tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90984399679726909012024-03-06T00:21:10.006+05:30Let's Make Believe :)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17879255438365566588noreply@blogger.comBlogger111125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9098439967972690901.post-9183191985702707422014-04-24T23:05:00.000+05:302014-04-24T23:05:58.430+05:30Someday<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Someday you'll remember waking up, not ready to get out of the secure cocoon of your covers. You'll remember averting your eyes from your reflection every time you stood before a mirror. You'll remember every step you took, making you wish you could shrink into nothingness. You'll remember feeling invisible as glances sweep by, rejected as you stand on the fringe of a circle. You'll remember walking home alone, evenings spent dreaming of a better life. You'll remember nights spent crying yourself to sleep, craving for a hug or just a pat on the back to get you through.<br />
Someday you'll rediscover the safe haven you had built to take you away from everyone, and everything. You'll remember the joy and strength it gave you...before it too turned traitor. You'll remember how the realization that you had nothing and no one finally hit home. You'll the remember the sleepless nights that followed, and the thoughts that rattled in your head, refusing to leave.<br />
Someday you'll remember when you finally gave in. You'll remember picking up the kitchen knife, carefully choosing the one with most potential. You'll feel sick in your stomach as you hide it when you walk past your sibling watching TV in the living room, and enter the bathroom. You'll remember sitting on the bathroom floor for over two hours, knife in hand. You'll remember the first few superficial cuts you made, just to get to know how it feels. You'll remember hearing your sibling call out, "Hey, what are you doing in there for so long?" You'll remember closing your eyes, breathing in deeply, and telling yourself over and over "Just do it."<br />
Someday you'll remember that feeble voice in your head that had been trying to make itself heard for so long, over the tumult and rush of each day. You'll remember how it whispered, "We'll make it through. Things will get better." You'll remember how you finally listened to it, letting the voice grow stronger until it filled your head with hope and encouragement. You'll remember walking out of the bathroom, knife in hand, to put it back in place. You'll remember how liberating it felt to give yourself a second chance.<br />
Someday you will think of where you are, and the changes it took to bring you there. You'll greet each new day eagerly. You'll smile at the face in the mirror. You'll be amazed at the wonders of being in control of your life. You'll be aware of the difference your presence in the world makes. You'll know by then that the person who can make you happiest is yourself. You'll realise that the person you most need to be loved by is yourself.<br />
Someday you will look back and you will be glad you didn't let go. You'll be proud that you held on.<br />
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17879255438365566588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9098439967972690901.post-5217040789376306642014-02-24T21:02:00.000+05:302014-02-24T21:04:20.505+05:30Flowers In Your Hair<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I wrote my first poem today! Please don't laugh at my attempt! It's only my first!<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>I follow your gaze,</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>My eyes alight upon the mirror</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Your eyebrows scrunched down,</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Hairbrush in hand, thoughtful.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>If I may suggest -</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Perhaps you should wear</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Flowers in your hair tonight.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Upon your dresser lies a package,</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Unwrapped, the ribbons undone</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Nestling in the dark velvet,</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Twin ivory combs, </i></span><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>bejeweled</i></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Rubies that catch the light,</i></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Burning bright red flames</i></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Like the tresses they will embellish.</i></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Turn around, here I am</i></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Fresh and dewy and bright</i></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>I know this is not my place,</i></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Glittering diamonds, sparkling champagne</i></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>I neither shine, nor shimmer</i></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>I can only stand by</i></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>While your beauty takes the center stage.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Soft white petals against locks of red</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Nature's own adorning Nature's pride.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>At dawn when I wither</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Don't caste me aside,</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Keep me with you, a reminder -</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>When red fades to gray</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>The journey is not yours alone.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Here I am, in my beauty simple and pure,</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>My fragrance with the mingled scents</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Of tears, heartaches and sleepless nights,</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Of a life that once was enough,</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Of all the things you left behind.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Hear me I beg, for old love's sake</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Let me be the flowers in your hair tonight.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17879255438365566588noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9098439967972690901.post-22407252589683918912014-02-23T22:53:00.000+05:302014-02-23T22:57:09.162+05:30Steps to Recovery (:<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Today I feel wonderful.<br />
I'm still prone to some self-sabotaging behaviours. I still pick myself apart in the mirror, flaw by flaw. I still can't go through a magazine, or watch a movie, or walk down the road without wishing I could be that beautiful girl. I'm still worried about how others see me, and each day the way I see myself is killing me. I've still got to learn to quieten that voice in my head, drowning out every trace of self-confidence.<br />
But today isn't the day when the same old recurring cycle of thoughts play through my mind. Today I feel amazing because I know that I've come quite a long way from where I was at the beginning of this year. Remember the day I wrote to you about my mission to detox? Well I've made progress. Yes with the help of that (ridiculous) therapist of mine! Would you believe it?!<br />
After a long evening of soul searching, I found that I could let go of something I've been holding on to for the past seven years of my life. I realised that in my desperate attempts to decree the right and the wrong, I had only hurt the ones I loved. I am still unsure if it is my place to play judge. But I did realize that this was one of those things, like many other things in the world, that can't be labelled black or white. Maybe you can, but I can't. I'm surprised I didn't see it earlier, considering I'm one of those girls who believe the world is mostly just shades of gray. I know both sides of the story, and I understand why each did as they have done. And at that instant, I can't write in words how it felt to have that burden lifted off my shoulders. I can't explain how it felt - knowing I didn't have to choose a side. I could love them both boundlessly, unconditionally. Just the way they had always loved me.<br />
I cried a lot that evening. I cried for all the girls I'd been since I was eleven. I cried for every time I had deliberately hurt either of them, believing it was the right thing to do. But mostly I cried because I was so relieved that it was all over. I had forgiven them - if there ever had been anything to forgive. And I had forgiven myself.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">I've been holding on too tight, with nothing in between ~ One Direction</span></em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">(Who knew I'd ever find meaning in a lyric by that silly boy band.)</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">My soul searching isn't done yet. I still have a long way to go, a lot more mind space to detox. A lot more digging to do with the karmic shovel my imaginary therapist purchased in an imaginary DIY store across the street. But today, I'm not going to dwell on my need for self acceptance.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: Times;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Today I'm going to celebrate the realisation that I can let go. I believe that despite the differences, we can still come together, finishing the picture. When you stand back and look at us, you'll see the jagged edges, the pieces that don't fit beside each other. But you won't be able to deny that somehow, strangely, in a tumultuous inexplicable universe, the picture is complete. </span></span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17879255438365566588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9098439967972690901.post-72132131895792331152014-01-23T20:29:00.000+05:302014-02-23T21:41:58.051+05:30My Therapist & I<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I had a nice chat with my therapist last night. I did most of the talking, and a lot of it - actually all of it - was me trying to convince her I'm a sociopath. Or maybe someone with some sort of mental illness that requires intense therapy. I don't know if a shrink is supposed to tell you "Hey look, stop being paranoid. You're not dysfunctional! You're totally capable of handling your own problems!" But that is what my shrink told me. But then again, maybe I am not dysfunctional. Just a...I wouldn't say paranoid person, um...I'll go with "a person who is unsure of their true potential." Because that makes me sound like I've got potential lying hidden somewhere buried in an underground recess deep deep deep in the core of the earth... "Hey, don't look down on yourself!" Yes that is also something my shrink said. And I'm gonna listen to that because sociopath or not, I do have self esteem issues. Which I am working on! Yes! Acknowledge your efforts, and give yourself credit! O shrink, your wise (clichéd) words are still ringing in my ears...<br />
