What is the difference between irony and sarcasm?
Sarcasm is a way of seeing things where you have given up on the world.
Irony is more for entertaining. Less bitter than sarcasm.
Why we can never be: You’ve scared me the first time around. Behaving so cool. Then there was the idiot. I liked the idiot. You went away. You came back.
You are good at seeing people for what they are. You have a lot to give. I was afraid I won’t be able to keep up. Afraid of you seeing me and thinking I wasn’t enough. Since then I’ve grown. I know I am enough now. I know I was enough then. I have a lot to give. But now we’re passed it. The moment has gone.
There are three men left to have sex with before I leave town. I had sex with all of them before, but I feel like we have to do it one more time to finish these ongoing ‘I don’t know what our relationship really is’ relationships. I shouldn’t really have sex with either of them. One is married. Another one a massive twat. The third one is in love with me I am afraid. Shall I still do ‘it’ though?
Update: Two down, one to go.
Update II: The twat is not a twat really. He just doesn’t want what I want. Which is a shame. He’s a nice man.
My nippels are still sore from yesterday. Hard and sore from him sucking and biting them all Saturday. They push hard against the inside of my bra. It hurts a bit. A good pain. A turn on. It feels as if he would still be on top of me, sucking my tits. Biting them, licking them, twisting them, carefully slapping them. Then telling me how he’d fuck me hard in a bit.
I touch my neck. It is blue and green and red from his bites. I feel the bruises. They are a little bit swollen. I push my fingers gently against them. It hurts a bit. A good pain. A turn on. It feels as if he would still be on top of me, biting my neck fearlessly. Telling me how I was a dirty bitch. Asking me if I want his cock inside my pussy. Making me ask for it. Promising to sort me out with a hard fuck.
I am in the middle of IKEA and I am horny as fuck. I think I should see him again soon.
It is almost phsically painfull for me to write non journalistic stories. Why is that so I wonder? I can write. I always could write. I will always be able to write. But why is it so hard then to come up with the right words? I have the storyline. I know roughly what to say with the story. So why is it not flowing? I don’t even want or need poncey words. Quite the opposite: I want to write as simple as possible. So why is it not flowing? Do I put myself under too much pressure? Maybe. Is that helpful? Most certainly not. Why do I continue doing it? Not sure. How can I change my ways? Analyse the pressure thing!
That’s hard! Yes! So you better get going!
I don’t think we’ll replace them until we get in-eye contact lenses that do the same thing; so we can stare at people while we’re ignoring them. We should try and make people more interesting than phones.
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