and there you go again
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
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YOU ARE THE REASON

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@sherreenwrites
and there you go again

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December, number four:
and i could try to hide it, but the ache is inevitable. i wait for it to take me. i wait, like i always do.
December, number three:
and so i wait. it’s going to come, i know: the final act. curtains, credits, whatever you want to call it. there is a finish line and past it, there is a life where i can no longer claim your name in my poems. i hang onto the ache instead. i don’t know how to let go of it, yet.
December, number two.
i don’t remember the day, really, but that’s the only thing that slips my mind. everything else, i recall. so very vividly bright. i’m getting another dress made, same colour. the symmetry only dawned on me a few days ago, just on the cusp of december. and how the last time i wore a dress of that colour was the december you split me wide open. and the last time i wore that silk was that cold march night; i remember. the coldest night. winter lingering with a tight grip. a glimpse; the song that was playing in the background. the cold breeze and the empty postcards, and birthday candles in a burger. i think i carry the hurt, still, somewhere within. i like to pretend i don’t, but it seeps through, against my best attempts to coneal it. i wrapped myself in velvet. in blacks and blues. i hid myself, as always, as usual. i always remember what i’m wearing, when these things happen. i put the gold away after that, unconsciously, perhaps. i lost my favourite scarf in another continent; i thought about the december i wore it when i first met you. my velvet skirt and combat boots. i can still see you eyeing me across the room. i can still hear the words you’ve said. these caramel-filled chocolate pieces melting in my mouth; the first poem i’d written about something real, and how it tasted, and how it lingered. i don’t remember what day it is anymore. i could look it up, if i wanted. i could write a poem about it again, how the forgetting of the day is another loss. my grip slipping on the heartache; this thing i had been grasping with iron-tight fists, the only proof i had that i had lived through it. i don’t want to, not anymore, not really. i think about the days ahead, instead. the scent of perfumes in the air. the coziness of sitting in the backseat of a car between my friends, speeding down a highway to go home. the first glimpse of sunset when i walk out of the door. i think about the dress, the same colour, and the way it will wrap me up, and the way time is a circle, and how i keep coming back to you, and how i don’t want to write about it anymore, and how i drift away, and there’s a possibility, for the first time, that i might breeze through this december with a light heart, without a poem about you, without forcing myself into the shadows.
and sometimes on a friday night with nothing planned and the air cold on your face but barely reaching the bottom of your lungs, with that knot in your chest, and the tremor that ripples just beneath your skin, and you can feel the heat rushingto your face. of course. your body is tripping over itself and your nerves are racing to their ruin and you are so full of everything and you can feel it being drained out of you, all the same and sometimes, sometimes, just for a brief moment in between all of this, it all works itself out and you are okay and you are here, still, despite it all, despite everything really

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we were beautiful while we lasted.
a girl is waiting to be loved, a girl is waiting to die.
i thought i never knew homesickness but then i started to forget you
all you know is love that hurts
i can taste the longing in my mouth

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i long for nothing
always always
and i still miss you
when will we stop
still you

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 love you but i should stop
kiss me