i like my skin color leave me alone

Dear White People.....

Y’all, really have been trying me lately, so with inspiration from the movie and Netflix show and all shit that has been happening lately, here is a list of things to not do or say to POCs

*DISCLAIMER* THIS IS NOT A RACIST POST! THIS IS JUST AN INFORMATIVE POSTOF THE SITUATIONS THAT POC PEOPLE DEAL WITH! PLEASE DON’T BE STUPID

Dear white people

-I am not a petting zoo. When my hair is curly, don’t randomly come up to me and start touching my hair without asking me. It’s rude and disgusting.

Dear white people

-If I see you with cornrolls, don’t tell that it’s a “style and that anyome can wear”. NO! Having braids isn’t just a style to us, it is our culture and there is a reason for why we get out hair braided.

Dear white people

-Don’t you ever fucking say “well its culture appropiation if you straighten your hair” because now you sound dumb. Here’s a fun fact, POCs can have naturally straight hair too.

Dear white people

-If you support Miley Cyrus on her “transitioning” back to her old self, don’t talk to me, don’t follow, unfollow, I don’t care. I will NEVER support a person who culture appropiated and then talks about is it was just a phase and that she doesn’t do that kind of stuff. It pissed me the fuck of that she could just sit here and “rap”. To us, rap isn’t just entertainment but it is an outlet for us to  give out messages on all of the this we go. She really just disrespectedall that we have done, made it into a shit show to get ratings, and tossed it away like it’s nothing.

Dear white people

-Stop telling me “you talk proper for being black.” EVERYONE TALKS A DIFFERENT WAY SO SHUT THE FUCK UP!

Dear white people

-STOP FUCKING CELEBRATING CINCO DE MAYO, IT IS NOT OUR HOLIDAY!!

Frankly, I don’t even know if Mexico considers it as a holiday, but we should not be sitting here, “celebrating” anothers country’s victory, from a battle they had to fight,

How would you feel if other countries went out and “celebrated” Memorial Day by partying, getting drunk, wearing Trump shirts, talking with country accent, while listening to Taylor Swift.

Yeah, now y’all quiet.

Dear white people

-DON’T FUCKING SAY NIGGA!!!!!! I DON’T CARE IF IT IS THE SONG, DON’T FUCKING SAY IT!!!!!!!!!!

Dear white people

-If there is a post about a POC, DO NOT: Comment, retweet, or reblog, with the comment of “all peopl are this…” NOBODY FUCKING ASKED YOU, AND THAT IS NOT THE POINT OF THE POST! IF THE POST SAYS “BLACK WOMEN ARE BEAUTIFUL” JUST GIVE IT THE CLAP EMOJI, THE HEART EYES EMOJI, THE THUMBS UP EMOJI! THAT’S IT!!!! NOTHING MORE!!

Dear white people

-I’m allergic to watermelon and kool-aid is disgusting.

Dear white people

-My braids do not indicate that I smoke weed. I actually have asthma, so even if I did want to, I’d die.

Dear white people

-”I’m not trying to be racist, but….” THEN DON’T FUCKING SAY IT!!!!! SIMPLE AS THAT!!!!!!!!

Dear white people

-Once you get done asking me “is there anything I can help you find” and I answer with “no thank you”, leave me the fuck alone and go help Debbie in the panty department! I don’t want to see your face while I am in the juniors department, I don’t see you while I’m at the makeup counter, I don’t want to see while I’m at the shoe section. I’m not stealing shit so leave me that fuck alone!

Dear white people (makeup companies)

-I’m pretty sure that there are other names for darker foundations than just food

-Nude colors do not just stop at the pale pinks.

-Please make fondations with yellow undertones, because I am so tired of looking like Trump, when the foundation has an orange/red undertone.

-How hard it to find a POC, to do swatches on them!?!? Like come on! I want to know how it will look like on my skin tone, before buy it!

-I’m going to need y’all to go back to school and you know what Rich, Deep, and Dark look like.

Dear white people

-My race is NOT a fetish, stop it with the ra.ce pl.ay shit!

Dear white people

-My race is NOT A WEAPON! STOP “FEARING” FOR YOUR LIVES!

-My race is NOT A SCAPE GOAT! IF I AM YOUR FRIEND, DO NOT USE MY RACE AS AN EXCUSE TO DO INAPPROPIATE THINGS!