So what if I told you this shrink who I speak of is... well, it's me. Yes me, myself. Yes, I am being my own therapist. Yes, I am counselling myself. Why, you ask? I say lack of resources, time, parental consent or rather lack of a desire to consult parents, or anybody for that matter. I know myself best, and I can be unscrupulous and not hurt my feelings because yes, you can probably counsel yourself (as bizarre as it may seem) but you certainly cannot hurt your own feelings.<br />
Back to my nice chat with my 'therapist' last night - so the basic impression my 'therapist' developed last night was that for some reason I kept trying to convince myself that I had a mental disorder, that my current situation is to be blamed on something out of my hands, that I need rescuing because I'm incapable of standing up for myself. She found it quite amusing. Why? She asked. And I floundered. I didn't have to answer the question anyway (not that I'd have been able to) because she answered it for me (or I answered it for myself, you could say). She said that I was either trying to wash my hands off the mess I'd gotten into. Or maybe I was just doing what I always did - looking at my actions under a negative light. Which one is it? She asked. and I couldn't answer again. And she said it's a bit of both.<br />
"You're making a mountain out of a molehill," she said.<br />
I only stared, uncomprehending.<br />
"Really, it's not as bad as you think it is. You're in the same boat as everyone. It's true, you would have handled it differently two years ago. It's also true that you feel like you have lost what you had two years ago. All I want to say is that two years is not that long. What you say you have lost, you have not lost at all. She is still in you. It's just a matter of digging through the dirt that has accumulated over these two years. But remember, two years is not too long ago, and those layers are not too deep."<br />
I was annoyed then. She said it like it was a matter of digging in her backyard! I couldn't quite purchase my karmic shovel at a nearby hardware store!<br />
And she said, "why do you think I'm here for you? I'll be your 'karmic shovel', and help you get through those layers and figure yourself out again. Give it some time. It'll all work out, trust me."<br />
Well...there is really no harm in trusting myself now is there?</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17879255438365566588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9098439967972690901.post-46170152355315385292014-01-02T14:26:00.001+05:302014-01-02T14:27:31.966+05:30shadows, colours, people.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
at the fringe of the circle she stood - an outsider among her own.<br />
she knew all of their secrets. the small ones, the big ones, the dirty ones. she knew the animosity hidden behind their smiles. she knew the words on their mind, so different from the ones that rolled off their tongues glibly. and yet as they chatted and laughed like they belonged, she was an outsider among her own.<br />
flashes of anger, moments of truth. she'd seen them all. "never again," they'd said. "moment of clarity" they'd called it. "to break free" they had desired. yet there they were, like nothing had changed. like the clarity had been clouded over. like it was the place to be. and she was still an outsider among her own.<br />
she had witnessed their moments of weakness. when lonely and scared they'd bared their hearts to her. she'd held their hands, lent her shoulder for them to cry upon. all was forgotten, and she just smiled. an outsider among her own.<br />
like a pile fallen autumn leaves they nestled together, cozy in each other's company. she could be the gust of wind that would blow them apart, drive them to the farthest ends of their little world. but she never tried, so things went on.<br />
at the fringe of the circle she remained - an outsider among her own.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17879255438365566588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9098439967972690901.post-76998366942624892482014-01-01T19:07:00.000+05:302014-01-01T19:08:23.270+05:30Detox!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
i logged in today, more than a year later, to find my dashboard flooded with new posts put up by the blogs I've subscribed to. and then i realized - even though i had slipped into stagnancy over the year, the world had gone on. <br />
it's not just this blog, but a lot of things that i have left behind in 2012. there are a lot of things i have given up on because of a mental block stemming from lack of confidence, as well as interest. i feel like 2013, although beautiful in some aspects, has been a waste of a year. it's turned me into one of those people who dream big, but never lift a finger to make those big dreams turn into reality. and it doesn't work that way. you can't make a dream come to life if you don't work for it!<br />
<em><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"> "A dream doesn't become reality through magic. It takes sweat, determination and hard work."</span></em><br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<em><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">~ Colin Powell</span></em></div>
where i stand now, on the first day of this brand new year, prepping for the exams that will decide my career and the rest of my life i know nothing about what's in store for me 7 months from now, in August, when i get to start a new college i.e if i even get into any. all i have is these 5 months vaguely outlined for me with exam schedules put up, and the constant reminder that ever hour of these months spent without studying is a waste.<br />
yes, <span style="color: purple;"><strong>2014</strong></span> is the most significant and crucial year of my life. <span style="color: purple;"><strong>2014</strong></span> is when everything changes, it's the time to be a completely new person. it's the first big chance i get to begin building my dream life. i simply cannot afford to let it go to waste like 2013.<br />
so after a lot of thought, and a long conversation with one of my best friends along with a little whimsical reading of the Piscean horoscope for this year :P i have reached the conclusion that the first step to reinventing myself this year is -<br />
<strong><span style="color: #741b47; font-size: large;">DETOX.</span></strong><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Detoxification (abbrev.: detox) n.</span></em><br />
<div class="ds-list">
<em><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">1.<strong> </strong>the metabolic process by which toxins are changed into less toxic or more readily excreted substances. </span></em></div>
<div class="ds-list">
<em><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong> </strong>2.<strong> </strong> the process of withdrawing a person from dependence on a habituating drug.</span></em> </div>
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In my book: </div>
<div class="ds-list">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Detoxification (abbrev.: detox) n.</span></div>
<div class="ds-list">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">A process of psychological cleansing in which you</span></div>
<div class="ds-list">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">1. Rid yourself of habits you dislike</span></div>
<div class="ds-list">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">2. Discard "frenemies" (the people you secretly despise) and other people who affect you negatively</span></div>
<div class="ds-list">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">3. Bring back old habits that once made your mind a better place</span></div>
<div class="ds-list">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">4. Consciously put in the effort to fulfil your goals</span></div>
<div class="ds-list">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">5. Give yourself reason to love yourself</span></div>
<div class="ds-list">
i think it's a pretty good plan, the objectives being fairly simple. the only hitch that i may have to deal with - and mind you it is a big one - is getting the plan into motion first, and then sticking to it. 2013 has spoilt me. it's made me the kind who lazes around all day looking for the shortcuts and easier ways to make it through life. I'm going to need a good shaking up to get back to form.</div>
<div class="ds-list">
my main goals for the year are plain and straightforward.</div>
<div class="ds-list">
<span style="color: #a64d79;">1. Get into one of the following institutions</span></div>
<div class="ds-list">
<span style="color: #a64d79;"> - AIIMS, Delhi</span></div>
<div class="ds-list">
<span style="color: #a64d79;"> - JIPMER, Pondicherry</span></div>
<div class="ds-list">
<span style="color: #a64d79;"> - CMC, Vellore</span></div>
