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Quoted By: >>53347438 >>53349083 >>53349274 >>53351448 >>53351482
Post your favorite Pokemon and also the worst impact you’ve ever had on another person’s life, no relatives allowed. I’ll start!
I dated this girl named Emma and she had the most beautiful long hair you’ve ever seen. It was a silky browning golden blond that flowed all the way down her back; it was gorgeous, eye-catching, and everybody had to ask what dye and products she used, only to be told every time: “Nothing”. And I got to see that it was true, she was born with hair like that and she woke up every morning looking effortlessly gorgeous, like a model come to life directly out of a glamorous magazine shoot. And for a wonderful period of time, she was mine, and we were inseparable. We explored each other’s pasts, presents, futures; our families, our dreams, our flaws, our fantasies, our fears, we *were* each other. My favorite thing was idly playing with her hair; everyone had to gawk at it from a distance, but I got to run my fingers through it, and kiss it, pull it, pretend to use it as a mustache or as a wig, all while my heart was filling into an unknowing time bomb. As is the curse with young love, we made no serious preparation for our future together, and when it became apparent that we had different plans for careers and education, we had to leave each other. For a while before it grew too painful, we remained friends where she told me it hurt too bad to keep looking at her long beautiful hair, that all she could think about was me playing with it, holding it, holding her. Communication stopped, but I saw through her friends that she cut it off. She kept cutting it off. It’s been years and her hair has never been long since we broke each other’s hearts. I have never loved again, she has never been with a man again. Sometimes I comfort myself with the thought that we’ll be returned to each other, and I can finish out my days holding her, cradled by that long magical hair. But it won’t happen. Life continues.
I dated this girl named Emma and she had the most beautiful long hair you’ve ever seen. It was a silky browning golden blond that flowed all the way down her back; it was gorgeous, eye-catching, and everybody had to ask what dye and products she used, only to be told every time: “Nothing”. And I got to see that it was true, she was born with hair like that and she woke up every morning looking effortlessly gorgeous, like a model come to life directly out of a glamorous magazine shoot. And for a wonderful period of time, she was mine, and we were inseparable. We explored each other’s pasts, presents, futures; our families, our dreams, our flaws, our fantasies, our fears, we *were* each other. My favorite thing was idly playing with her hair; everyone had to gawk at it from a distance, but I got to run my fingers through it, and kiss it, pull it, pretend to use it as a mustache or as a wig, all while my heart was filling into an unknowing time bomb. As is the curse with young love, we made no serious preparation for our future together, and when it became apparent that we had different plans for careers and education, we had to leave each other. For a while before it grew too painful, we remained friends where she told me it hurt too bad to keep looking at her long beautiful hair, that all she could think about was me playing with it, holding it, holding her. Communication stopped, but I saw through her friends that she cut it off. She kept cutting it off. It’s been years and her hair has never been long since we broke each other’s hearts. I have never loved again, she has never been with a man again. Sometimes I comfort myself with the thought that we’ll be returned to each other, and I can finish out my days holding her, cradled by that long magical hair. But it won’t happen. Life continues.
