We are out there.Through all this anarchy, a broken world and it's insanity, I walk on.We are out there.2 years ago in Spirit Day
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All of these people, I will protect them from the world, I fight on.
Through this snowglobe with shattered glass, I walk on.
All of these people with shattered hearts, I fight for.
An angel, a Fallen, a masqueraded messenger with black wings.
Walking with a purpose, war, murder, I save them from these things.
My weapon is a sword of ice, bound with blue fire.
I fight to protect them, but they think me a liar.
They don't know who or what I am, and I protect them with these lies.
But they don't know this, or don't want to, that I stop their sad cries.
This Fallen with black wings, protecting you from all these things.
He is sad that you do not believe him, for his purpose is protecting.
This Reaper, protecting you, walking through the world.
He goes unnoticed, and his pleas always go unheard.
You will have no parley with liars, never to talk to them.
But what they don't realise is, he tells lies to protect them.
Aching LoveTo me, there's no specific definition of cute. It's not just being cute or not cute to me. I look at cute as a form of―how should I say it?―irrationality. It's unreasonable. Illogical. Something you can't define.Aching Love2 years ago in The Great Valentine Exchange
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Every time I look down at my small old dog, walking around slowly on the rug of my living room, still brown and white in fur color, I think "aww", or sometimes even say it aloud. Just once is never enough. Nobody else ever sees me do this. Nobody sees the true side of me, which is generally a wild nature when it comes to anything remotely cute. If I had siblings, I'd bet anything we would be close pals who "aww" at everything in sight, even after the first time. But that's not what I want. I loathe this side of me.
It's when I found her. My ideal step sister. She's insufferable, but cute, though not in the way I imagined.
Frail in appearance, but fierce and tough in attitude. My ideal girl. I didn't think she'd be my sister.
My parents and I are sitting in a spacio
Linguistic LoveEight thousand, nine hundred and fifty miles is an awfully long distance. Eight thousand, nine hundred and fifty miles can envelope oceans and valleys and mountains and tall, tall oaks in its sheer immensity. It can take on over a hundred thousand football fields and engulf New York City a hundred times over while wondering what to have for breakfast. There isn't much a distance that tremendous, that vast, can't swallow up.Linguistic Love1 year ago in Be My Valentine
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Love is not an exception.
Handwritten with your favorite fountain pen in your neatest script, then lovingly enveloped and sent, by post or by hand; typed slowly while watching the letters appear on the screen, with plenty of abuse of the BACKSPACE key; or even spoken into a recorder, rising and falling and dancing, wearing tone on their feet and a scarf of resonance. The medium in which words are crafted and paired is irrelevant, as long as they are arranged carefully.
Words are powerful, for they can traverse double this distance w