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The Places You Found LoveEveryone, but you especially as a woman, is biologically programmed to find babies cute. It's an evolutionary imperative, because the rational thing to do when you've got a screaming, shitting dependant taking up your food, is to kill it, and we need something to stop us doing that. It's also why people are generally attracted to big eyes and smooth skin - because they're characteristics of children.
And I'm not saying this to detract from the beauty of parenthood, or to make you sad, I'm saying it to point out that this fact doesn't make a baby's laugh any less wonderful. And I don't think the source of anything can make it less so.
This is why I can point out that any form of love isn't God or fate or destiny, it's that if two people have a strong emotional attachment, their children are more likely to survive.
Atomic bombs are beautiful.
So I will say that the me I am now, will and always has been feeling what I feel, but that sentence doesn't even make sense until we consider that
The Reasons We DieWhat I meant to say was that sometimes I just stare at the cigarette in my hands and beg for it to stop messing around and just kill me already.
But I figured you don't want to hear that.
The Shifting Nature of RealityYou asked me, "In these dreams, what does it look like?" I told you it looks different every time. Sometimes it's like a million feathers falling, sometimes it's like snow, sometimes it's like little stones, sometimes like ash, sometimes like a fine sand blowing across the hills. It's always silent. It falls around me but it never touches me. It never sticks. I told you sometimes I see dim figures walking in the distance through all the falling white. I told you I wish one would turn around and come to me. I wish one had your face. I wish the pink of your cheeks and blue of your eyes would appear to me unveiled from out of the drift. But the sad small figures don't turn around. They walk on, shoulders low, and disappear. I just watch them. You said, "I'm here now," and touched my hand. "I'm here now."
The Time Gone ByTick tock. All day. Every day is tick tocking by. There is no clock in your office that ticks or tocks, but you can hear the tick tock in your head. Tick. That's another second of your life gone, you think. Tock. That's one more second waiting for the man to tell you what to do. Tick. I'm a thinker, you think. Tock. Time to be a doer. Tick. You walk into your boss' office. Tock. I quit.
The clock stops.
The NuancePlay it one more time please, I need to hear it again. I need to make sure that its the only sound in my head. Play it again for me, I want to hear it once more. I want to make sure the only sound is correct. I don't want to hear that stare again. I don't want to see those words. I'll play the part again, I need to play it again. I need to make sure that every note is right. Give me a second to rehearse that part once more, I haven't been playing it right this entire time. I know it might sound right to you, but it doesn't sound right to me. I can't hear those words anymore. I never want to see that stare again. I have to keep playing. I never want to hear that again.
The Silence Goes On For YearsIn case of emergency, break glass. Throw plates. Cave to the insecurities you've harbored all along. Scream. Curse. Panic. Accuse her of never loving you, even though you know she did and still does. Tell her you never loved her. Tell yourself. Feel the world crumbling around you. Rip the rest of it down. Ignore her pleas. Her tears. Your regrets. Watch yourself leave, unable to stop your own feet. Slam the door. Keep walking. Realize, too late, that you didn't mean it.
The Art of Finding FlawsMaybe that's all it means, to grow up; to watch your heroes become human, right before your eyes.
the Millennia LaterDesolation has its own stark beauty. It's in the limbs of dead trees twisting up, pleading at the grey sky. It's in the air, cold with a faint hint of smoke and the barest breeze that stirs up the dust at your feet. The white-grey ash falls like snowflakes, dusting your hair, your coat, your mask. You catch one of the flakes and it crumbles between your gloved fingers. The ground is packed as hard as concrete under your boots as you turn your back on this cold, still world. You look up; the moon is barely visible. You will carry that memory with you as you go back underground. Mankind no longer has use for the stars.
What is on the other side?When you're staring at your reflection, what do you see? It is obvious to most people that you see an
exact image of yourself, but how do you depict that lingering 'image' that surrounds you?
