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Naive Confusion.

Tuesday, May 31, 2005 by Mellie

At my work, there is about an equal ratio of men to women. Including the owners, there are 4 women and 3 men. It seems as each of those three men have crushes on me.

The owner, a guy who wouldn't know the word sexual harassment if the lawsuit slapped him right across his aging face, seems to flirt with me constantly. He's always teasing me about the men who seem to follow me around, always making some sly comment about my eyes or my shirt being too tight, etc. It does tend to make me feel a bit uncomfortable, but it hasn't crossed the line yet.

One of my co-workers is an aging playboy. You know the type. 40 years old, unhappily married with two kids. Used to be a stud, used to anonymously fuck anyone he wanted. I love toying with him. I flirt with everyone, that's for sure, but with him I usually flirt outwardly. I love yanking his chain. And he definitely wants me to yank it.

My favorite boy at work is the kid. He's 16 years old, total computer dork. To him, I'm a geek goddess. I know things about computers, I play Final Fantasy, I love horror movies. He follows me around like a puppy. It's adorable really, quite innocent.

How is it that I'm exactly what these three very different men find attractive? What do I have to offer to a graying business owner, an aging playboy and a teenage computer geek? I really am quite naive about things, sometimes. I know I'm cute, but I don't think I'm that fantastic.

I suppose none of that really matters. I am his everything, anyway. He's the only one I live to please, he's the only one I worry about making happy, I breathe because he wants me to. And the best thing about him is that he doesn't care. He wants what's best for me. It's so nice to be in a healthy relationship, for once in my life. I couldn't love anyone more.


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Humanity.

Monday, May 30, 2005 by Mellie

I debated not posting tonight, as my head is a-flutter with demons and jagged broken glass this evening. I've had a prime example of how life doesn't always work exactly how we expect it to. I don't want to and won't go into much detail, but I'm content that things will work out as they need to. If that means I have to adjust a bit, so be it.

Seems like a lot of life is adjustment lately. Shifting the way I perceive certain things, relaxing a bit from the title nazi I used to be. I don't need to be his wife to be loved that much, I don't need to be someone's sister to have them treat me like shit. People simply do what they want, most of the time, with little to no regret or thought of how those decisions affect others.

I'm not sure I've gotten there either, so I shouldn't throw stones. My number one concern is for myself, my daughter and him, then everyone else. Does that make me callous? Coldhearted? Or simply human?


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Something to ponder.

Sunday, May 29, 2005 by Mellie

I twisted and turned over being completely honest in this blog; being completely truthful about what's going on in my head has always been something I've struggled with. In the end I decided that if I really am writing strictly for my own pleasure and thought sorting, as I claim, I'm doing myself a disservice by editing my thoughts before they're even out in physical form.

There is a disconnect between our sexualities; I've been feeling it more lately. I'm warm, passionate, loving. I make love with my whole heart and my whole body. But there is a piece of me that is consistently held back from being 100% involved with him sexually, and I've only recently discovered what that was.

I can't make him come. With all my charms, with all my skills... it just doesn't happen. To be fair, he's told me that only a handful of girls a handful of times have succeeded at it. My brain understands that twenty years of masturbating can lead to reduced sensitivities. My ego doesn't feel that. We have raw, passionate sex. When it's time to orgasm, however, he rolls over and I assume my position on his left side as he beats himself off onto my side. It's so passionless, it's so entirely not about me or about anything that it just leaves me feeling empty. For all the times we've had sex, fucked, made love... we still haven't been completely successful.

I don't know how to feel about this. I've simply accepted it as the way things are, much as people get used to changes in their usual routine. My ex was always too quick to come, leaving me unfulfilled in a whole other way. I guess I have no place to complain - he loves me, he wants to make sure that I come, he enjoys having sex with me. It's just that a part of me thinks "why even bother? If we can roll over, fuck ourselves to orgasm... why even involve fucking in the first place? Why even bother to fuck me if I can't make you come?"

So, I'm putting it out there. Putting my feelings on display, once again, so that I can examine them by the light of day. Perhaps I'll be able to understand more why this bothers me. Maybe I'll be able to accept it. Or maybe I'll realize things need to change. That's what feelings are, though, even irrational ones. Something to ponder. I definitely have my share of that these days.