-My race is NOT UP FOR DISCUSION! I am black, native american and caribbean. Don’t tell me what I am because of my skin tone. That goes for all other races and ethnicity.

So is what I have dealt with, within the last month and all my life. I hope you guys take something out of this.

Also to POCs, if there is anything you want to add, feel free to.

mutantgurls  asked:

How about an au where lance is galra and has to deal with prejudice from the people he's saving.

How about just stabbing me right now

Lance was proud of his heritage, he was Galra. He was part of one of last pure blood in the entire species. Lance was proud of that. Growing up he thought that being Galra was the best thing that could’ve happened to him. He was mistaking. 

-

Lance was around 14 when he realized that the Galra wasn’t what he was taught in school. By ready journals from his father (who was a high ranking soldier) Lance learned that he had been lied to his entire life. Lance couldn’t believe what he read. They killed people. They destroyed planets. For what? Zarkon?

Lance didn’t sleep that night. 

-

Lance was 17 when he ran away from home. He couldn’t deal with the lies anymore. He couldn’t deal with the fact that his father was the only in his family that knew the truth. He couldn’t deal with listening to one more ‘proud Galren’ speech. 

-

After bouncing from planet to planet Lance found himself as the Blue Paladin. He could tell that Allura wasn’t happy that Blue chose him, but no one had ever seen a stronger bond between paladin and lion before.  

Lance eventually learned to deal with Allura’s hard stare and unapproachable personality. At least Coran eventually opened up to him. 

Allura wasn’t the only aliens to jump the gun on Lance. It was not uncommon for Lance to have to dodge weapons from people that they saved. It also wasn’t uncommon for people to run inside the nearest builden they saw when Lance walk down a street with the other paladins. 

Lance eventually broke. 

-

Lance was flying back from a particularly hard mission. The city that they saved held a party in Voltrons name, however they “forgot” to invite the right leg. 

Lance sat in Blue while the other paladins have fun at their party. He was the first one to take off when the other paladins reached their lions. 

Allura’s voice blasted through the coms, “Great work out there paladins! Shiro you did an ex…” 

Lance tuned her out, she did this after every mission.  She would compliment everyone on what they did right but only criticize Lance on what he needed to work on. 

“Lance? Did you hear me? You can’t fly that rough with the blue lion. You’ll end up damaging her.” 

“Yes Princess.”

“I do not wish to schedule extras practices for you, but I will. You need to improve your skills so you are a valuable member of Voltron.” 

Lance snapped. “With all do respect Princess but can you stop? Every mission I have to deal with stares and people running away from me, all because of my skin color. They see purple and immediately run or treat me like garbage.” Lance swallowed. “What did I ever do to hurt you? The only people I have ever hurt is my family. That’s only because I left them without an excuse. So yes Princess I will fly better and continue to improve myself so I can kill Zarkon and leave you alone just like you want.” Lance turned off his coms. 

A few minutes later Lance landed Blue in her hanger and just sat there shaking. Allura enter the hanger but Blue activated her barrier. She wanted to protect from her pilot from anymore pain. 

*Cries* 

I love Galra Lance tbh 

I hope you like it!

Thank you for this!

ursulacousland  asked:

11) when one stops the kiss to whisper “I’m sorry, are you sure you-” and they answer by kissing them more for Rhyssa/Fenris or Eliza/Garrus, your choice. :)

Hi everyone, here’s some DA2 Act 3 Rhyssa sadness! 

**********

Orana is hovering over a pot of stew when Hawke comes in to the kitchen. There are tear streaks on the girl’s face, constantly washed clean and then replaced by a new wave of tears, but she makes no sound as she stirs, and stirs, and stirs.

Hawke pauses in the doorway. She wants to embrace Orana, give her what comfort she can, but she smells herself, all fire and blood and lyrium, and knows she looks a soot-stained and bruised horror. There’s no comfort within her power to give. Better to stick to the plan, and get Orana safely away. Alive and terrified is better than dead, after all.

“It’s time, Orana,” Hawke says, gently as she can, but her voice is raw from too many screams, and Orana curls in on herself. “Douse the fire, we have to go.”

