Curiano Quotes Life - #LifeQuote, Love Quotes, Life #Quotes, Live #Life #Quote, and Letting Go Quotes. Visit this blog now Curiano.com
Claire Keane
Sade Olutola
Monterey Bay Aquarium
One Nice Bug Per Day

titsay
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izzy's playlists!

tannertan36
AnasAbdin
we're not kids anymore.

Discoholic 🪩
Three Goblin Art
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Sweet Seals For You, Always

#extradirty
will byers stan first human second
Show & Tell

oozey mess
DEAR READER
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
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@southernbj
Curiano Quotes Life - #LifeQuote, Love Quotes, Life #Quotes, Live #Life #Quote, and Letting Go Quotes. Visit this blog now Curiano.com
When the fucking's not fun
Trying to make a baby means you cant do alot of fun things. No cunnilingus, no fingering, no sex toys, no choking (oxygen deprivation is apparently bad). Siiiiiigh, looking for conception-allowable sex that is actually halfway satisfying is a total drag.
Hello ma petits!
It's been a while. I landed a high profile job, which means I have to keep the kink under control.
But I think of you, my dearlings!
He’s got my vote
I just rediscovered how glorious this image is so excuse me while I laugh uncontrollably every time I look at it again.
It was taken in Kensal Green Cemetery in February.
Terry borrowed the white jacket from our editor, Malcolm Edwards, and grumbled that it did nothing to keep him warm on a very cold day.
“Sometimes you have to be cold to look cool,” I told him.
“It’s all right for you,” he said. “You’re wearing a leather jacket.”
“You could wear a leather jacket too.”
“I’m wearing white,” said Terry, pointedly. “That way, when they come after us for writing a blasphemous book, they’ll know I’m the nice one.”
(After the photo was taken we noticed the bat-winged hourglass, which we hadn’t seen during the photo session, and requested bat-winged hourglasses as a design motif in the book.)
I should add that we already had winged hourglasses all the way through the book. We just has them change the wings from bird to bat.
“Son,” the father says, examining the broken petri dishes littered about the floor, “I’m not a mad scientist, I’m just a disappointed scientist.”
I don’t even care what you think this is the best post I’ve ever made
Did you miss me? Did you want to call my name to the rafters in ecstacy? Does your body ache from the strain of trying to reach the pleasures only I could send you too? Do you remember the magic my hands and mouth worked over the most intimate parts of you? I remember.
A woman who demands equality renounces her superiority.
Mort Sahl
"Take off my bra," I whisper seductively as I slide into my husband's lap "....because I just painted my nails and I don't want to mess them up" #marriedlife #marriedtruths #friendswithbenefits #benefitsdonotincludesex
Real life is really fucked.
I’m a month and a week into marriage. Life seems infinitely easier and yet infinitely sadder, too. In my darkest, most isolated moments (which, as a newlywed are mercifully few and far between), my biggest sins haunt me. My transgressions against others. Unintentional thought they may be, they are the sins for which I will surely burn in hell.
I make men love me. Not like me. Love me. With an all-consuming, obsessive force, they love me. Whether I love them in return is irrelevant. I make men spout poetry, cross oceans and spurn all others. Am I some long forgotten succubus of old, cursing men by my sheer existence? Am I the tease I scorned in high school, despite never kissing my eager devotees? Or am I something darker? A Plague? A pestilence? A curse to be borne, to be suffered in silence and solitude for the sins of man?
I do not know why they love me as they do. I do not believe I encourage them. I ache that they hurt. And yet, I envy their love for me, as I cannot love myself. Would that I might see myself from their eyes.
Married life is a schedule, interspersed with moments of foreign adulthood. Meet with these constituents, shake those hands, kiss these babies. Showers, parties, couples nights. Like we are playing pretend. A glorious glamour. A veiled vanity of vapidness.
Married life is easy. One who loves me has claimed me. But for the others. The ones through the years who still spout poetry through their tear-stained faces? They are in misery. And I, their appointed and reluctant queen, must watch the misery of her subjects with a heavy and hardened heart. For I may take no action, lest I be unfaithful to my selected consort and illusioned king. I bow to no man, in truth. But make him believe he stands above me as he stands before my throne.
Bring out your dead. The Queen of the Damned is holding court. You all are expected, though uninvited. Dance your pitiful jig that I may weep at your iron shoes my face, my voice and my body locked to your feet. My words are the wrong size of skeleton key, no matter how much I wish to free you. My loyal subjects. Your disloyal monarch. I loved but one of you and he has been tortured and twisted beyond recognition.
Migraines
Since I was about 13, I regularly suffer from migraines. I’m very active, but when it tackles me, sometimes it destroys my life for a couple days. I had one yesterday. Intense, but mercifully brief. Only 14 hours of blinding pain, extreme dizziness and incurable nausea. Attractive, right? And as the tears leaked out from my eyes, all I could think of was the kindnesses found in total misery. The room temp water left by the bedside. The sunglasses fetched and the Excedrin bottle well stocked, and stuffed with cotton to muffle the sound of pills clacking against the bottle and my cerebellum.
Of course, these kindnesses were all self-administered, but appreciated nonetheless.
So beautiful.
The Love of Three
The man I love does not love me. I do not love the one loving me. The man I love, loves no one, really. The man who loves me, does so completely. He loves enough to fill the gap I leave behind, Loving for two until the end of time. I, myself, must love for two- For the one cannot love himself at all. And for me, just the barest bones Where love and lust hold similar tones. Our curséd love, the None and I Are but moments of screwing as years tick by. Our curséd love, the All and I, is but my death, my life, my lie. Like Libra’s scales, do I have both extremes On one side, nothing- the other everything. Though whether everything means something, when I prefer the nothing And nothing is what I feel with the everything. And so my Love of Three, drags me down, and yet makes me free.
Unleashed
Time has passed but often I look back and wonder what happened between us… how did our love fail so miserably… I would’ve ripped the moon from the night sky just to see her smile… I would’ve given my last breath to see her blue eyes as she looked at me and said “I love you”… Now she is gone, as is a piece of me that I will never own again.
A year has passed since I last kissed her, felt her, saw her smile for me…and still the ache remains, as fresh as the day the wound appeared. I close my eyes only to imagine her in the arms of another. One who could never hope to love her the way I did. She saved me from myself, gave me strength, but at the same time managed to unleash the monster hidden the surface… Anger, hate, power… Only in the deepest throes of passion can one understand the magnitude of which such raw emotion can lie hidden within oneself. The edge of the cliff can approach with such aggression that before you realize it, you’ve tumbled over and the rocks below catch you. I never knew what was inside until that day came and I reached my cliff edge… A lifetime of intensity gathered to unleash a storm, devastating all before it, leaving a path of destruction, loss, and pain.
Reblog if you like tea.
Any kind. Hot. Cold. White. Green. Black. Rooibos. Herbal. Oolong. Sweet. Unsweet. With Milk. Without. Tea is great.
my favorite is Truth