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<span style="color: #a64d79;"> - Grant Medical College, Mumbai</span></div>
<div class="ds-list">
<span style="color: #a64d79;">2. Lose a lot of weight, get into shape, and become really really pretty!</span> (yes it may seem like a very superficial goal, but i won't lie - it means a lot to me.)</div>
<div class="ds-list">
<u><span style="color: #741b47;">Plan Detox</span></u> feels like a really good way to get things done. I've got my fingers crossed, hoping i can make it work.</div>
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so here's to a new plan, a new year, and hopefully a new life!</div>
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</div>
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PS: if i stick to my plan you'll be seeing a lot more of my posts because no. 3 under my aims for detox involves blogging once more.</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17879255438365566588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9098439967972690901.post-27656597404614113262012-12-16T19:24:00.001+05:302012-12-16T19:26:38.081+05:30Lauren.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
"You knew Lauren Tanner?"<br />
"Oh I'd met her at a couple of parties. Rich brat who thought she owned the world." He rolled his eyes. "But damn, she was a fine piece of ass", he added with a wink.<br />
It was the beeping of his phone, demanding his immediate attention, which spared him from the cold look that flashed in her steely grey eyes. If looks could kill...<br />
<a name='more'></a> Not that she wasn't used to it. Snooty, stuck up, full of herself - those were words people had thrown at her all her life. Behind her back of course. No one was foolish enough to call Lauren Tanner an arrogant bitch to her face. It bothered her at times, she would admit grudgingly, but it was a small price to pay for being one among the most succesful women in American history.<br />
He turned his attention back to the demure brunette occupying the chair across him. She was attractive, undoubtedly, but not much of a talker. "Right so where were we? ...Aah, Lauren. Sad story that - multimillionaire goes broke overnight. Tsk tsk."<br />
Turned out to the streets by her own brother, she thought bitterly.<br />
Quite a dull evening, he thought, watching her toying around with her salad. The hint of fire that had crept into her eyes at the mention of Lauren Tanner had died out. Clearly no amount of stimulating conversation could be expected from the meek creature. Maybe she'd be a little more spirited once in the seclusion of his room.<br />
The meal dragged on punctuated with half - hearted attempts at making small talk. He was glad when Jenkins handed him the cheque with a sympathetic smile. Even the waiter had noticed that their favourite customer's date hadn't been among his best.<br />
"Would you like to join me for a drink at my place?" He asked, putting on his most charming smile, as they made their way to his Bugatti.<br />
She shrugged. Why bother asking? Not like she had a choice.<br />
Lauren had been anything but easy-to-get. Men were drawn to the dazzling blond beauty like moths to a flame, but her frigid countenance kept them at bay. A young American pilot with a captivating boyish charm was the only one who had ever managed to make it past the impregnable walls she had built around herself.<br />
The ride to his flat was as monotonous as the evening had been. She seemed oddly detached, he noted, glancing at the pretty face staring out the window listlessly. It'll be a quick one, he thought, mentally advising himself to be more selective next time.<br />
Couple of minutes later they drew up outside the flat he'd purchased especially for his nightly escapades. A father of two, the gorgeous apartment he owned on Wilshire Boulevard was definitely out of the question.<br />
"Make yourself at home", he said, smiling, once they were in his living room. She kicked off her cheap stilletos and sat gingerly on his couch, her feet sinking into the lush carpet.<br />
She had had everything planned out, even the interiors of their new home - "...carpets from Egypt, paintings from Italy - " he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her close. "Jason!" She mock-pouted at the interruption to her tirade. He laughed, "it doesn't matter, we'll have whatever you want! ...all I want is you." And then they'd made love. Sweet and tender, Jason Moore was the only man she trusted enough to shed her ice-princess avatar around. He made her feel alive, like a carefree young girl. He loved her blindly, she knew. He'd never hurt her, she was sure of it. Her eyes stung as memories of happier days filled her mind. But one never knows the worth of water till the well runs dry, she sighed.<br />
"Martini?" He held out a glass to her.<br />
"No thank you." She blinked her tears away hurriedly. "I'd like to be done with this as soon as possible, please", she added calmly.<br />
"Of course", he said, throwing her empty face a puzzled look. Setting down the drink on a nearby table, he guided her to his room, his hand caressing her back.<br />
As he excused himself and disappeared into the bathroom, her eyes wandered around the room. Her eyes alighted on the king-sized bed draped with velvet covers. She shuddered and looked away.<br />
What had she become?<br />
Very little remained of her former self, she thought, as her gaze caught a guilded mirror. Dispassionate grey eyes stared back at her, her gaudy evening gown outlining her lean figure. The hunger for success which had burnt bright in her eyes, lending her the strange magnetism which made heads turn the second she walked into a room, had vanished leaving no trace. She was still pretty though, something she had learned to wield to her advantage over the past year. She was ashamed of her current lifestyle. The thought of putting an end to her life had crossed her mind several times but a desire to hold on took over each time she had tried to do so. Her stubborn refusal to give up had been the only remaining vestige of the old Lauren Tanner, but this too was fading fast. The woman in the mirror had no one to mourn her death, no reason to live - she realised, the thought crushing her.<br />
The bathroom door clicked open, and her client emerged, his shirt unbuttoned. "Ready?" He asked with a perverse smile.<br />
Maybe this will be the last time, she thought to herself, as she shut out her feelings and began unzipping her dress.<br />
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17879255438365566588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9098439967972690901.post-48833443578091812172012-07-04T22:32:00.002+05:302012-07-04T23:13:25.344+05:30now you're just somebody that i used to know.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
i think about how we'd taken it for granted that we'd always be there for each other. we'd never for once believed that any circumstance could ever compel us to fall apart. it all seemed so easy back then, everything was crystal clear. we knew what we wanted, we'd made our choices.<br />
if only life was that easy.<br />
after things changed we still believed we could go back to being our old selves. but no matter how hard we tried, there was always something in the way. as reluctant as we were to admit it, our needs had changed. life together was no longer the joyous caper which we'd enjoyed every minute of. every effort made to bring a smile to each others' face seemed cumbersome.<br />
i had no idea how i'd let you go. the promises we'd made weren't things i could cast off lightly, neither of us was blessed with a heart of stone. besides, i was apprehensive of the idea of life without you, all i'd had for the past decade was the assurance of your unwavering support.<br />
as our relationship began to get more strained, we realised we had no choice. we parted ways amicably, not for once letting anyone see how the pain gnawed on our insides.we immersed ourselves in our lives, taking every precaution to ensure our paths never crossed. eventually, the pain subsided, the memories faded and the traces of the fact that you and i were ever one slowly vanished.<br />
the man i was 6 years ago, holding you in my arms and listening to you sing softly about everlasting love would never have pictured himself in this place.<br />
...and yet, here i am.<br />
<br />
P.S. excuse the random switching from 'we' to 'i', but that's the way it is.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17879255438365566588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9098439967972690901.post-78689287261817944542012-04-08T12:08:00.001+05:302012-04-08T12:08:26.193+05:30to do list ^^<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17879255438365566588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9098439967972690901.post-16456359871179472812012-04-07T13:24:00.004+05:302012-04-07T13:33:06.602+05:30i'd never change. not for you, not for myself either.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17879255438365566588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9098439967972690901.post-52346178330622430662012-04-06T14:08:00.000+05:302012-04-06T16:05:50.036+05:30you & i - part I<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-style: italic;"><i>22nd March, 2011</i> </span></div>
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<span style="font-style: italic;"> he's annoying, he's hilarious, he's
the world's biggest jerk, he makes me want to scream, he ruins my day
and saves it at the last minute, he drives me crazy, he's out of his
mind, i hate his guts, and he's everything i want.</span></div>
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<i>26th May, 2011</i></div>
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<i>he's
hurt me so much more than the others. when i think of Brian and how he
tried so hard to make me happy, it seems ridiculous and unfair that i
find myself falling for him instead.</i></div>
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<i>17th July, 2011</i></div>
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<i>i realised i've been dwelling on the negative side of our relationship.
