Nothing hurt me more in the entire series than watching Tara and Anya die. I loved them both and neither of them deserved to die.
An attempt at some crappy poetry…
No title right now, I wrote it while waiting for my laundry. It sort of sucks. Thsi is also on my other blog, imageekandidontcare.tumblr.com I did not steal it. Opinions?
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Your voice flows about me
A spectacular, melodious sound.
Your beauty displayed for all to see
A more perfect girl I haven’t found.
/
Your song, so full of emotion
I know it is not meant for me.
How strongly I feel this devotion
My girl I wish for you to be.
/
Your lips, I so long to kiss
To kindle between us a passionate fire.
To fall into a wonderful bliss;
The full extent of my desire.
/
Alas, it is not meant to be
Your heart so set upon your song
Your dedication inspires me
Yet for you I continue to long.
//
Not sure if this is complete either…just some feedback would be nice.
A few weeks ago I walked into my room after work to find that my lovely roommates* had left a gift for me on my bed. That gift being nothing other than an adorable little grey and white stuffed puppy dog. (I feel that I should also note that that stuffed dog was accompanied by a card. A real, store-bought card with a matching enveloped and EVERYTHING.) The two of them did this for absolutely no discernable reason whatsoever, and for that I am somewhat confused, but eternally touched and grateful. (I almost voluntarily gave The Roommate a hug. Can you imagine? That’s how touched I was.) But the sad ending to this tale is that my little stuffed animal still has no name. I mean he came with a name, but it was a lame, predictable one like Sparky or Spot, and I chucked it. So now, he’s just nameless. Which, I know, falls somewhere under the category of animal cruelty. So…
I need to think of a name. Suggestions are welcomed and appreciated.
*Technically, I only have one roommate. She is tall and wears glasses and her name is Kim. But there is this other girl that spends an inordinate amount of time in my room. On my floor. In my cushy black chair that stands in front of the closet. On The Roommate’s bed. She sleeps here a lot, and most of her crap is in here too. So, I consider her an honorary roommate. She might as well just move in.
