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About Varied / Hobbyist Erika TuppsFemale/Japan Recent Activity
Deviant for 12 Years
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Literature
Untitled
    “I just think it’s outrageous to charge that much for something so simple.” She glances down as she twirls her fork into the pasta, pausing to continue before she takes a bite. “You know?”
    “Um-hum.”
    The fork clangs on the plate, abandoned in the wake of her exasperation. The sound barely registers amid the murmur of voices emanating from the surrounding tables, competing with the clatter of dishes as the nearby kitchen door swings open briefly.
    She sighs. “Just stop.”
    “Stop what?” He never looks up from the screen, his thumb still slowly scrolling on the surface.
    “Acting like you care.”
    “Of course, I care.”
    “Obviously.” She rolls her eyes as she reaches for her water glass, taking a drink before setting it back down on the red-and-white-checkered tablecloth. Her hand lingers,
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Literature
Once Upon a Time
Who knew the brush of fingertips could be translated
Not into words; but into sensations not felt with the hands
Sensations felt with the heart and soul as flutters and pauses
Pauses that seem to last a lifetime but occur in a breath
A whisper containing the weight of every moment like this one
So seemingly concrete I can almost hold them in my palm
And count them as a measure of how much our love is worth
Priceless artifacts of our history not yet dusty in their youth
Slipping through my fingers in their already overwhelming numbers
Settling back into our memories still warm from my touch
To be recalled as a beginning to our once upon a time
When the time becomes long, long ago and we still speak
In the silent language of a shared moment between fingertips
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Literature
Butterflies wish...be like you
Title: Butterflies wish they could be like you.
I've always sympathized with the moth
Butterflies of the night
Competing with their sunlit counterparts
Their graceful beauty gifted by God
I've waited my whole life
For the cacoon to set me free
Only to realize this is it
Doomed to the shadows of "if only"
But that's okay
Because you're light is worth it all
Loving you is like oxygen
Like a moth to the flames
And you make me feel
Like even butterflies should be ashamed
When I'm with you, all ese fades
And I'm not so ordinary anymore
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Literature
First Flight
My back hits the firm surface of the stretcher. I struggle to keep my eyes open to the aftermath. The air smells of blood. The pavement is bathed in broken glass and the flashing blue and red lights of emergency vehicles. “I want my mom.” My throat is dry and scratchy. A masculine voice responds. “I’m sorry. There’s no other room on the chopper.” They wheel me toward the helicopter waiting to take me to the hospital. I groan in protest.
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Literature
The Leather Wristband
She is done
Looking at his things.
Deciding to box them up.
Return them to him.
Letters. Stuffed toys. Photographs.
Everything.
Except the leather wristband
That once carved her wrist
Every day
For a year.
Faded. Brown. Worn.
His favorite possession.
Tossed atop the dresser.
Absent from the box.
Her revenge.
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Literature
Lost
My map is torn
And my compass broken,
The glass in fragments
At my feet.
The blank pages of
The calendar upon the wall
Are quickly turning
Of their own accord.
I sleep through the day,
Tossing and turning,
Though my eyes
Are wide open.
The alarm clock
Keeps ringing as
The hands keep spinning
Though they are frozen.
The seasons change
As the leaves fall
And the flowers bloom
All in the same moment.
I’ve lost the keys to
The padlock hanging on
The hasp of the door that stands
In front of and behind me.
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    “I just think it’s outrageous to charge that much for something so simple.” She glances down as she twirls her fork into the pasta, pausing to continue before she takes a bite. “You know?”
    “Um-hum.”
    The fork clangs on the plate, abandoned in the wake of her exasperation. The sound barely registers amid the murmur of voices emanating from the surrounding tables, competing with the clatter of dishes as the nearby kitchen door swings open briefly.
    She sighs. “Just stop.”
    “Stop what?” He never looks up from the screen, his thumb still slowly scrolling on the surface.
    “Acting like you care.”
    “Of course, I care.”
    “Obviously.” She rolls her eyes as she reaches for her water glass, taking a drink before setting it back down on the red-and-white-checkered tablecloth. Her hand lingers, anxiously tracing circles on the glass in the silence that follows. Tears fight to escape, held back only by her desire not to make a scene.
    After a moment, he clicks the screen off and places the device beside his meal on the tabletop. “What’s going on with you?”
    “Seriously?”
    “You’ve been annoyed by everything I’ve done all day. What’s the deal?”
    “Why are you even out with me, if all you’re going to do is stare at that damn phone?” Her voice rises as she speaks; she sinks back into the booth in shame as a few heads turn their direction.
    “You need to calm down,” he says.
    She stares at him, clenching her jaw shut as her breath quickens.
    “Why are you trying to ruin this day?” He folds his hands in front of him on the table and leans forward. “I’m in a good mood. I’m not trying to cause any problems. Can we just enjoy our dinner? We don’t get to go out without the kids very often.”
    She shifts her gaze down to the table, counting the red squares and losing herself in the pattern.
    “Now you’re not even going to talk to me?” He sits back abruptly and slams his palms on the edge of the table in frustration.
    She jumps. “I…I just—”
    “You just what?”
    “I just don’t even know why I’m here,” she says quietly. Then the tears come.

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