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Why?What if I asked you why?
Yes, if all I said to you was why?
Like a little child, I simply ask you why?
Would you reply, telling me you have no idea what I am talking about?
Would you ask me what on earth I was saying?
I would tell you, why?
Why did you leave?
Why do you hate me?
Why haven't we talked in two years?
Why do you treat me as if I'm invisible?
Why can't we even make eye contact anymore?
Why is our relationship so screwed up?
Why do I even care anymore?
Why don't you care?
What would you tell me?
Would you stand, confused, and say to me, what?
Would your eyes give away the sadness I feel as you laugh at my seemingly strange questions?
Would you get mad and tell me to get over it already?
Might I break down into tears, pleading for answers?
Might I suddenly wrap my arms around you as if a hug will solve all of my world's problems?
Might I clench my fist and tell you, nevermind, it was stupid anyways?
But would you answer my questions?
Would you give me the answers I've se
UntitledUnder the twinkling stars in the twilight sky,
Under the full bright moon smiling down at us,
Under the deep red of the leaves in the oak,
Surrounded by the dense musty smell of autumn,
Surrounded by the green grass growing tall,
Surrounded by the beautiful silence of the night,
Watching as leaves declare independence from the oak tree and fall,
Watching as a single firefly dances above our heads,
Watching as you point out patterns of stars in the night,
Feeling the nip of cold in my gloved hands,
Feeling your arm pressed comfortingly next to mine,
Feeling delicate butterflies take flight in my stomach,
Wishing for the gentle, warm embrace of your arms,
Wishing to look once more into your bright blue eyes,
Wishing for you to tell me you love me,
Parenting for Sex AddictsThe half-day.
We are not those folks that need an occasion to try. And that’s what they call it, too. Trying. As if the very idea of it is taxing. It’s not taxing and we are not those people.
No. We do not go by some magical calendar. Schedules aren’t really our thing in general. That’d be too organized. Too stuffy. Too… I don’t know… too planned. And we’re not the type of people whom plan.
If we could—plan—our lives would be much different. I think. It’s hard to say because this is how we’ve always been.
Our very togetherness is a result of impulse. I’m almost certain that the amount of time it took us to decide to move in together was significantly shorter than the amount of time it took us to remember each other’s names. We might have had our first conversation moments after that first… what I mean to say is we didn’t plan. Because planning would have been much t
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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