What exactly do you 'see' when you look into a mirror? Light is everywhere and no person can escape
it. The same can be said about a person's feelings no matter how hard they try to cast a shallow mask
behind their true emotions.
Just how fragile are we? There are some who have more willpower than others, but lack in other
departments that help to build us up. What is it that makes you a strong or weak person?
What are you gazing at? Do you perhaps see a strong individual on that other side of the light? Is
there something dark and mysterious about that 'impostor' that you just can't figure out yet? Where
are you? Who are you?
What is on the other side?
Validating Your Tears (I'm Sorry) But what you don't know is that I'm frustrated that I can't write a poem about the thorns growing on my veins and icebergs in my heart. I can't write about the void in me when he no longer plays me Beethoven's music or sings me out of tune songs. Because there's none. I don't feel anything when he left.
Truth is, I want to feel crushed, and heart broken. Because at least sadness can prove that I loved him before and that what he said about me never loving him is wrong. And I don't want to prove him right with being happy.
I want to write something beautiful about him. I want to write a poem because that's what I know, that's the only thing that had me getting my emotions back in boxes. I want to write a poem about us smiling with dandelions on the roadsides and crying without rain to validate our tears. I want to write some
do it.Suffering isn't always pain.
Sometimes its having to itch your finger,
when you wanna strike a match,
and watch it all just fucking burn.
masochist.It's not the simple pain that I enjoy,
it's simply the pain of loving you,
which gives me my sick thrill.
A VentThere are times when I start to doubt myself. There are times where I start the think that my life is not that great and I begin to wonder why I'm still alive. Questions come into my head like, "Why am I even trying?" and "Where is my life going?" tend to prop up a lot, more than I'd like.
When I look at my life, I wonder how I became so broken. What had happened? When did it happen? How am I even still here? I couldn't answer any of those questions and probably never will.
I remember growing up, but never having any permanent friends. Those that came close always left me and I wondered why. Sometimes I would begin to think that there is probably something wrong with me and that everyone had found out, so they had begun to avoid me.
I felt left out and alone. I wasn't included in any social groups or invited to any parties. Oftentimes, I was always picked last for kickball and the kids on my team would often make it as if I we
My Best Friend"A friend is someone who can see the truth and pain in you even when you are fooling everyone else. "
The world is grey when I want to cry. It blurs and shifts as my eyes fill with tears. As the water builds up, it finally starts to flow down, down, down, hot waves on the searing sand of a beach. Lights flicker and distort as I wipe my tears away and try to think its alright. But it's not. Until you appear. You, a bright shining rainbow that spreads light and colour to every inch of my world. You might not know it, but you're the one that keeps me going. You're the one that is always there for me, even when I want to be alone. I love you for that. Thank you for sticking by me. I treasure the memories that we have made, and look forward to the future.
Ataque de estres/ansiedad Empiezo a sentir mareos, así que me voy tropezando por los pasillos buscando un cuarto vacío. Finalmente encuentro uno. Entró y cierro la puerta con llave para que nadie pueda entrar.
Mire la hora en mi celular. 2:34 am. Creo que fue una mala idea ir por una caminata, a estas horas nadie esta despierto.
Mi corazón se esta acelerando y mis manos tiemblan. Me siento en el piso y sostengo mi cabeza con las manos, tratando de relajarme. Mi respiración es anormal, y estoy sudando.
Ahora no es el momento.
Puedo sentir el hormigueo por todo mi cuerpo aumentar.
No, para, por favor.
Puedo escuchar mi corazón latir. Todo parece estar mas alto y mas callado al mismo tiempo.
Mi visión se pone borrosa, apareciendo y desapareciendo. Mire mis manos, las cuales están temblando incontrolablemente. Me siento aturdida.
Esto me ha pasado antes, bastantes veces en realidad. Cuando me siento sola o como una carga esto pasa. Es por eso que odio enfermarme,
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More