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For Bri, Choumei and HarukiChoumei.
Choumei. Its weird how her name invokes so much emotion but not a single coherent thought. Flashes of a bright smile, and wisps of long blonde hair, thats all I can see in my minds eye.
I dont know what to call my relationship with her. Shes both a Mother and a Lover wrapped in one. Years older than me, she was the one that rescued me, that gave me my first safe memory.
In that house, that awful house filled with tears and hate, Choumei found me. She held me. I dont remember much, just her soft hands stroking my back, crooning my name. Her voice was cracking and now I realize that she was holding back her own tears, so mine could flow uninterrupted.
Ever since that moment, ever since that precious memory, Choumei has been the major factor in my life. My guardian, my protector, the angel that always looked over me, that was Choumei.
That was why when I entered the kitchen today, adjusting my tie for school, I nearly faint
Free Write -- Heart's DesireThey have given me many names over the years, names that make women weep, children cry, and force men to hide. Most of these are lost to time, their languages now dead, their words unable to be pronounced by the modern tongues of the world. But Im still known, still feared, though most laugh me off as a silly being of long forgotten people.
To keep this easy, to label myself for your mind to understand, lets just call me a demon. Not in this religious sense, where my nemesis is a winged being, where I lead supposedly saintly men into temptation to betray their one true god. No, Im more of a demon of the heart, one that whispers your wants, your fears, your desires, your hopes into your mind, pestering you with what you truly want, until nothing possesses your mind but the thought of how to achieve your particular goal.
To this degree, I find myself rather helpful. I am a bold character, a being that believes fully in satisfying oneself. This life that
five hour energyi suppose
last week was only an aftershock
of the earthquake you were before.
this place used to vibrate
with metal strings and melodic,
testimonies to life,
emitting coffee-scented moods
and the burn of it too.
i had memorized the
sounds of silence,
i couldn't help but relish it.
no longer had i known
the sounds of folk
and scent of mocha-
you became nothing more
than an echo of the laughter
i so desperately needed to hear again.
then the echoes got louder,
bouncing ferociously off the walls
to be made manifest
i walked into your room
expecting exactly what i found-
an unmade bed,
and an empty beer
(the one that you insisted you needed
just days ago).
i pressed my nose
into the pillow
for incense and cologne and starbucks
to penetrate my mind
and thinking fervently
i already know
what a clean sheet smells like."
how strong an aftershock can be,
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More