If she can keep me on my toes with the way she talks, if she likes the way she looks, if she can eat a whole lot, if the touch of her skin makes me all tingly inside, and if her voice is soft and smooth and conversational. Basically, everything Arimi is.
Yes I was. With Arimi.
I don’t like hot dogs. Is that weird
Finding you and spending four freaking months of my life chasing you and patiently waiting for you to be my girlfriend… is the first.
I don’t think it’s crucial to have sex in order to love. But it’s important to love in order to have sex. Making love is all about the meeting of emotion and physicality. It’s the cement that fortifies the walls of the connection you’ve build. It’s the glue that bonds two souls. It’s important in that it’s a way of saying “I love you” without actually saying it.
When you’ve got your one night stands and friends with benefits, it’s not the same at all. From that point on, it’s just sex. It’s meaningless and deprived of all emotion. It’s all about touch and lust. And frankly, it’s shallow.
So if you’re going to do it, do it right. Make love, not one-night-mistakes.
I don’t see why you need to know that. If you can give me a good reason, I’ll tell you. But honestly I don’t think that’s any of your business.
Ack, those nights when I don’t webcam with her makes me feel like I’m going through withdrawal symptoms.
Someone help me find a balance.
Help me find a way that I could use all of my talents.
Help me find a way that I can rise up to the challenge.
^__^ Oh how I love everything about her.
Btw, I’m officially committed!
- how my mother works
- me: mom i got all A's
- me: mom i cleaned the whole house
- me: mom i don't do drugs and i'm not pregnant
- mom: is this your cup on the table?
- me: yes
- mom: you never do anything right i do for you all day long and you do nothing for me but stress me out you are so out of control you are grounded if you think you had no life before you just wait i cant believe you treat your own mother this way get out of my sight
That was a long sentence.
If you asked me what I wanted the most right now, I would say the right to remain silent, the right to plead the fifth, the right to an attorney because as it so happens, this is my own type of prison.
Behind the walls of my upper-middle-class-home-with-five-bedrooms-four-baths lives my family of five; six if you counted the sister that comes home from college every two months; four if you didn’t count the cousin that refuses to conform to the way my family lives; two if you ignored the parents whose narrow-minded, traditional views drive me insane to the point of seclusion and hermitism. There’s also the sister whose sass should be kept in a bottle, released only when I’m finally gone in a few months.
And then there’s me.
The truth is, I love my family, I do. But there comes a point in time where I should be allowed life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, whatever that may be. There should be a time when being 18 doesn’t just give me permission to buy a lottery ticket or drive minors in the car I don’t have. And while middle schoolers can go to theme parks or the beach, I have to babysit a girl who’s just entered puberty, equipped with the weapons of sass and attitude, all by myself, where the risk of “falling out a rollercoaster” or “drowning” in three feet of water doesn’t apply.
I’m limited to what I can do because my parents, particularly my totalitarian mother, decide that “it’s not necessary but go study instead.” Now my father is more level-headed and reasonable, if you didn’t mind the borderline homophobia.
We live in a new age, but it seems that my family has yet to adapt. Their ways impede on the growth I want to see. How does a tree grow without sunlight? How do you escape a tunnel blind? My happiness means squat. Liberty and life are out the window.
I’m stuck in this prison I call home.
Sometimes I have this innate urge to do good things. I’m not talking like opening doors for people or saying hi to them back. I mean like really, going out of my way to make someone feel better, or showing them that someone out there cares. I spend my time doing things that make a difference.
But then they say thanks and walk away without any idea of what they put me through - what I sacrificed to help them get up in the first place.
I’m not saying I want the recognition. It’s just that when I need someone there, everyone’s walked away. And I’m the only one there, standing in the middle of who-really-cares-anyway.