when i recount our times together, i actually find that the happy moments outnumber the unhappy ones by far. i also
realise that i haven't ever really tried to understand everything that
goes on behind the impassive mask he wears. i've hurt him just as much. probably more.</i></div>
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<i> </i><i>7th September, 2011</i></div>
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<i>i don't know... something's changed. in situations where i expect him to pass one of his characteristic biting remarks, he catches me off guard by being undeniably sweet. and that leaves me confused, speechless. all the defensive retorts that bubble up out of habit are rendered pointless. </i></div>
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<i>28th October, 2011</i></div>
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<i>it scares me sometimes, how incredibly nice he can be. it was so much easier to convince myself to hate his old self. i wish he'd bring back to life the jackass of a person he was, or maybe just go away. as much as either of these might hurt, it's probably best for me. best for both of us.</i></div>
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<i>14th December, 2011</i></div>
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<i>i look back to my younger self and she makes me want to laugh. i wonder if she had any idea what she was getting into. if that girl knew how much i cared about him now, she'd think i'd lost my mind. come to think of it, i think so myself. </i></div>
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<i>4th February, 2012</i></div>
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<i>sometimes i wonder if he knows. something tells me he does. and the fact that he sticks around anyway is comforting. </i></div>
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<i>21st March, 2012</i></div>
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<i>it's been a week since he told me he cares and i find that i still can't get my head around that piece of information. i'd always thought that i was a kind of pastime he engaged in when he had nothing better on his hands... well not always. there had been moments when i'd believed that there was so much more to it but then i'd eventually wave it away as a product of my hyperactive imagination. i wouldn't be surprised if his latest confession is one of those as well. </i></div>
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<i>3rd April, 2012</i></div>
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<i>today when he asked me why i like him, i found myself floundering for a reply. it isn't that i don't know why, it's just that i can't really pin it all down in words.</i> <i>and</i> <i>even though he got no fitting response, strangely enough, i know his question wasn't left unanswered.</i></div>
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<i>5th April, 2012</i></div>
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<i>lately, i've been thinking about the things that are going to change. he tries to convince me that it'll last</i><i> but his attempts are futile. there's a nagging feeling that this is just momentary and insubstantial. i try to rid myself of it, but the feeling persists. in the end, i decide it's best to give up. i instruct myself to stop worrying and lose myself in all that we have for now. </i></div>
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17879255438365566588noreply@blogger.com0Bangalore, Karnataka, India12.9715987 77.594562712.724026199999999 77.2787057 13.2191712 77.910419699999991tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9098439967972690901.post-41928926135613873762012-03-24T11:32:00.003+05:302012-03-24T13:00:13.798+05:30TooBusy ToBlog-phase continues...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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anyway, here's a song that i can't get out of my head:</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/eGR1iDuKabU?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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there's something about her voice... and the video (the actual one which i can't share here because of all the copyright stuff.)... </div>
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it haunts you.<br />
<br />
oh and here's a picture which made me smile:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzueTkpnUfJinX6YftRj3ydYoKpeXsRYZpBQwkS_Qz35F9g4L4HETEVV38yAAiCuS0h1XboBq-W7trAHhKzf7M2PUnXBj6dPm5CHXghy23gFzCYsgf-guSGRc_KDy25QhHrKPcvn4ClphQ/s1600/560148_363503000360967_182368381807764_1079477_174816765_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzueTkpnUfJinX6YftRj3ydYoKpeXsRYZpBQwkS_Qz35F9g4L4HETEVV38yAAiCuS0h1XboBq-W7trAHhKzf7M2PUnXBj6dPm5CHXghy23gFzCYsgf-guSGRc_KDy25QhHrKPcvn4ClphQ/s1600/560148_363503000360967_182368381807764_1079477_174816765_n.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swann vs. Swan</td></tr>
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haha!</div>
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17879255438365566588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9098439967972690901.post-2043676698504923592012-03-08T17:18:00.001+05:302012-03-13T13:59:31.670+05:30this made my day<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhieozgdX8FCa6PiC7F2LfHBgZNTXbJteq0PayDsKw5JNqNUevZJQm_eqBStwMUI38aPGf_9TCBszmQ2bhzaz6hPJiBbyc638Aet-putXqVNMrz2MGhmH3uja7czfG58LE8xT7nBrVd4THo/s1600/418139_358271444213210_144226398951050_1057797_2040822150_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cristiano Ronaldo</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhieozgdX8FCa6PiC7F2LfHBgZNTXbJteq0PayDsKw5JNqNUevZJQm_eqBStwMUI38aPGf_9TCBszmQ2bhzaz6hPJiBbyc638Aet-putXqVNMrz2MGhmH3uja7czfG58LE8xT7nBrVd4THo/s1600/418139_358271444213210_144226398951050_1057797_2040822150_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
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i <span style="color: magenta;">love</span> him so much :')</div>
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17879255438365566588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9098439967972690901.post-39623623550361767162012-03-07T18:32:00.001+05:302014-01-23T20:32:29.048+05:30Anonymity.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
strange thing that. she wasn't quite sure how she felt about it.<br />
<i><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">They don't know who I am, they only see what I show them. </span></i><br />
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<i> They don't know who I am, so I can let them in on everything. They'd judge me - that's what they all do - but their verdicts are insubstantial because they do not know who they are pointing fingers at. </i></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<i> They don't know who I am and that gives them the courage to be brutally honest. </i></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<i> They don't know I am and that makes it possible for me to say exactly what I have to say, shorn off all pretense and politeness. </i></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<i> They don't know who I am, so I needn't bother to defend myself. </i></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<i> They don't know who I am which means I have a place to hide. </i></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<i> They don't know who I am, so I can be who I want to be. </i></div>
<i><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> They don't know who I am, and that gives me the power to get away with anything. </span></i><br />
she did quite like it in the beginning. but with time she began to realise, with anonymity comes invisibility. and that is a price she isn't sure she's willing to pay.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">P.S. forgive me for my absence, my *innumerable* readers. (x i can't offer you an explanation, it's just that blogging stopped feeling right for a while. but i'm back now... i think.</span><br />
oh and:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMR3pn3tJdYK2wdA2aKC3DYf1HX8kKZmz5Mb4prGO27sN8Tp9Vo0wwVva3I9ecNzJ7Na6y1Duo0hCtGWga9mVcexOUCvzbBKGiEFyFNCcxm7yS5RILK9TsxS2jW4b8U9LJ5j2KEZ1xltHb/s1600/luke-wright4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMR3pn3tJdYK2wdA2aKC3DYf1HX8kKZmz5Mb4prGO27sN8Tp9Vo0wwVva3I9ecNzJ7Na6y1Duo0hCtGWga9mVcexOUCvzbBKGiEFyFNCcxm7yS5RILK9TsxS2jW4b8U9LJ5j2KEZ1xltHb/s640/luke-wright4.jpg" height="425" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b style="color: #0b5394;">HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LUKE WRIGHT!</b></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17879255438365566588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9098439967972690901.post-13720374680700059922012-01-22T19:25:00.002+05:302012-01-30T18:14:13.726+05:30five pictures i randomly feel like posting<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYnnccoOiTY8MxqX7F_3GX98YqzEAhnYSe4ySM7hkBMQE1_yoO6kc5xi5fj0poaJgCLxh_Khssde97rFrFVayiHYc5zPlBCoXqjUpn9i9Hfi70gkYZxFjHj3TaqDbILPK-c8iyQvXBNhHt/s1600/tumblr_lup946Wfk41qaobbko1_500_large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYnnccoOiTY8MxqX7F_3GX98YqzEAhnYSe4ySM7hkBMQE1_yoO6kc5xi5fj0poaJgCLxh_Khssde97rFrFVayiHYc5zPlBCoXqjUpn9i9Hfi70gkYZxFjHj3TaqDbILPK-c8iyQvXBNhHt/s1600/tumblr_lup946Wfk41qaobbko1_500_large.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mr. Krabs</td></tr>