Keep reading

Oh my god I was going to keep quiet about this but I’m so annoyed;;;

apparently someone thought I was whitewashing angie in this drawing because I wasn’t coloring her skin dark enough can’t they just leave me alone?? can’t you see that I’ve colored EVERYONE PALE??? and she’s the only one I shaded using a brown color scheme too it was the coloring style

If you can’t support me to make a movie just leave me alone why are you so self-righteous do you think you’re contributing something to the world by trying to hop into every drawing that doesn’t fit your standards

I tend to recognize a lot of people who’s been supporting me and my drawings and I don’t remember you so well, I wonder what gives you feel that you have the right to tell me what to do with my drawings and the things I work on. Do you feel victimized by whitewashing?? well, go find someone who really does whitewash characters don’t come and pick on me, I really don’t have time for this. STOP, JUST STOP. I know angie’s skin is dark, leave me alone. If you aren’t going to support me just let me draw things in peace, thank you;;

Briste | Chapter 12

Briste | Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11


My father once said that the moment I met the person I was meant to be with, I’d ken it in a heartbeat.

He was right.

My heart and mind recognized her before I was even fully aware of it myself. The first month after the explosion I had dreams of an angel. She had the sweet voice of a Sassenach and the kindest touch. Whenever the pain began to overwhelm me, her voice and touch cut through the agony, replacing it with it peace.

She had spoken to me for countless hours, it seemed, in my haze. She read stories, the news, or just spoke her mind and the wish for me to open my eyes.

“Findings! You make him sounds like some sort of experiment!” A shrill voice had filtered in. That hadn’t been my angel, but I recognized it. Jenny. I furrowed my brow, light and pain began to seep into my consciousness and the dreams became more fuzzy by the second as the beeping of machines and the voice of my angel spoke.

“Can you tell me his name?”

I was even more confused by her statement. She knew my name, didn’t she? My angel had to know. I wanted to scream out to her, but nothing came. I needed to see; I needed to get my angel’s attention and let her know. She needed to know me.

I had opened my eyes and seen the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes on. The hazy vision of my angel solidified and I finally had features clearly drawn: riotous curly hair, milky skin, and eyes the color of the finest Scotch.

“Mo chridhe,” I had whispered, my voice scratchy and hoarse. Neither my sister or my angel had heard me.

When they did notice me, my heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest. My angel— Jenny had called her Dr. Beauchamp—gently touched my arm and my skin burned from her touch.

And just as soon as I had a chance to drink her in, she was gone, leaving me alone with my sister. She sobbed and hugged me. Between her sobs, Jenny fretted over me, not leaving me for a moment. It was smothering. I had never seen her this way before. Maybe it was the thought of losing me so shortly after Da and Willie or her ever growing pregnancy messing with her mind, but I didn’t care. It was nice to be surrounded by love and warmth instead of the cold hard fear that had been my constant state for the last four years.

“Who was she?” I croaked when Jenny had finally calmed down.

“Who was who, mo brathair?” She gave me a quizzical look, and rubbed her belly. “Surely ye’ve not already forgotten Doctor Beauchamp, who has been verra dedicated and skilled despite her age?”

I shook my head, feeling myself go dizzy with the movement. “No, not her. I ken fine who the angel is, but the demon. I dinna ken who she is. Can ye tell me, sister? Who was the demon who tortured me when the angel wasna near?”

My voice verged on hysterical, if it wasn’t already there. From the alarmed look on Jenny’s face, I had scared her. She opened her mouth to speak before we heard a loud slam of a door and screaming. I felt what little color was sure to be in my face, drain instantly. The demon was screeching, and at my angel.

“I’ve known James Fraser my whole life and I’d know the look of him anywhere.” The words from the demon floated through the sturdy wood of the door and down my spine like ice. How could she have known me her whole life?

“Jenny?” I began to shake with some foreign emotion that I couldn’t put a name to. We then heard a loud *crack* and the stomping of feet. Five minutes later, my angel and another doctor walked into the room, a smile on his face.

“Welcome back Mr. Fraser! Doctor Beauchamp has told me we finally have an identity for you, and perfect timing with your sudden consciousness. So can you tell me how you’re feeling? Please do not leave anything out. We want to get you back to your best state of being as quickly as we can.”

The conversation flowed and I can’t recall a moment of it. I was too busy stealing glances at the red flushed face of my angel who kept quiet in the corner of my room, and never once approached my bed.

That behavior became her normal towards me unless she had to inspect something under a bandage. The same, kind doctor accompanied her–I really need to remember his name–each round, but she never spoke to me. Her smile did not reach the corner of her lips let alone her eyes, and gradually she began walking with a limp.

