daxle "if you don't mean it then stop talking about it
and you don't mean it
there is no doubt about that"
jennifer Girl: "Maybe I was doomed from the start. I have this way of attracting the wrong menor rather not attracting them. Now, you may laugh, but it's really the truth! As far back as I can remember, all the guys I had major crushes on, or dated, later on turned out to be gay. I used to attribute this to being a drama kid all my life, but that was just too stereotypical. So I think it's just a curse. So, when I met (Mark), at a drama convention, I don't know why I was so surprised when came out to me. Well, I don't think 'surprised' was the appropriate word. Maybe 'disappointed', but I wasn't stupid. I mean, he wasn't obvious, but... yeah, kinda. I could tell, I always can. But it never stopped me from falling for him. He was everything I wanted: tall, funny, loudlouder than me, which is a feat in and of itself…warm, intelligent, cuteyou know, perfect. And, at first, I thought he liked me too. And I guess he did, in his way. But it became clear that his way wasn't my way. Maybe that's why I threw him away as easily as I did, but I'm getting ahead of myself here. But we were close, very close, and I think we had something a lot of other peoplehappy peoplenever even have." 991209
Tess what's yours are all the things you say that i don't care about, and all the things you don't say.

what's mine are all the things i don't say, and the things i say but you don't care about.

they are irrelevant to the conversation.
amybeary we used to stay up all night talking. i think that was why he love me. something happens around 4AM that makes talking something else entirely. something mystical. something magic 000409
SomeoneElse There is a particular person I know who needs to stop doing this so much to me. 000428
cazzi communication is the key to everything 001230
retartedkidnameddamian everyone waits for there turn to speak, but no one ever listens. 010325
Chrity go to:
Does Erica Rhyme With Orange? The love in words astounds me
Lover to lover, friend to friend.
Words express my joy, my sorrow,
My heart
It may not always seem it,
But it's there in every syllable,
In every classroom whisper,
In every giggle,
In every joke, in every flirt, in every compromise.
I miss him, and our talks.
To hear his voice, though,
Would hurt me
Almost as much as the silence does
Quentin S. God, I really will get around, I guess eventually, to the whole moral? dilemna? thing. Are those even the right words to ascribe to this thing that aches in my chest. It aches and it will not be ignored, it will not be shushed into a corner. And it will not be named. It will not fit tidily into a rubric or regiment. It just knows that it aches and it Is part. It is bred of the breath that is become sanctuary and that is waaay to easy and waaay to opaque, unclear, I used to think it was just this smear on my soul, this dark spot in my muses unholy or holy baptismal. You can't just walk into someone's world and set our soul before them and expect her to just drop everything and overlook everything that is soooooo awry about YOU and you know BE with you. It won't submit or be fact it casts into chaos everything now. You know that know one see's her as you do. No one see's her incandescant heart, her gifts, that you would climb monsostary walls to peer into, to reverently whisper into. But you know you cannot say what is in you. You can only hint at it. You can only wreathe it in the mists of some kind of genderless, eunich in a clerics tight collar collapsing, slowly throttling It. Something half glimpsed, something nocturnal and violent. So very sacred and so very violent and the impermanence of so many things would become this chorus of shattered crystal raining from the very firmament, the holy ceiling of the sky is cracked down the center and heaven falls upon our heads. "You, are my Glory." You want to say it with more than just your furtive glances, passions, like twin beacons glowering in the dark. "You are my glory." "These are the streams that I feed from that coaxes my blood that sits like sludge in my veins. God every step was so heavy before you."
. . .
Quentin S. and the impermanence of so many interdependant things would come crashing down...god your breath is stamped into my skin..that one moment..that one moment groans in me so loudly, tore me and took me to a place, a way of BEING that I no longer thought was possible. Of course I'll never say it..So this is what it comes to? Must the frozen ground between us never thaw? Must those streams, that run so deeply remain ever hidden? Are we trapped in a Jane Eyre novel or something? Your breath is stamped into my skin. Must our spirits never venture beyond the promise of what was only hinted at? I read your eyes as you read mine. Here are my guilty verses, right here (places her hand over his heart, the thin carraige of his light brown chest) But I never will never be bold enough or selfish enough to push your passions, what if he catches you in an unguarded moment, what if he sees you break from that brittle pro-forma christian wife daggeuro-type persona and sees this smile that makes me think I'm beautiful, radiate like a string of pearls. My dearest, the soul cannot take back it's dying breath and we would not ever be able to undo the chaos, the carnage caused by setting what smolders and is nourished by these nocturnal visions when our souls meet and setting it so irrevocably, so painfully before hardening hearts that would deny, that would damn the burning truth before them. I wish we could scream into starbursts and emblazon the night with the most garish comet's tail. Tell me to do anything but be silent. No. Tell me your wish. Somehow we will reach into the deepest pockets of eternity and be summoned back to our true homes. Before the first breaths of time, I was mixed so completely in your Glory, in you, in you. I see you and I know you in that quicksilver flash, we know one another inevitably.
oldephebe I had a dream that I'd encountered the World Spirit on horseback, I looked beneath the rubble of the big, loud and obvious, the ersatz and the evanescent, I got down and dug through and let go of the ruins of the lay hidden, sometimes the Universe will hide a thing so that you can come to it's truth on your own, the journeys's the THING man. I heard Napoleons cannon roar in my very throat and my entire BEING rippled with the sensation of POWER, with the knowledge that the incarnation of the Charismatic inhabiting ME. The wish, the desire to be more than this craven, bookish aesthete who bore his chastisty and humility in the sanctuaries of the diffident and the shy and those who never arose from their dreaming beds. The wish became this glowing ball of light, I let it grow and fill me UP. Oh I would say to anyone who knows they posees, who humbly knows that God has filled them with a great gift, I say LET YOUR POWER BURST FORTH! Crack the crysalis and come forth.
autumnfyre "I crumble a little bit apart" that was from a blathe..i forgot the title but that one line has stuck with me.."i crumble a little bit apart" 040523
sisyphus we could have done it without ever discussing the ramifications.

it might have been better.
what's it to you?
who go