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i had a very (pointless) expensive weekend and i realized, when it comes to money, i really need some help. |:</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSf3GCaHCZO1sjeyIWOQREu1EthT539f6oeMDjHaei6WEbxf1-uRytsD221q6vMM0H9qNYhum7KSzuhgcMeWPqWKF8DHuMmA6QlWsjebNB2yztai1Ok286gsAARo6vga0-KiXARtH6rqpp/s1600/Takashi___Mori___Morinozuka_by_shadowcat232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSf3GCaHCZO1sjeyIWOQREu1EthT539f6oeMDjHaei6WEbxf1-uRytsD221q6vMM0H9qNYhum7KSzuhgcMeWPqWKF8DHuMmA6QlWsjebNB2yztai1Ok286gsAARo6vga0-KiXARtH6rqpp/s1600/Takashi___Mori___Morinozuka_by_shadowcat232.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Takashi Morinozuka</td></tr>
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Mori sempai is officially the most handsome anime man to have ever been created. <span style="color: magenta;"><3</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDs6PBQ_By1NY-rtAb0PKqxmYcTyoVVy1ioCpzlocnoYdTaz6sfM6KWItsDX_8roSnTN-Kqy3TGtgcE5OsNkGz9iaoH9-86sIQNdL_4rFt2owbXZHLYrOmtkFxLh79i91IaxQkLgcizlPf/s1600/tumblr_lwojinUyBW1qa3tvio1_500_large.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDs6PBQ_By1NY-rtAb0PKqxmYcTyoVVy1ioCpzlocnoYdTaz6sfM6KWItsDX_8roSnTN-Kqy3TGtgcE5OsNkGz9iaoH9-86sIQNdL_4rFt2owbXZHLYrOmtkFxLh79i91IaxQkLgcizlPf/s1600/tumblr_lwojinUyBW1qa3tvio1_500_large.gif" /></a></div>
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this is to a certain someone who i'm currently finding unbearably mean. ><</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrv2-cDXXKEzCNarNPVmLe0tJb928NL3icEvR5WgyNwpxZSV4Ipe84oxAKG7WuF0TzUtZxG7HU8tXECi-xf_XSOk-8yxaAa-R-DO75cEXBOhG0omQqQ6cNF2YI9793fnKkxj43uf2sDoo5/s1600/Once%25252BUpon_large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrv2-cDXXKEzCNarNPVmLe0tJb928NL3icEvR5WgyNwpxZSV4Ipe84oxAKG7WuF0TzUtZxG7HU8tXECi-xf_XSOk-8yxaAa-R-DO75cEXBOhG0omQqQ6cNF2YI9793fnKkxj43uf2sDoo5/s1600/Once%25252BUpon_large.jpg" /></a></div>
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yeeeah. the thing is, i've been trying to write lately. it's turning out to be harder than i expected. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK_npxaueYlBXF74UBGJj_tsEUo1FbFRov7d8K-2ILIudGgkPukYzQiYg682PwF35Ex-YvTLV1qkYo3XezSBW8q7LlSttg3oVsYUA3kOCWfcFAYERujPO7YDInBVXfYaSmziPFxUlSTmur/s1600/Sven_And_Train_Chibi_cats_by_DarksDaemon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK_npxaueYlBXF74UBGJj_tsEUo1FbFRov7d8K-2ILIudGgkPukYzQiYg682PwF35Ex-YvTLV1qkYo3XezSBW8q7LlSttg3oVsYUA3kOCWfcFAYERujPO7YDInBVXfYaSmziPFxUlSTmur/s1600/Sven_And_Train_Chibi_cats_by_DarksDaemon.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sven Vollfied & Train Heartnet (Black Cat)</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Cole said this picture reminds her of us - back in 8th grade, i was Sven Vollfield (eyepatch+hat guy) and Cole was Black Cat. so this one's for all the anime we died over last night. <span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">:D</span></div>
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17879255438365566588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9098439967972690901.post-76615572140910005322012-01-20T17:30:00.002+05:302012-01-20T17:31:30.565+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi06d3v335y6Yz9LmLh_E8ae2iRVyfmsMCT61GsAdcVJk3_Vv-PKrnHmZePB8UJAq1g__LkAEchMGblL0Nqk75RSTYCTtkqAvaujcRQEb9a0RvPhmOKd3SvBochEvdF6Wj_hHj_NQPcBOiu/s1600/tumblr_lw7mmeLNag1qcfytko1_500_large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi06d3v335y6Yz9LmLh_E8ae2iRVyfmsMCT61GsAdcVJk3_Vv-PKrnHmZePB8UJAq1g__LkAEchMGblL0Nqk75RSTYCTtkqAvaujcRQEb9a0RvPhmOKd3SvBochEvdF6Wj_hHj_NQPcBOiu/s1600/tumblr_lw7mmeLNag1qcfytko1_500_large.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: magenta; font-size: x-large;">HAPPY BIRTHDAY LUCAS!</span></div>
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i started obsessing over him a week back. <a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1626606380">Lucas Piaz</a><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.chelseafc.com/page/TheReservesProfiles/0,,10268%7E2517941,00.html" target="_blank">ón</a>. </span>such lovely silky brown hair, and his SMILE! oh his smile... <span style="color: magenta;"><love sigh></span> don't you simply hate it when men do that to you?</div>
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</div>
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he turned eighteen today. and i'm on my way to sixteen. i mean, think of all the POSSIBILITIES!!</div>
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- i go to England, meet him at a bar. it's love at first.</div>
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- i go to Brazil, bump into him in a random mall. our eyes meet, sparks fly. it's meant to be.</div>
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if only, IF ONLY it would all work out! </div>
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<br /></div>
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17879255438365566588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9098439967972690901.post-81186276587705166202012-01-19T16:16:00.002+05:302014-01-02T13:09:59.984+05:30a second chance.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
i'm supposed to meet him at six.<br />
accustomed to my unpunctual ways, he'd begs me to make it on time. just this once.<br />
5.49 and i still haven't made up my mind.<br />
for the first time i'd put my needs first - i'd done it for myself. if i choose to go back now, everything i've achieved in the past few months will be rendered inconsequential. do i really want to risk it?<br />
but then again, doesn't he deserve a chance? everyone has their faults, their imperfections. and somewhere, buried beneath the painful memories, i realize i want to hear him out. there's still a part of me that seeks consolation, some kind of assurance that people can change for the better.<br />
a part of me says this will be another of one those meaningless exchanges. another part believes that this time, things will be different.<br />
5.56.<br />
it isn't right, i know deep in my heart, but i decide to go anyway. for old times' sake.<br />
6.01: he's standing by our tree.<br />
as i walk down the road, i remember that cold night... our first kiss. i had been warned but i was blinded, taken up by the magic of it all. if only i hadn't been that naive...<br />
i see him leaning against the trunk casually and i feel the old fear surfacing. the wild look in his eyes, his menacing grip... i should turn back.<br />
he sees me approach. i watch him tense. a strange expression flits across his face.<br />
i've seen that look before.<br />
i want to turn around but i can't. i want to run and scream and hide but i realize it's going to get me nowhere. i'd fallen into the trap a second time, and now i would pay the consequences.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17879255438365566588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9098439967972690901.post-79485997750176618602012-01-16T18:04:00.002+05:302012-01-19T16:24:04.697+05:30i have no idea where this is going.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
she'd always been convinced they were simply fooling around. now, three months later, she isn't all too sure.<br />
she's beginning to see things she'd never noticed before. and these give her hope. she finds a subtle message hidden in everything he says, but she isn't sure if she's reading it right. she can feel something in the air, certain things which need to be shared but she wonders why they're being left unsaid. she's worried she could be over-thinking things - she always does that. she doesn't want to get her hopes up too high - she's built innumerable
castles in the air, only to watch them all fall apart. but she can't
help herself, there's always the nagging 'what if'... what if this time
it's for real. that's when she realises that this is something she doesn't want to lose. she's willing to give it her all, but before she does so she needs to make sure it's worth it. she's made lots of mistakes, and if there's anything she's learnt from them it's that once she's taken a faulty step, there's no going back - she will have to see it through to the end. and she knows she can't bear to have her heart broken again - she'd fall apart. but she finds it so hard not to believe that somehwere, concealed in the midst of his flippant remarks, is a promise that he'll never let her down. it's something she's yearned for forever - that safe, secure feeling of knowing she's loved - now that she can feel it's presence, shouldn't she just reach out and grab it? but then again she remembers those lonely dark nights she'd spent crying herself to sleep, all because her faith in goodness and love had blinded her and reality had hit her far too late. and that's when the illusion breaks.<br />
