to be someone else. Slowly, my body wriggles under

I was just there, pondering my thoughts, and letting them fly when I suddenly realized your obsession with making me cry every time I hear the sweetness of your music and I wondered why my soul longs to be back home, to that place that I treasure within, yet I don't know where it is or what it looks like and when there is a rough chord performed by the bow of your command, my feet remember the silver cobblestoned road leading somewhere. I feel translucent, I spread my wings as the wind flows through my spiritual being that gets caught in its capricious and turbulent whirls, just to let me out, up and down the wisps of wind, here and there, love, and grandeur, rapture's birth, and sadness' death.  Your music simply envelops me, molds me and tosses me here and there, and I do not complain, what for? if it is your music that revives the torrents of feelings and light within me, as if an almighty force has given you power through the most beautiful music created by the hands of

There are wonderful traits and lessons we can learn from other people, but, of course, there are also negative qualities we should avoid. By embracing virtues, we can strive for personal growth and achieve much more in life. On the other hand, certain traits hinder our mental evolution. In this text, we will address two of these negative factors: materialism and ignorance, as well as ways to counteract their dominance. MATERIALISM Being a slave to material possessions and attaching a sense of approval and validation from external sources reflects the shallowness of a person. This unidimensional pursuit often seen in individuals who lack depth and substance. They may be driven by consumerism to fill a void or pretend to be something they are not. Unfortunately, this constant pursuit of external approval stifles their true essence, leading to a fleeting sense of reality and leaving them feeling empty. It is important to have material possessions, but minimalism suggests keeping them to a

Your love vibrates in the waters of  my heart,  play your music, your lullaby,  and in your bosom let me rest, while you my darling, caress my head. You, the pillars of my life, the golden cup, the laurel crown, I, the slave of your love, the one who abandons his own, the one who cannot exist without submerging his head in the goldens  of your hair, in the slumber of your tranquility, in the mountains of your breasts. You my goddess, what am I to be without you? a simple decaying soul that even the sun denies to shine upon, you my calmness, who tames my enraged spirit for war,  that cruel one that distorts the heart and the soul. You the one I love with all my might, the one I care during the blazing sun and starry nights, you my sunrise sung by birds, my sunset bathed in red and gold with a dagger that cannot hurt. At the gallop of my beast my heart stirs, beholding the wind as it gently caress the sun of your hair, the whiteness of the moon is poured on you, and I render myself to yo

My words, they are like a whirlwind, uncontrollable and so capricious. Some of them i must find a way to keep them at bay, otherwise...they'll hurt someone for they are so sharp and cold at times and at others they're as if they were bathed in honey and sprinkled with nut bits, they actually feel very springy... and I miss those ones, specially when they need to be written. So I just let myself go, I let myself be drowned by them and I summerge and become their slave. They are the body of the imagination, hopeful, dull and fascinating. I guess they are the right combination as nothing should be uniformed, but rather a little of everything here and there to make and construct a perfect form.  These words, those words, palpitating in my head, begging to be set free drill my soul and as soon as I release them, a combination of satisfaction and sadness invade my senses, simply because they shape up a dream, and in that moment they become real, they become an alternate reality of wh