My angel avoided my room now. I could feel the depression setting in; I was being abandoned by the angel. The angel whose voice still called to me at night and in my daydreaming states. The voice that gave me hope, now gone.

I grabbed my cane and shoved the IV contraption out the door, then hobbled my way down the corridor in an aimless fashion. My mind so preoccupied by what I might have done to keep her away, and what I could do to get her back, that I nearly missed an argument and a plea. The kind doctor and one I’d never met before strode from a room, the door bouncing off the hinge and slowly swung back open.

“I still say you should tell us who the bastard is that did this to you. I’m not fully convinced this was all done from being clumsy!” the nurse who reminded me of an aunt said exasperatedly, while wrapping a patient’s knee. I saw the healed scrapes and gouges, the purple, blue and green mottled bruising that went from shin and above.

My mouth fell open as I took in all of the injuries this woman had endured. My blood pressure rose as I saw more bruising up her arms and shoulders. What kind of person would harm another like this? Was it her boyfriend? Husband? Girlfriend? Or someone she had an unfortunate encounter with? Situation after situation crossed my mind, and then my blood simultaneously boiled and drained from my body. Sitting on the bench was not just a patient, but my angel. My angel bruised and hurt. Is this why she started avoiding me? Did someone tell her to stop?

I took a step towards her room and she averted her eyes, a blush creeping up her neck.

“All done Claire.” The nurse patted Claire’s leg and handed her her clothes. “Now I don’t want to see you—oh! Hello my dear, have you gotten lost? Do you need assistance getting back to your room?” She addressed me. I shook my head, my eyes not leaving Claire.

“Claire, my angel, who hurt you? What has happened? Please tell me.” I hobbled my way close enough to her to hold my hand out to hover over hers. I saw a tear slide down her cheek and my composure was lost.

“Angel! A Dhia! Please mo nighean donn, tell me who did this. I’ll protect you. I swear it. I’ll protect you.”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry Mr. Fraser, I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

Shock flooded through me. Couldn’t understand me? Had I lost the ability to speak?

“Could you try English? I caught a little of what you said. I believe that was Gaelic? You said ‘Oh God!’ why? What’s wrong? Are you in pain? Is it your hand?”

She jumped off the table, still in naught but her undergarments, and pulled my lightly bandaged hand to her, inspecting it thoroughly. I looked to the nurse who gave me a knowing smile and a wink.

“Claire, the lad is fine. He asked who hurt you.”

My angel shook her head harder. “I told you before Glenna, no one hurt me! I did this to myself running. It wasn’t intentional I swear.” She looked to me then back to Nurse Glenna. “I’m just, clumsy when running these hills and trails. I’ll be fine. Thank you for patching me up.”

“Weel I’d feel better if you took the chief up on his offer to see a psychologist and work through why you feel the need to injure yourself if no one did it to ye.” She headed to the door and before pulling it shut, said to me, “Ye’ll need leave now, Mr. Fraser. Doctor Beauchamp can walk ye back to your room and ye can interrogate her then. Maybe she’ll be more keen to talk to you.”

With a wink she was gone.

Claire had already pulled her scrubs back on and was reaching for her coat when I grabbed her hand, stopping her. She looked me in the eye, and I brushed a curl away from her face. The tension was palpable. And my only thought was, ‘Would she let me?’

anonymous asked:

i'm sorry to ask, but do you think you could maybe be a little more careful w skin tones? i'd love to interact w ur art, especially the trans lance art bcoz im trans & love those hcs, but all of ur art is very whitewashed. i know you probably don't intend for this, and probably arent aware? which is why i ask. when u choose to make a characters skin tone lighter because u think it 'looks better' thats bad no matter what ): whitewashing isn't cool. i hope u consider what ive said. have a good day

:/

i am a brown person, i can not believe this…. have you seen my art… i am so bewildered.