she's confused, lost, absolutely clueless. are things really only what they seem to be or is there so much more behind the walls they're both unwilling to break down? would she be making a mistake if she ignores this chance, letting it pass by because it seems to good to to be true? do the sparks she feels, the feelings she senses are being suppressed even exist?<br />
she's tired of wondering, tired of analyzing, tired of dreaming.<br />
she wishes she could just let go of herself and BELIEVE.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17879255438365566588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9098439967972690901.post-37295333676836372902012-01-13T21:06:00.000+05:302012-01-13T21:06:00.389+05:30who knew AB de Villiers could sing?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/YFrMiDjjSgs?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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this song is exactly what i need to hear right now. <span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">(:</span></div>
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it's funny how i'm actually waiting for March so i can do my Boards. sure it's just another exam which nearly every 16 year old in the country will be writing, but it still feels pretty major. it finally feels like i'm getting somewhere in life. it's like i finally get to do something big, something that's gonna take me one step closer to being everything that i want to be.</div>
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sure it's annoying, with all the studying to do, but it feels like i have a 'purpose' in life, lol. yeah, it's just an exam but... oh i don't know. i'm just know this is something where i really want to live up to everyone's expectations and i'm gonna give it my best. <span style="color: magenta;">^^</span></div>
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oh and here's another song by him, it's in Afrikaans and the second half of the video makes no sense but i like it. even though i don't know what he's saying, i think i get what he's trying to say:</div>
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Here's to y'all - make your dreams come true! </div>
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17879255438365566588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9098439967972690901.post-54201681852002665862012-01-08T18:02:00.004+05:302012-01-08T18:19:54.436+05:30and i thought it was all perfect.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I. out of place.<br />
realisation: surface appeal = essential. <br />
<br />
II. newfound interests.<br />
realisation: things aren't quite as terrible as they seem.<br />
<br />
III. floating... a starry sky. celebrations - <span style="color: #cc0000;">red</span> and <span style="color: #0b5394;">blue</span> balloons.<br />
realisation: the smallest things can be made special.<br />
<br />
IV. bonding.<br />
realisation: some people are invaluable.<br />
<br />
V. long talks, long walks. endless summer days.<br />
realisation: time can stand still.<br />
<br />
VI.too many people, too many problems.<br />
realisation: neglected and misunderstood.<br />
<br />
VII. acceptance and confrontation.<br />
realisation: some things must remain unsaid.<br />
<br />
VIII. adventures and mishaps.<br />
realisation: some people are just not cut out for certain kinds of things.<br />
<br />
IX. expectations.<br />
realisation: desire to surpass them all.<br />
<br />
X. people seen in a whole new light.<br />
realisation: there is still so much to learn.<br />
<br />
XI. new connections.<br />
realisation: they can never replace the old ones.<br />
<br />
XII. beauty.<br />
realisation: a desire to be recognised.<br />
<br />
XIII. perfect moments.<br />
realisation: they vanish in the blink of an eye.<br />
<br />
XIV. windfall of changes.<br />
realisation: i could lose you.<br />
<br />
XV. the end is near.<br />
realisation: time can pass by far too fast.<br />
<br />
XVI. lonely, drunk, miserable.<br />
realisation: it's all over.<br />
<br />
XVII. pressurized, stressed, anxious.<br />
realisation: unless i try, things can never get better. <br />
<br />
XVIII. inspiration, hope.<br />
realisation: it's time to start afresh. <br />
<br />
XIX. memories, strength, love.<br />
realisation: i can do this on my own.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17879255438365566588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9098439967972690901.post-80910053997062686542012-01-07T21:51:00.002+05:302012-01-07T21:55:55.598+05:30Five reasons why i'm failing in my History exam on Monday<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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</div>
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1. sadly:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQN_oS8KbWtYABov6Adm8kc4HBQ5vL9cwGRN9Ym6P_NaVzrLd6p9WfUPP5TsG0itiO2VNy0FHN_HBYITFyOn15syGgr15rcztLGQ9F9n8HVA-wCCNEhg6t9QgqdMWd7vVZHOOYvFHdT95a/s1600/6319627417_6be78d42d0_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQN_oS8KbWtYABov6Adm8kc4HBQ5vL9cwGRN9Ym6P_NaVzrLd6p9WfUPP5TsG0itiO2VNy0FHN_HBYITFyOn15syGgr15rcztLGQ9F9n8HVA-wCCNEhg6t9QgqdMWd7vVZHOOYvFHdT95a/s1600/6319627417_6be78d42d0_o.jpg" /></a></div>
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it was all wet and cold this morning and i don't know why... i couldn't help but think about him, picture a 101 different scenarios, all with, perfect happy endings... *sigh*</div>
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and that's what i did all morning. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
2. i spent all afternoon watching the <a href="http://www.bigbash.com.au/" target="_blank">KFC Big Bash</a>.<br />
i couldn't helpy myself - i finally got to watch <a href="http://lets-make-believe.blogspot.com/2011/03/on-26th-of-march-there-i-was-crying-my.html" target="_blank">him</a> play! after nearly a YEAR!!<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg68dha7g_T9Ddziv5TV4kAANio1Bc_gt19gHwBcPsIoS5dGtz8al-VMTf0C8pI2j-0UZRv5tidgiZT1atTX31qnwJdu35VhFDBsqhRKTrVddsLKQJDnPbO8feqmbtSE9N3UvOXKwHS_C1Q/s1600/Luke%252BWright%252BBash%252BLeague%252BStars%252Bv%252BRenegades%252BPylQY-3otgZl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg68dha7g_T9Ddziv5TV4kAANio1Bc_gt19gHwBcPsIoS5dGtz8al-VMTf0C8pI2j-0UZRv5tidgiZT1atTX31qnwJdu35VhFDBsqhRKTrVddsLKQJDnPbO8feqmbtSE9N3UvOXKwHS_C1Q/s1600/Luke%252BWright%252BBash%252BLeague%252BStars%252Bv%252BRenegades%252BPylQY-3otgZl.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Luke Wright (Melbourne Stars vs. Melbourne Renegades)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
he is such a gorgeous man. <br />
<br />
3. i spent one part of my evening watching Charlie's Angels 1 AND 2, back to back.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdUjBRlqaMhxlsJaiSNkS_9KCoCMoR4Vy1HYgE87QKKP1xf-u3T_4qhSTHHKFYpzjp6S-5BmPOO77s4GKKEhyphenhyphen9F_X6ib87JaGTl9rlFYZeeu1ILToIkVtGjOHD7z7hq2NKZ2wKXNTK-R97/s1600/zmhb7n_large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdUjBRlqaMhxlsJaiSNkS_9KCoCMoR4Vy1HYgE87QKKP1xf-u3T_4qhSTHHKFYpzjp6S-5BmPOO77s4GKKEhyphenhyphen9F_X6ib87JaGTl9rlFYZeeu1ILToIkVtGjOHD7z7hq2NKZ2wKXNTK-R97/s1600/zmhb7n_large.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
i remember pretending to be Dylan when i was a kid.<br />
when i was a kid who didn't have a big fat book to learn up by Sunday.<br />
<br />
4. the rest of my evening was spent catching up on all the happenings in the lives of the other super hot English cricketers oh and in the process, i found this:<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/YtxnfqDJUWg?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
my Jimmy is The Bomb. <span style="color: magenta;">^^</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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5. and now i'm off to bed.</div>
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17879255438365566588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9098439967972690901.post-87879880456652064022012-01-06T21:47:00.003+05:302012-01-06T21:54:30.288+05:30happy new year, y'all!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
sorry, i was in Atlantis. i surfaced just yesterday, shed the fins, and got myself all set for my pre-boards. wish me luck, 'cuz boy am i gonna need it!<br />
i hope you guys had a wonderful NYE :) as for me.. well, it was my first NYE spent alone. my family was away - they came back the next morning. it was also the first time i spent a night all alone at home. i watched 6 movies - Inception, What Happens In Vegas, The A Team, Red Eye, The Sixth Sense, Wedding Crashers - and 5 episodes of Big Bang Theory (basically random things on TV), ate 3 mugs of Wai Wai, stalked my two favourite people on my Facebook friend list and called my ex-whatever-he-was and actually had quite a nice conversation with him. i'm not sure if you'd call it a conversation though, i mean, i was the one doing <strike>most of</strike> all the talking. he just sat there being dumb. which is surprising, because it used to be the way round before. back then i would've killed to make him shut up. i think he felt awkward. it must've been, considering the note we parted on... and then i randomly call him 3 years later. hmm. i probably shouldn't have. but whatever.<br />
