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Letter I Will Never Receive.I am sorry that I didn't make you perfect. I apologize for making you see things in a different light. I'm sorry I made all those things go wrong, that you cry yourself to sleep, that you see weakness in something that is just human nature. I'm sorry that I didn't step in and block those punches, or lay my hand on your shoulder when you'd mourn a loss. I was just trying to make things better by giving you something that most do not. I gave you the gift of a different perspective. You see the light that some can't fathom. You see potential where others see failure, you see pain where most see weak. You are that voice of reason but please don't get a big head. Although, there can be faults in your stars, the gift of difference shines instead.
You see the world as a lesson, when most look at it as game. Your curiosity finds you freedom, where others are bound by their ignorant shame. All gifts come with a price, my love. You can see it all around.
I could not give you all you wanted, like
I am the BansheeI follow blindly as you lead, into the night, that night, that my soul shall parish.
I remember hearing my scream and looking down upon my lifeless corpse, on your blood soaked bed. I remember the pain from knowing it was over. And in your time of dying, I know, you're supposed to think of something great, as if these last thoughts could be recorded. What do they matter? What were my thoughts? In my time of dying I thought of you. What would you feel? I did not feel angry or saddened by my loss. Although, later in your garden I mourned my own death.
I thought about my childhood, my first love, my character, and did any of my words leave impact on the ones I love. I did not think about the detectives finding my body or the mortician poking or sucking the fluids from my body. I did not think about God or Satan. I thought about you. How you tricked the trickster.
I did not think about what I learned in life, or if it even mattered. I thought about all that would never be or if it would ev
How It Began"God, your two o'clock is here."
"I have a two o'clock?"
"He's been here since 7:45. I figured it's only polite to... sir."
God sighed. "Fine, send him in."
While He waited God cleared His desk of papers and blueprints; no need for outsiders to see His plans. Soon enough the door to His office opened and God stood, smiled, held out a hand towards one of the two visitor's chairs.
"God! Great stuff you're doing in sector 2-7-0! Great stuff!"
The man's hands were clammy, his handshake limp. Rumpled suit, porkpie hat, briefcase... oh Jes-- oh dear, a salesman. God's smile slipped a little but He soldiered on gamely. With luck He could shoo the poor guy away in a few minutes.
"So, what can I do for you?"
The man sat, briefcase across his knees. "Sector 2-7-0! Everyone's talking about it! What do you call it? Man and merman?"
"Man and woman, actually. And thanks. But we're pretty busy around here, and..."
"Oh! Right! No time for the wicked, eh?" The salesman winked and popped his briefcase,
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More