Match up please if it's still open? I'm a tall, chubby bi female with curly brown hair and black eyes. I love working with computers and writing stories and poetry. I tend to hide how I feel behind humor. I may seem cold and quiet but once someone knows me, I am a chill person. I also tend to give my significant others too much space out of fear that I'll seem annoying. Thanks! 😀😁😎
I match you with: candyman!
•the infamous candyman is first drawn to you through your wildly differing passions. the contrast between your love of technology and your affection for poetry, a difference that reminisces of time itself, reminds him of his own life-long long he has lived, what world he has come from, what world he finds himself in now. the cold, unfeeling machine that births code and data and knowledge and the future, the vitality and serenity of ink on papers, an author's soul purposed on these words that will remain long after he has expired, the unimaginable emotion that this writing can convey throughout its years. he sees you as a woman of the present, a citizen like any other in this day and age, pressing buttons and taking pictures, hands and feet weary from the moment they come to rise to the moment they fall to rest. but he cannot deny that you hold that which reminds him of his youth. the young ladies practicing their arts in the garden by the school, a baby blue sky with the white heavens above, light and beautiful with no sun in sight to wrinkle their eyes or redden their cheeks. they sit in a eden of green, some laying on their stomachs and picking flowers, their studies tossed to the side, others sitting gracefully with their heads bowed in concentration, and others still in a sort of careless limbo between the two, one moment consumed in thought, the other engaged in a thrilling chase, laughing breathlessly for her to return the hair piece, the cheeky thief jumping to and fro through the courtyard in a manner akin to that of a baby deer, discovering the joys of the nature around him. and there, a girl sits above the others, with her hair done up in an attempt to tame her curls, which pay no mind and flow down from her head like a crown, like vines and flowers and earth, gently laying on her shoulders, pulled behind her ear, cascading over her in a way that makes her appesr as if she were mother nature herself. in the light, chestnut hair frames her face, her skin highlighted by fragments of what looks like the sun and the heavens themselves. she is an untouchable dream in a sea of distant faded memories that cloud his mind and fill his head with fantasies of a long gone world. and she is you.
•candyman has seen his share of life and its vices and virtues. he has seen people, he has grown amongst them and died amongst them and festered with them like an undying disease. he knows them. despite the great changes time imposes on culture and land, he has found that humans ultimately retain those sins with which they are born, from which a character develops, into which a being forms and ages and falls back to the earth. through pain, through suffering, these creatures reveal their basic natures. perhaps they vary in some aspects, but they are mostly the same across all periods. he knows this, he sees it, and yet he cannot tear himself away from his affections for you. such a solitary man, a creation birthed from a darkness so deep that it hums an intoxicating tune of sweetness and sorrow. such a dark soul, a fading memory, all that remains of a mortal boy once known as Daniel.
•the candyman has grown a cynic through his experiences in life, death, and legend. a man of education and artistry, he holds his own philosophies and character, because, in his mind, he lives as the young boy who lived amongst wealth and beauty and life. but Daniel is no longer here, he is earth, his flesh eaten by maggots and flies, his palor skin peeled and decayed, his bones reduced to their marrows, becoming one with the world that created him, the world that will welcome him back to eternal rest. his soul ascended to the stars, his conscious mind floating amongst all the beauty and wonder to be found in the universe, in the heavens above. no, Daniel is gone, he has died and he will not return. but the candyman is here. a caricature of the tragedy that happened so long ago, a story crafted through fear and anger and thirst for revenge. the candyman is a thought. he knows this to be true, and he knows this to be his fate until this thought silently slips from the city, until the children on the sidewalk tell stories not of the candyman, but of the ghost in the school bathroom, until time finally conquers fear. how pitiful his existence, lurking in mirrors and brick and blood and darkness, tied to a body that does not feel, that is not, a body that is a thought. Daniel's dying body, renewed, imagined, and created into an illusion that is so painfully real. the hum of the insects within cold, decayed flesh, flying in and out of his bloodied ribs as they please, parasites that feed on an envision of Daniel, they stay with candyman in this longest night. they too, feast on the fiction that provides everlasting life. the hook on his hand, a stylistic mockery to mimic a bloodthirsty villain hiding in the shadows of the street corner late in the evening, springing upon an innocent woman, sinking his weapon into her heart and baring a wicked expression as she falls to the cobblestone, a pool red as the Rose's on her dress that flowers around her body like a womb, death embracing her and putting her soul to sleep as it was in the very beginning. but that is him, is it not? a character that only imitates the boy who lived with blood in his veins and air in his lungs. a story to entertain, to frighten the helpless. a lie. but tell me, how is he any different than the living?
•you understand, he cannot refrain from his purpose. the candyman has killed, and will continue to until he emerges with the nothingness of existence. he was not meant to love. he does not know how. he knows of the woman that Daniel had fallen for, his love for her carrying the ultimate price. yet he is not a heart beating for his beloved. he is paper thin, transparent, the cold wind that bites at your skin, asking for a taste of your beautiful red blood, the smoke that chokes your lungs and tears your eyes, whispering sweet nothings and violent desires into your skin, the consuming darkness of your room that tells stories of a being beyond that which you know, of a man that waits for you to call him, of the one who knows that you will. his violence, his fear, his all encompassing presence, it beckons to his obsessions like a song bird to the innocent child. his love is soulless, it slaughters those you hold dear in its selfish desire for life, it leads you to death so he can have you, at last. he will have you as his victim, his lover, even if it means dragging you to hell with him.
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