it was a nice, laid back day and i kinda needed the alone time, so no complaints.<br />
have a great year everyone. ^^</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17879255438365566588noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9098439967972690901.post-28723248441776986562011-12-26T21:01:00.000+05:302011-12-26T21:01:38.796+05:30five pictures i randomly feel like posting<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixLSmmy0f_7r1deKHJpbDgxs_I0_JrFIVhqLP5jq0KtggOq3h9her5x6E8pzaXBgKGqDEbbZEt5-KvbTM2SEozJJg23CUYWCp4v-8vEk-hEvDTc6dXiJ2l9PUbrXG5qtRgm08jeqvPNerG/s1600/tumblr_lus84uA9bb1qjaxa2o1_500_large.jpg" /></div>
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^if i could take a picture of the inside of my head right now, it would look something like this.^</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg78dMUaGgLzdFWaQ6ZEkD5ccNRiK8w7ZcCrNKPUFRj7I4pnaoMuv64ENJK8PaUtz0MpzuK6qobpjy8s9BwWZH54Fd_azwnR6FjuWWl72_hWy7Um_JJd2aSTXh8F6l7PhyOc28il9jglQ67/s1600/tumblr_lih8g6bF601qi97wlo1_500_large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg78dMUaGgLzdFWaQ6ZEkD5ccNRiK8w7ZcCrNKPUFRj7I4pnaoMuv64ENJK8PaUtz0MpzuK6qobpjy8s9BwWZH54Fd_azwnR6FjuWWl72_hWy7Um_JJd2aSTXh8F6l7PhyOc28il9jglQ67/s1600/tumblr_lih8g6bF601qi97wlo1_500_large.jpg" /></a></div>
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Chandler Bing is epic. and so is a certain someone. xD</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnJfFxV8F9j-2fJms9_sVAiNxZh84OcWnfTBp2wlH0fygMN5pVGPdTZh0Sa9iTzC9Sx3c2I2W_tclR144PV8eAfpgByLyJUogZe_iEEB_znkTGr9B6Tl2sr82I00qjuonHfYk3O6r6Xfg0/s1600/tumblr_lwn3ov5KHL1r0e03eo1_500_large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnJfFxV8F9j-2fJms9_sVAiNxZh84OcWnfTBp2wlH0fygMN5pVGPdTZh0Sa9iTzC9Sx3c2I2W_tclR144PV8eAfpgByLyJUogZe_iEEB_znkTGr9B6Tl2sr82I00qjuonHfYk3O6r6Xfg0/s1600/tumblr_lwn3ov5KHL1r0e03eo1_500_large.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
i really like this picture. they make such a cute couple!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimCgha3jBS-MBaXnIRTt-6fklC4l_u1UXOR8IJSKGl4epoKzH7SpR_iQw4d0MfmV6oWrFDntN631kgbdVctRt2jaGASi5QKFaaus4FDK87m2Y-RORWz0L2kJD8Kunibd-1rXGnyn82qjX_/s1600/tumblr_lvt0sctWQQ1qhqn73o1_500_large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimCgha3jBS-MBaXnIRTt-6fklC4l_u1UXOR8IJSKGl4epoKzH7SpR_iQw4d0MfmV6oWrFDntN631kgbdVctRt2jaGASi5QKFaaus4FDK87m2Y-RORWz0L2kJD8Kunibd-1rXGnyn82qjX_/s1600/tumblr_lvt0sctWQQ1qhqn73o1_500_large.jpg" /></a></div>
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Adele (: she reads every girl's mind.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrcaxPT3UKmPENwV_9pQa8-ZX-cHgCZY0EuGFQ1irprMBU08GNBQzeHyDdRuE00DU9_rG_sdvzk_tLW6frussh567JD0VcCQ7LB_kyjVCXSt4pUTKz-dM5sbR47OuHKevpK_pvnegaOkyu/s1600/tumblr_lseys0Wyuu1qai3dko1_500_large.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrcaxPT3UKmPENwV_9pQa8-ZX-cHgCZY0EuGFQ1irprMBU08GNBQzeHyDdRuE00DU9_rG_sdvzk_tLW6frussh567JD0VcCQ7LB_kyjVCXSt4pUTKz-dM5sbR47OuHKevpK_pvnegaOkyu/s1600/tumblr_lseys0Wyuu1qai3dko1_500_large.gif" /></a></div>
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Arctic Monkeys has never really been my kind of band, but i like this one. The above line especially.</div>
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17879255438365566588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9098439967972690901.post-16779229770829713562011-12-25T14:33:00.004+05:302011-12-25T14:38:13.245+05:30Merry Christmas, everyone! ^^<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOMOKRlFQFBRf7VrctgeWDURrc2qMGHimrKso9kJwZEUG5Lw9yiXYp3p9uw3hyphenhyphenp8MtKGUj0Dx8-txmVyj3EekztBM3zfuONjRpLplP4aGzaBG7o2JNewRRlUWeOD2wPrIHLrOKiayoVz1x/s1600/tumblr_lwmkxrNgx71r6fkqao1_500_large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOMOKRlFQFBRf7VrctgeWDURrc2qMGHimrKso9kJwZEUG5Lw9yiXYp3p9uw3hyphenhyphenp8MtKGUj0Dx8-txmVyj3EekztBM3zfuONjRpLplP4aGzaBG7o2JNewRRlUWeOD2wPrIHLrOKiayoVz1x/s320/tumblr_lwmkxrNgx71r6fkqao1_500_large.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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this <span style="color: #cc0000;">Christmas</span> i realized that it isn't about the way people around feel about me, it doesn't matter if they don't care enough. simply loving them and doing everything i can to make things better for them can make me happier than anyone. it's an amazing feeling - having love to give, having people to love. for those who aren't exactly having the best <span style="color: #38761d;">Christmas</span> ever because you're lonely, lost, discontent - i hope you'll see it to. </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: red;"></span><span style="color: red;"></span></span></div>
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oh, and i'd like to share my favourite <span style="color: #cc0000;">Christmas</span> story with you. i always cry like a baby when i read it. (x</div>
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<a name='more'></a><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;">The Gift of the Magi</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it
was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the
grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned
with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied.
Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty- seven cents. And
the next day would be <span style="color: black;">Christmas</span>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> There was clearly nothing to do
but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it.
Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs,
sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> While the
mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the
second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did
not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the
lookout for the mendicancy squad.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> In the vestibule below was a
letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from
which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto
was a card bearing the name "Mr. James Dillingham Young."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> The
"Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of
prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the
income was shrunk to $20, though, they were thinking seriously of
contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James
Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called
"Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already
introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> Della
finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She
stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray
fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had
only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every
penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week
doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They
always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy
hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine
and rare and sterling--something just a little bit near to being worthy
of the honor of being owned by Jim.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> There was a pier-glass
between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pierglass in an
$8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his
reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly
accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the
art.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the
glass. her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its
color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it
fall to its full length.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> Now, there were two possessions of the
James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was
Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The
other was Della's hair. Had the queen of Sheba lived in the flat across
the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day
to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King
Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the
basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just
to see him pluck at his beard from envy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> So now Della's
beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade of
brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment
for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she
faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on
the worn red carpet.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> On went her old brown jacket; on went her
old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle
still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the
street.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> Where she stopped the sign read: "Mne. Sofronie. Hair
