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EnigmaticSo it's...5:56AM. Not an unusual hour for me, but my lover was quick to crash into bed. I'm sitting next to her now, listening to the music she puts on every night to get to sleep, to the soft sound of her breathing.
I wish I could hear her dreams too. I know what she thinks on a day to day basis, but in her dreams, where her subconscious rules...God, I'd pay to see it.
Is it bright? Dark? Colorful or dull? Uplifting and free or restricted and conservative? Lately I've just been wanting to know more about her.
You'd think after putting a ring on her finger I'd know all about the woman. I'd know exactly how she likes her tea, what her favorite color is, what movies she's seen. But I look back and realize, she's so much deeper than the last layer of her I'd gotten through. She's more complex, more confusing.
And I love it. More than anything. She's an unsolvable Rubix cube and I can't change the stickers on her. I could never. I would never. She's beautiful and mysterious and infuriating
I'm Eating taco bell, you're jealous.Thomas stared at the large black trashbag, loosely tied at the top. He considered for a moment, purchasing stronger trashbags in the future. This one already had tears in the plastic, dripping deep crimson. Slumping into an armchair facing the bag, Thomas tapped a pack of cigarettes against his palm. He pulled one out and slipped it between his lips. Upon lighting it, he sucked a breath out of it, a pleasurable burn hitting his throat. Smoking was not a regular habit for him, but now was as good a time as any to start. Hacking a full grown man to peices and shoving him into one cheap trashbag was no small feat. Thomas felt he deserved a little self destructive indulgence as a reward. The blonde stood again. He had some time, he could take a shower and cleanse himself of the sweat that coated his tired body. Leaving the bag where it was, he began peeling clothing off, letting it fall where it may as he made his way to the washroom. After switching the water on he leaned against the show
Nine TimesI saw him nine times.
The first time we were both sitting in the room together, getting ready to take the math test that would determine our placement. I was scatterbrained and throwing things around, trying to find the pencils that I had known I would need but had still just tossed in my purse. He was lounging backwards in his chair, looking for all the world as though he didn’t have a single care in the world, including the upcoming test. It annoyed me, that I was frantic and ready to scream, while someone else could be that relaxed.
I tested out of the class.
I don’t know if he did.
The second time I saw him, it was a few months after I arrived on campus. He was the one rushing and frantic this time, running across the square. He was probably late for class, though I had no way of knowing for sure. I was already lost in my own thoughts and ideas, deciding on my major and convincing people that yes, this is what I really want to do with my life. If they weren
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