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The Weekend.

Friday, May 27, 2005 by Mellie

The sun is shining, the sky is blue and the clouds are puffy white cottonballs. It's a beautiful day, with birds chirping, bunnies making it safely across the road and a nice breeze. I'm taking off to spend the entire weekend away from the computer, so don't expect an update until Monday!

"He enjoys true leisure who has time to improve his soul's state."
- Henry David Thoreau


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Black and white.

Thursday, May 26, 2005 by Mellie

I'm reading the reviews for the new children's movie, Madagascar. I'm a little horrified, to tell you the truth. One of the main plot lines is following the existential crisis of the main character, a lion, and whether or not he'll decide to eat his friends - a zebra, hippo and giraffe.

I'm tired of having to exist in a world where people see entirely in black and white. It's almost as if people walk around with a death veil over their eyes, covering and diffusing their sight so they can't see in color anymore. We live in The Wizard of Oz, before the Technicolor. There's an evil witch, she's bad. There's Dorothy, she's good. Pick a side, and don't look back.

I've never lived in that world, and I refuse to live in that world. Life is a delicious shade of grey - to each and every situation there is no wrong or right. There is only the representation of your personal ethics. Without allowing for this, people are doomed to walk the earth as the living dead. Check a box, pick a line, zone out.

This definitely spills over into sexual relationships as well. With black and whites, only heterosexual, monogamous, missionary sexuality would be (and, unfortunately, is in most situations) the only accepted sexuality. This doesn't allow for homosexuality, bisexuality, cross-dressing, doggy style, anal fucking, transexuality, bondage, voyeuristic sexuality. And that world is totally fucked.

More on this later, I'm getting sleepy.


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Living life, or attempting to.

Wednesday, May 25, 2005 by Mellie

Sometimes a bitter melancholy seeps into my bones, and I have no idea where it came from or what sparked its relentless path of misery and uncertainness. It simply is there, for better or worse, and I must learn how to deal with it. I used to think it was a form of mental illness - some sort of inkling of bipolar behavior or depression that I had yet to deal with. Generally speaking, however, I find most psychological disorders to be purely bullshit. An excuse, a waste of money to diagnose and treat, a cop-out. Of course, there are definitely cases where they are real and do need treatment. Usually, though, depression especially is an excuse for many things - unbridled creativity without regret, being sad about anything (mainly during the teenage years), being unsure about your course in life.

No, my melancholy is more about a lack of control. Knowing that, even though things seem to be going along smoothly, random seemingly meaningless bullshit can derail it all. I've searched through my life for meaning, time and time again, and come up empty handed. I just can't find a reason for so much horrible shit to happen. I just want to live happily ever after. Just once. But dark clouds circle me, even on the bluest day.

I know this sounds ominous, but it simply is how life works. I'm not sad, I've mostly just given up control. As a submissive, that should be easy. It isn't. I feel the pressure, sometimes, to live life as well as possible. I try to live that ethic every day - live life as if you had no more time left. Live beautifully, live without fear, live without regret. It's harder than it sounds.

I used to think that all I wanted was to be married, have kids, settle down. I was young then. I suppose I still am, but I've grown a lot. What I want has matured as I have, but the same elements are still there.

I want a loving, equal, stable relationship with someone. I want to know he/she loves me, I want to not have to be continually reassured. I want to love him/her with my whole heart, I want to hurt when he/she's not around. I want him/her to watch me grow, help me with problems, talk to me, lie naked against me. I've done well with that, especially these days. He loves me that way, I love him that way. It's one of the best things I've ever known.

I want to be a good mother. I want her to grow up poised, strong, beautiful, tough, smart, funny, able to stand up to anyone, able to do whatever the fuck she wants. Mainly, I'm content with the knowledge that, regardless of who she is or who she grows to be, I'll love her just the same.

