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When You Let Your Heart WinShe decided the rose was a perfect symbol for love. It was beautiful to look at, but if you actually tried to grab it for your own, it would only prick you and cause you pain.
She was sitting all alone on the day she discovered this comparison, squinting into the bright, hot sun of the afternoon, pondering the various elements of life. Having seen others' relationships and having a few of her own, she felt wise.
There was one friend who loved to speak of tearing all the petals from roses and tossing them to the warm currents of the summer night. One held the stem carefully in her hand, examining it and pointing out the thorns that may one day come to hurt her--or her boyfriend. Another examined all the roses around her, wondering when and if she would find the right one. The last one ignored all the flowers in the garden until a lighted red one fell at her feet.
But she who sat alone that day had always caught her love by the thorns. From the very first day, she knew they wouldn
Bitches Get StitchesMike had no idea where the tune had come from. It had just...popped into his head, and it showed no signs of leaving anytime soon. He sat through the meeting, trying to ignore it, but it wouldn't go away.
And then one of the other states had shot him some insult about his New York City, and suddenly the tune had words. 'You can talk your shit, you're only making me famous.'
That just drove him more insane. He needed to know where this song had come from.
And more importantly, why it wouldn't leave him alone.
He was almost ready to yank long island off when finally he heard Florida singing softly, "Bitches get stitches, they end up in ditches, so get the riches."
Everyone else stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at her. Laura blinked in surprise at all the sudden attention during the normally chaotic meeting. "...What?"
I Belong To You I hate rain. Not really, I love it. Just not when the most beautiful, perfect, wonderful, perfect, comfortable, waterproof, perfect coat in existence has been savagely butchered by my so-called friend’s Dalmatian. Every slap of rain on my naked arms is a stinging reminder of the irreparable hole in my wardrobe.
Some people might try to fill the void with lesser coats but I can’t bring myself to betray Valentino, even after her death. Instead my slippery arms grapple with each other in wet shock as I stumble to the op shop, clinging to one last thread of hope. I know in my deadened heart that I’ll never have another coat like her. Yet here I am, blundering through the elements in my vain search for the acceptance and warmth I found wrapped in Valentino’s woollen sleeves.
Thud. My body slams into the door, making the ‘open’ sign quiver and the bells tinkle in offense. I fight for entry, the door’s assault doubled by the stale funk of
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More