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YOU ARE THE REASON
Not today Justin

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@euphorhea

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“You are killing me, and you are keeping me from dying. That is love. أن تقتليني .. وأن توقفيني عن الموت .. هذا هو الحب”
— Mahmoud Darwish
{Quotes:Dreaming -cream/We shall be well prepared Mary Oliver/Who had a heart- Dionne warwick/Richard siken/Richard siken/euripides/Richard siken/euripides /letters to Milena Franz Kafka //picture: Pinterest}
“I have dreamed about you everynight since the day you left.”
Mahmoud Darwish // Fyodor Dostoevsky

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Don't cry on the floor, tears... they leave stains.
Don't love people, they will leave you with their names.
Don't give in to the darkness when it reigns.
Don't hurt yourself,.. cause in the end you're the only one that remains.
-R.P.
I once dated a writer and
Writers are forgetful,
but they remember everything. They forget appointments and anniversaries, but remember what you wore, how you smelled, on your first date… They remember every story you’ve ever told them - like ever, but forget what you’ve just said. They don’t remember to water the plants or take out the trash, but they don’t forget how to make you laugh. Writers are forgetful because they’re busy remembering the important things.
Oh, my heart is melting.
foreclosure is now something seen as the callously eroding error:
sit again, think about the old days, ruminate upon the pictures,
messy head of misguided understanding, retreat into myself,
as some great act of recognition, subsumed by the world;
I miss my tea, my music & my body, I miss the dark days.
“People who read are hiders. They hide who they are.
People who hide don't always like who they are.”
-André Aciman
Based on a quote by Franz Kafka, "And what I really intended to say in the end remains unsaid".
You've got the sunset in your eyes,
Yet behind them, a fierce storm lies.
Eyes that can blind me, my sire,
The way Oscar Wilde said "The burnt child loves the fire".
You've got a smile that can paralyse.
With you I never had to romanticise.
If I had to kill to see that smile,
You'll meet me at my trial.
You've got a smell like home,
I'm hostage to, a Stockholm syndrome.
An outsider everywhere I go,
Homesick for a place I'll never know.
You've got a voice that echoes through the night,
A voice my mind has to fight.
Delusional you can call me,
But if you saw the world through my eyes, you'd disagree.
You've got a rhythm in your hands,
A melody that drowns me, deeper than quicksands.
Music always had an influence over me,
But you're a song robbing me from reality.
You've got that energy I've never seen,
My personal brand of dopamine.
If they catch me in this daydream,
My muse would be revealed.
You've got a healing heart,
Beaten and battered but a piece of art.
The brightest soul heavens knew,
If only I could name a constellation after you.
You've got me hypnotyzed under your fingertips,
Giving me a taste of the cosmos from your lips.
If yearning was a disease,
It feels like forever, I've been on my knees.
-R.P.

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“I choose to love you in silence…
For in silence, I find no rejection,
I choose to love you in loneliness…
For in loneliness, no one owns you but me,
I choose to adore you from a distance…
For distance will shield me from pain,
I choose to kiss you in the wind…
For the wind is gentler than my lips,
I choose to hold you in my dreams…
For in my dreams, you have no end.”
― Rumi
Come with me, there are
Pixies in the wind & sunbeams
On my face and optimism is
Persistent on the days when
The air smells less like diesel
And more like honeysuckle
Honey, the world has shrunk
Or maybe that's me but
That copse of trees is swaying
Gracefully, the warmth of laughter
Lingers on my lips, I only
Care to drink
"I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot explain it to myself."
- Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis
being alive is like: you want to go home. you don't know where home is. you want to go home. you don't know where home is. you want to go home. you haven't known for a long time. you want to go home but you don't know where you'd go. you want to go home you want to go home you want to go home
hidden amongst the shrapnel of some endless fragmentation,
lurking deep in every essence, an act of impurity staining such:
these strange nocturnal creatures, gelatinous nightmarish mass,
piercing both the fabric & the frame, for all things are blackened;
an endless mirage, murmurs of great antecedent permanence,
misguided forms, distorted by the creeping sense of disorder.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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"I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell" and "even when you breathe I know it's you"
Crazy how trauma makes you push people away when all you want is love.