I never want to settle down, though. I never want to give up, give in. I want to travel, I want a good glass of wine, I want a job that makes me fulfilled (that I feel like I genuinly help people/animals with), I want good friends who can sit and chat about nothing for hours, I want the wind in my face, the grass on my bare toes. I want bunnies and fireflies, squirrels and open land. I want to live free. Who could ask for anything more?


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Feelings.

Tuesday, May 24, 2005 by Mellie

I'm agitated today. My days are filled with busy work, longing to find time to slip away and spend a few moments with the ones I love. My nights are filled with feeling not quite adequate - not able to spend as much quality time with my daughter as I'd like, not being the best person for me, not being able to do as much for him as I'd like. It's as if I'm the "almost" girl; the girl who drives herself to be perfect when she knows she just can't measure up.

Self-reflection is a wonderful thing if you can temper that with the ability to stop your own bullshit. Change takes time, years perhaps. Nothing is overnight, everything is temporary. You can't say that anything will last forever - even permanent hair colors grows out. It's the adjustment to the temporary nature of life that makes people sane and rational.

My reaction to pain is one of the things that gets me through those rough times. The name of this blog is beautiful pain, because it really is beautiful to me. Some people experience pain as pleasure - their neurocenter processes it as orgasmic, delicious, soft and kind. I'm quite the opposite, and that's why pain is so precious to me.

Let's use the example of spanking. With every stroke, my ass reddens further. It hurts more, it stings, it burns, it welts. None of that feels "good," none of that makes me smile that passionate smile of a girl satisfied. I'm not. It fucking hurts, and I want it to be over with. The beauty of pain, for me, is finding something transcendental. I can overcome the pain, I can win over the savage nature of being spanked and push through to the other side. It hurts, but I'm stronger. This is hardly a submissive perspective, I know. Most of the time, besides doing it to remind myself I'm alive and that I feel, I also do it for him. I know he enjoys it, and I want to please him.

Yesterday, before we went to the hospital, we had sex at his apartment. Neither one of us were (is) sure that everything will be ok, the old cliche has worn both of us out at this point. Nevermind all that though. He pulled my pants down, pressed me against the cold, hard, unforgiving cherrywood of his bed frame and fucked me. My hips rammed into the bed with every stroke. His cock felt good inside me, but my hips screamed with pain after every thrust. But I continued on. I continued because it felt good, because it made him happy to fuck me like an animal (like the wonderfully slutty little girl that I am), because it felt good to remind myself that I did still have control of something (even if that meant letting go of something else).

Submission is a complex thing. I hope, through this outlet, to be able to explain more to myself why I feel the way and things that I do. It feels good to finally write for myself.


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Gratitude.

Monday, May 23, 2005 by Mellie

Sometimes being submissive isn't about bowing your head and doing every little thing your master says. Sometimes it isn't even about sex at all. I found that out today, and it was extremely humbling to me to find a piece of my soul that can be fulfilled by mundane, domestic service.

As you know, he went in for surgery today. I was in the hospital with him for seven hours - reading, waiting, pacing, chatting. I found myself completely happy anytime he asked me for anything - a cup of juice, help tying his shoes, a steadying hand. It was the happiness of a girlfriend in a satisfied relationship, to be sure, but it was also the happiness of a submissive happy to serve in any way possible. Each time he asked me for something, it was because he really needed me to be there for him. He wanted me there. I felt so loved at that moment, to be included into a part of his life that wasn't at all pretty or strong. I felt important - he loves me enough to let me in. I'm grateful as hell for that.

I don't have anything thought provoking or mindblowing to say today. I'm simply a girl enthralled. A girl happy to help, happy to serve. A girl who gets a little closer to knowing who she really is every single day, happy to have a man who (knowingly or unknowingly) puts pressure on me in all the right ways to figure it out. I'm happy to have the words and the materials to author this part of my life, to have this part documented for me to read in five (ten! fifty!) years. I can't wait to meet the woman I'll be then.


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The Phantom.

Sunday, May 22, 2005 by Mellie

I often wonder what people see when they look at me. It's not that I particularly care - I don't put pants on in the morning so that random jerks can stare at my ass, I don't put lipstick on so that some dickhead at the grocery store will want to fuck my mouth, and I don't decide to brush my hair so that the girl at the coffeeshop will want to pull it as she kisses me. I just wonder, sometimes, what sort of aura I put out and what other people think I'm like.

