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Post by dead character on May 4, 2005 22:10:20 GMT -5
I smile and put my hand over his shaking hand. I kiss his lips, then kiss along his cheek bone and his forehead. I rest one hand on his leg. You don't have to be afraid. I am sorry if I have hurt you. I don't mean to. I have been thinking about you a lot. I was hoping I would be sent here after you left Syria. I say in a quiet and kind voice as I rub his leg.
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Post by Alejos H. Coy IV on May 4, 2005 22:19:40 GMT -5
"Sorry to hear that," Alejos says. "Once again, we're looking into it... but we've found nothing. No arrest records, nothing. Sorry... let's just head back to Tommy and Cheech's."
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Post by soledad on May 4, 2005 23:03:57 GMT -5
Thanks, I am sorry to have brought it up. But sometimes I just wonder.
I shake my head and let it go for now.
Lead the way.
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Post by Mikhael Nadyezhda Kirsanov on May 4, 2005 23:54:20 GMT -5
I tilt my head back, and close my eyes, absorbed in the moment.
"Ahh, no... It's alright, I just... I needed it... It... helped......" My voice trails off. I brush my cheek against hers, then nibble on her ear, tracing my hand up along her spine.
"Thank you..." I say somewhat enigmatically, I'm not even sure of what I meant by this.
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Post by dead character on May 4, 2005 23:56:23 GMT -5
Then just close your eyes. It will all go away. I touch his face and lightly brush over his eyes. I put my hand on his shoulder and nudge him down a little, so we are laying next to each other. I kiss his lips again, running my hand down his arm and then his side.
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Post by Mikhael Nadyezhda Kirsanov on May 5, 2005 0:01:26 GMT -5
"Okay..." I whisper softly, keeping my eyes closed, and begin to nibble down her neck, my arms begin to subconsciously wrap around her in a warm embrace. I lift my leg, rubbing it against the side of her body.
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Post by dead character on May 5, 2005 0:04:25 GMT -5
There is something very kind and comforting in his touch. He has been through a lot, but keeps a childlike gentleness and love. I smile and touch his neck, lightly tracing my fingers up the back of it, up to his hair, and through it. Never become a hard cold person. You have to change this all before it changes you.
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Post by Mikhael Nadyezhda Kirsanov on May 5, 2005 0:11:36 GMT -5
I smile, and feel my eyes get a little misty. I'm overflowing with emotion, bursting at the seams.
"It's just... Too hard... This world is too fucked up, and nobody cares... I can't do anything..." I say, my voice cracks a little on the last words.
"Nobody sees it, nobody cares..." I repeat. I nibble down her neck gently, then slide my hand up her shirt, scratching her back on the way back down.
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Post by dead character on May 5, 2005 0:17:12 GMT -5
I see it everyday. I see violence and bombings and hunger and loss. I see broken lives. I feel sicked and upset. And when I feel that way I see that hatred is just another way to express love. That people hate because they love their country, or their family, or their self. They love it so much they hate any percieved threat to it.
I don't know how to change that. Change what people think? I don't know. When I talk I feel more passionate. I feel like there is something important that I don't understand. That I am angry at looking at a huge wall before me, knowing that if I could just get past it, I could see things better.
I sit up a little and tug at his shirt, pulling it over his arms and head, then kiss his chest.
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Post by Mikhael Nadyezhda Kirsanov on May 5, 2005 0:25:21 GMT -5
I help her toss my shirt onto the floor, then do the same for her, lift her shirt up over her head, and toss it onto the floor.
"Everything is so huge, I don't even know where to begin..." I say, then lean forward, wrapping my arms around her, just wanting to feel the warmth of her skin. I nibble on her jawbone.
"Maybe hate is just another expression of love... People so desperate, that they have to blow themselves up to protect the people that they care about, what other option do they have?"
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Post by dead character on May 5, 2005 0:29:32 GMT -5
For some people, I think that is their only option. What they are against is just too big to deal with in other ways. I don't know. Had I not been born into a rich family, I would be a terrorist." I reply to him. I touch the skin of his chest with the back of my hand, running it along slowly and indulgently.
I start to unzip my own skirt from the back and take off my heels.
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Post by Mikhael Nadyezhda Kirsanov on May 5, 2005 0:36:49 GMT -5
I begin to wonder what would have become of me if I were born in Iraq, or Syria, or Chechnya, and my home became occupied by troops. The schools and hospitals destroyed, living in perpetual fear... I'd probably be a terrorist too.
After the skirt is off, I gently push her down onto the bed, and kiss her gently all across her face, cheek, and neck, reaching down and unbuttoning my pants in the process.
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Post by dead character on May 5, 2005 0:43:24 GMT -5
Once we are both undressed, I pull close to him continue to touch and kiss his skin. Although I don't know him very well, it doesn't seem wrong. I feel comforted by it. I feel younger and more whole. I wrap my arms and legs around him. Can't you just leave everything?
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Post by Mikhael Nadyezhda Kirsanov on May 5, 2005 0:47:33 GMT -5
I climb myself on top of her, and kiss her again, then bury my head into her shoulder.
"I just... I don't... know.... It's not that easy..." I whisper into her ear with a hint of sadness.
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Post by dead character on May 5, 2005 0:50:47 GMT -5
You are your own person, you can control your life and must take control of it. You can't be meek about it.
I touch his arms and shoulders and turn my head to the side as if to think. You remind me of a refugee. But you'll find your place.
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