Jun 21, 2019
Don’t let her go...
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Don’t let her go...
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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Help! I can’t choic Rave+Murphy or Murphy+Emori. Why? First, Raven met John at 1 season and they was known long time. Survived many dangers, starting with to shoot into each other. It's the better meeting. They went through many stages: hate, patience, acceptance, the trust, forgiveness through cries... John care about Raven. (In ring, in criminals ship, on island, in laboratorie becky's, in captivity.) Second, Emory was an outcast like John. They are alike, have equal opinions about life. Their pair has ferocious chemicals. But I think it will die in season 6. After the ring, they have changed. They survived, and their task was completed. I mean, their love was the love of two lost, broken survivors, and when their lives were saved, they broke up.
I can’t, i love them so much
Lies make the truth so beautiful, doesn't it?
B.P.
There's so many people to know, there's so many things to do. I don't why or how it is so, that I keep thinking about you.
B.P.
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.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Slates And Stones.
It never left my system, the spiked tendrils of longing and unchangeable circumstance. The itching is annoying, but I keep it here, somewhere inside me, letting it trash and wail, to tire itself out. Then maybe, I could lean on something without overthinking about it—for a while.
The while dies, not having really lived.
The cycle ensues, like a death sentence—inescapable, unlike a death sentence—painful. Heaving more tombstone sighs from me, cursing everything in sight, awkward movements, murmuring to myself, answering back, changing places, making faces. Having my turn to tire myself out this time around, and soon plopping back to bed, veered to think again. The wrenching continues.
I will always be here. In the ruins we fissured, putting back the slates and stones in order. But I did not assemble it to plow it back to even ground, I did it for the chance of you waltzing into my life again, carving with that scythe of yours again, reaping a way again, in the barren rubble where we had something grow and blossom.
And yes, many people will come and walk on this patch of land, but nothing compared to the ridges you patted down deeper than the humus and humid soil.