Goods of All Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself,
panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> "Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> "I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Down rippled the brown cascade.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> "Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> "Give it to me quick," said Della.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> Oh,
and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed
metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> She
found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There
was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of
them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in
design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by
meretricious ornamentation--as all good things should do. It was even
worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be
Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value--the description applied to
both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home
with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly
anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he
sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap
that he used in place of a chain.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> When Della reached home her
intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her
curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages
made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task,
dear friends--a mammoth task.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> Within forty minutes her head was
covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like
a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long,
carefully, and critically.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> "If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to
herself, "before he takes a second look at me, he'll say I look like a
Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do--oh! what could I do with a
dollar and eighty- seven cents?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> Jim
was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the
corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard
his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned
white for just a moment. She had a habit for saying little silent prayer
about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please God,
make him think I am still pretty."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> The door opened and Jim
stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow,
he was only twenty-two--and to be burdened with a family! He needed a
new overcoat and he was without gloves.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> Jim stopped inside the
door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were
fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not
read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor
disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been
prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar
expression on his face.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> Della wriggled off the table and went for him.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> "Jim,
darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off
and sold because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving
you a present. It'll grow out again - you won't mind, will you? I just
had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say `Merry Christmas!' Jim,
and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice - what a beautiful, nice
gift I've got for you."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> "You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim,
laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after
the hardest mental labor.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> "Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Jim looked about the room curiously.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> "You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> "You
needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you--sold and
gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you.
Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with sudden
serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I
put the chops on, Jim?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to
wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet
scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight
dollars a week or a million a year--what is the difference? A
mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought
valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will
be illuminated later on.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> "Don't
make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think there's
anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make
me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package you may see
why you had me going a while at first."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> White fingers and nimble
tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and
then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails,
necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of
the lord of the flat.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> For there lay The Combs - the set of combs,
side and back, that Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window.
Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rims--just the shade
to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she
knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the
least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that
should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> But she
hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim
eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> And them Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;">
Jim
had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly
upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a
reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.<br />
"Isn't it a dandy,
Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a
hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks
on it."<br />
Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.<br />
"Dell,"
said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while.
They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the
money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on."<br />
The
magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought
gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving
Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones,
possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And
here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two
foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other
the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of
these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the
wisest. O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest.
Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">~ O. Henry </span></span></div>
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isn't it just so adorable?</div>
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<br /></div>
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17879255438365566588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9098439967972690901.post-45764739718317191202011-12-23T18:23:00.001+05:302011-12-24T19:19:01.447+05:30Hunter and Tori: Part III<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Dear Hunter,<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/kWakZcEGB38?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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Love,</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
Tori</div>
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******* </div>
Dear Tori,</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
remember when i said we could make it through together if we tried?</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
i don't know if i believe that anymore. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
i want to. i really do. but you're just making things so hard. you've
never been this way before. you were always the one, the ONLY one who
understood me. but now there's this gap which i just can't bridge. i
don't know if i'm doing it wrong, i don't know if you're deliberately
choosing to see it wrong.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
it kills me to leave, but i have to. things can't go on this way. you
can't keep yourself locked behind that door forever and blame the world
for your loneliness. </div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
Love, </div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
Hunter</div>
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17879255438365566588noreply@blogger.com0