I’m not sure where this is coming from, but the way your eyes perceive color can often change based on the colors in the picture and the way they interact with each other, so that might be why you think my art is whitewashed. (???)

now, i’m not sure which drawing you’re talking about, but you did say “but all of ur art is very whitewashed” so, i’m gonna pull up a few of my art works

yea, i agree that my art work does change the skin colors a bit, but not… not in a whitewashing way? i accidentally made lance a redder shade of brown, but that’s about it?

gonna show some more examples, then….

all i’m starting to see is that i tend to use a different shade of brown

different fandom, since you did say “all of your art”, and I do see that I used a staler shade of brown, and that marco should have more red in his undertones, but you can hardly call this whitewashing.

i admit that i don’t always reference screenshots and i tend to eyeball what the color of the character’s skin is. I will try to use references more often.

look, whitewashing is an actual problem, but this isn’t it! Using a brown that leans more towards red or yellow than the original character’s tone is not the same fucking thing as whitewashing. Whitewashing is the erasure of dark skinned poc, it’s drawing a character as a light white boy when they were supposed to have been a caramel-colored desi kid. I am fucking offended that you’re trivializing whitewashing like this, by looking for problems where they’re not. Nobody is gonna take us seriously when we actually speak up about whitewashing and poc erasure….Whitewashing isn’t cool but neither is attacking artists based on hardly anything.

Start looking at people who are really doing something wrong and just leave me the fuck alone. Don’t even support my trans lance pics, please, if you think I’m whitewashing

after reviewing the culmination of messages i receive i’ve noticed you bitter betsy’s really are stuck on this classification of skin complexion in the black race. growing up i’ve always known i was black. my mom being half haitian and cuban, my father being trinidadian (chinese trini and indian trini parents). but to other people there was always a need to put a label on it. no one identified my father as black, ever. that confused me because my dad and i were always the same color, we were brown and my mom was a darker brown than us but overall we were brown. i’ve always been the “token black kid” in school, from extracurricular activities to school and being around so many white children they never ONCE referred to me as light skinned, brown skinned or even themselves as anything besides our race; black and white. whenever i hung out around black girls, they always asked me “your dad is white?” “ouuuu you got good hair” “oh he’s black? how your hair so long then?” “you’re lightskinned that’s why you’re pretty” and random strangers on the train used to tell my mom not to “perm” my hair. i never understood

since i can remember my mom ALWAYS instilled the fact that i’m a BLACK girl in my brain, when people asked what my nationality was my mom used to quickly say “we’re black american, that’s all” to see the look of surprise from people puzzled how we couldn’t be mixed with something. she didn’t do this because we were embarrassed by our heritage but to try to get people to accept BLACK GIRLS CAN GROW HAIR, BLACK GIRLS AREN’T BEAUTIFUL BECAUSE THEY ARE MIXED, BLACK GIRLS COME IN ALL SHADES.

i have always been in the acting industry since i was a baby my mom was bringing me back and forth to auditions, i always booked work as a biracial kid and again it confused me because my real parents looked nothing like the people i was posing with on set of “suzy so smart” or the perry ellis ad when i had a korean mom and black father, to the chuck e cheese commercial where my mom was black and dad was persian. these were what i was marketed as, i was never urban enough to play the “black” roles. audition after audition my hair didn’t kink enough to be the girl playing with the sasha bratz doll, i had to hold yasmine in the park scene. my managers always reassured me that it was a great thing, i wasn’t limited to roles, i was able to be racially ambiguous. 

in 2007 i turned 16, i had a huge party planned wearing a ball gown by jovani (all staten island girls dreams lol) and i had these really strong tan lines from my summer trip to st croix, in the past i spray tanned for pageants and commercials so naturally i thought to go back and do the same. me being a junior in high school, ALL of my friends (i was the only black girl in high school, predominantly italian, irish, albanian & asian. i filled the latin and black quota at the time) tanned regularly and often held their arm up to mine showing off the fact that they were darker than me. i spray tanned for my party and was SO pleased with the results, i looked more like my mom i looked bronze i looked TAN! it was so affordable i started going more often, every other week on fridays after school at beach bum tanning salon. i got new headshots done and little by little i was being offered more jobs for girls of color, asked to wear my hair in it’s natural state i was getting this work.

it’s now five years later, i have stopped spray tanning. i use the UV bed for 8 minutes every other week. i know the harm and danger of it but hey we all have our thing and unfortunately that’s mine. someone has asked what my insecurity is and i’m finally admitting it is tanning. my boyfriend can vouch for me, there have been times when i rather cover up or find the time to tan before i see him in the past. when you’re used to doing something you get used to seeing yourself a certain way and no longer accept yourself without it. 

