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Of Love and Other Things
She lay next to him Their naked bodies touching accidently Everytime he moved unconsciously. She lay next to him The smell of the cigarrete smoke Filling her hair. She lay next to him Reading Neruda and his boisterous adventures Of love and other things, Feeling his warm breath on her Smelling the faint musky smell Of his perfume. And then, When she heard his slight rhythmic snores She looked at his face, the scar on his eyebrow The little black mole beneath his lips And she imagined his voice and his laugh. She took a long puff From the almost burned out cigarette And then, slowly, careful not to wake him up She turned in his arms To face the other side. She lay quitely next to him And heard his rhythmic snores And felt his warm, beautiful breathe on her And she finallly sobbed her heart out Thinking about the many unfulfilled loves And the many lost dreams. She sobbed Thinking of his beautiful eyes and the way he kissed. Originally written on ...
Just a Post
Like one of my dear friend's post explains, , I have also, always, been a misanthrope. I don't know what made me one. I don't know since when i have become one. But I know that I have been one ever since I can remember. Maybe it was my troubled childhood that led to the eventual distrust I have in mankind. I realised when I was a child itself, that I will never be able to understand the human society or "fit into" it. I've never wanted to and I've never tried to "fit into" the society either. Everywhere I looked, I saw pretensions, and I saw to what extends people will give up their integrity and individuality to "fit in". And it reaffirmed my conception about the pathetic state we humans live in. We are all scared. We live our lives in fear of one thing or the other. And we always need something to fear about. That uncertainty fuels our will to live for a tomorrow. We never are satisfied with today. We always hope for a better ...
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