now i HAVE toned down on the makeup, i used to wear concealer, full foundation, lashes, FULL FACE BRONZER on my chest as well, and i applied spray tan by laura mercier. now that i no longer do those things 1) it was so damn messy, got on all my clothes, people around me, i couldn’t hug people without leaving brown on them lol 2) SO EXPENSIVE to maintain that lifestyle 3) it was HORRIBLE FOR MY SKIN, i constantly was getting itchy and it wasn’t good at all; but nonetheless now that i don’t do those things you can see the difference. i am not back to my true skin tone because i still choose to tan twice a month and i will not stop any time soon, idc. but this constant bashing i’m receiving about wanting to be lightskinned is offensive, there are so many women ashamed of their tone because they want to be lighter, they want a straighter hair texture they want to claim being mixed. i’m not that girl, in this society you’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t. appreciate and accept the next girl, there’s a shitload of girls i can name who are NOT anon that ask me for skin bleaching creams or home remedies to look lighter because they’re not comfortable with their complexion. you guys are constantly making me feel like i have to label my color, i’m black that’s it end of story. i claim being a brown skinned goddess to the death of me when i don’t have to! and leave my boyfriend alone lol, when i met that man and his hand was the same color as mine the last thing i thought was YESSS i got me a lightskinned, both his parents dark skinned we all black at the end of the day!

sorry for the rambling, but it needed to be done

xox

Walking Around

It so happens I am sick of being a man.
And it happens that I walk into tailorshops and movie
houses
dried up, waterproof, like a swan made of felt
steering my way in a water of wombs and ashes.

The smell of barbershops makes me break into hoarse
sobs.
The only thing I want is to lie still like stones or wool.
The only thing I want is to see no more stores, no gardens,
no more goods, no spectacles, no elevators.

Keep reading

2

today I was going through old selfies and i realized how far I’ve come in the past few years. this doesn’t have anything to do with getting more attractive, but with becoming comfortable with myself and working through internalized racism. 

when you live in an all-white town and are called all kinds of racial slurs as a joke, have white boys openly tell you they think you’re ugly because you’re brown, have people deem you an “honorary white girl” when they like you or ask if you’re adopted because you have a white parent, it kind of messes with your head. you start to think that the color of your skin is a mistake, something that you need to apologize for. at least that’s what it did to me. 

i would wear blue contacts, buy lighter shades of foundation, wax my eyebrows super thin, straighten my hair and put blonde dye in it to make it lighter and avoid the sun at all costs. i would talk about how badly i wanted plastic surgery to make my nose smaller. i would avoid being seen in public with my mom so i could distance myself from my ethnicity. there was nothing i wanted more than to be white so that people would leave me alone. the picture on the right was me at 15 and it makes me sad that at 15 i had so much hatred for myself over something that is out of my control. 

today i’m proud of my south african heritage and my golden brown skin and my dark hair and eyes and i even like my nose. now i actually look forward to getting a tan in the summer. i don’t know how many young girls of color follow me, but i’m just here to say that even though we live in a world that makes it hard, life gets 100% better once you learn to love yourself and as an added bonus you’ll probably get hotter too.

through the seasons

original work

You came in like a ball light. 

It was a warm Summer’s day, and you lit up the world with promises of long days filled with endless wonders–and laughters echoing through fields.

Falling for you happened in slow motion, gradual like the falling of the leaves in Autumn. Each leaf represented your qualities, your prospects; perfections and imperfections. I loved each and every one of them as much as I loved the colors changing in the Fall. In fact, they are the same colors reflected in your eyes.

But loving you wasn’t always summer days and peaceful spring mornings. There were days when the cold pierced my skin, suffocating me till there was no air left to breathe, and all I wanted to do was scream out for you to leave me alone. There were painful Winter nights when I almost gave up; almost left because the pain was too too much to bear; the frozen reserves of my heart whenever you are gone, and I left alone to wait–wait till you returned and release me from this glacial sorrow your love has brought upon me.

Though our love may be imperfect, it is that very characteristic which makes it beautiful and worthwhile. As beautiful as the Cherry Blossoms in all its majesty in Springtime or a babe’s first laugh that echoes like chimes moved by temperate winds. It brings me hope and makes me think that maybe there is something worth living–worth dying for in this world.

Your love is beautiful… our love is beautiful… you are beautiful.

And with that I promise you forever. I’d gladly got through the seasons with you over and over… and over again.


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