We walked around the university quad today, stopping to dip our toes into the cool water of the glossy black fountain. It felt so nice, a moment stolen from the hand of time, lost in the sensations. As my naked toes wiggled in the cold running water, I really felt alive for the first time in a good long while. Sure, the concept of jumping back down scared the hell out of me. But I felt alive, I felt free. The sun energized me, the water fed into my soul. I wonder what I looked like to the guy riding by on his bicycle. Did he see a fake redhead 23 year old in jean capris trying to recapture her youth? Or could he see past all that, see to the girl who is unsure (both of herself and about life in general), see the girl who needs a moment of clarity?

Sometimes I feel like everyone who knows me is in love with a phantom. I feel like a strange caricature of the girl I think I am, bits and pieces of the best parts of myself, my family, my former and current lover(s). It's almost funny, almost out of an anime movie. There's me - uncomfortable in her skin, doesn't really believe she's beautiful, tries to do the right thing, swears like a sailor. Then there's my phantom - beautiful and confident, poised, funny. She stalks me, she follows me, she covers me in her hazy shadow. I just don't know how to cast her off.


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On Strength.

Saturday, May 21, 2005 by Mellie

"It is in the knowledge of the genuine conditions of our lives that we must draw our strength to live and our reasons for living."
- Simone de Beauvoir

One does not wake up suddenly with strength. Emotional or physical, strength lies in the trials and tribulations leading up to gaining that characteristic. One who has strength thinks nothing of it. It is simply there. He or she can call on it with a moment's notice; it comes with a ferocity many other personality traits do not exhibit.

I have gained an extensive amount of strength in my life - none of it having come easy. I've been divorced, I've had to support myself financially at a time that I thought it was impossible. I've dealt with family arguments that felt like they would tear me apart. I've had to be tough for my daughter, even when I felt on the verge of breaking down. Monday, my strength will be called on again to bring me through a hard time.

He has surgery on Monday, surgery they hope will clear a brain cyst from his left temple. If this doesn't work, they're looking at having to essentially crack his skull and cut it out. I try to look at the positives of all this - he'll be healthier, this will all be over soon - but I'm also trying to be realistic and think of life without him. It's highly unlikely, but something could happen. I want to be prepared for that, as prepared as I can possibly be.

Life without him, though, seems dull and lifeless. He's made me appreciate so many things - squirrels bounding across front yards, hazy and diffused light coming from clouds during sunsets, cuddling in bed with no intentions of making love, staying in bed all evening watching movies and laughing at all the same things.

I just want the world to know, I want HIM to know, that I love him. With all my heart. He's a piece of me now. Forever. He's the lily wrapping himself slowly around my healing heart, putting gentle pressure on me to be the person I've always known I can be.

I don't intend to use this forum to write solely about him much. It's just that, on the verge of so much possible change, I find it unlikely and impossible to forget about what he does mean to me. This love is one I never want to lose and one I never will forget.


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That old familiar feeling.

Friday, May 20, 2005 by Mellie

It comes in, sweeping, like the fog on an early summer morning. Before I know it, I'm covered in it. Reeling backwards, fighting to get away, gasping for breath. It's been a fight since I recognized the beginnings of something larger than me, the fight to gain control of my life. It hasn't been easy, and I suspect it will continue to be just as tough until I give up and give in to it.

I'm not talking about anything detrimental to myself or to society. Quite the opposite. The overpowering desire to be overpowered has been there since I found my clitoris one spring afternoon when I was eight years old. Some days, it's all I think about. Rarely, it's a loving and consensual scene. Often, it comes with a roar - force, rape, pain... all the things little girls who are made of sugar and spice are not supposed to think about. I've never declared myself one of the good girls, the compliant ones who submit and acquiesce to whatever they're being told. Submission, for me, is a constant fight.

There is, however, a stronger guiding hand here. Through the years, we've been more or less involved (sometimes it just depends on the day). But he's always been there for me, showing me with a smile or a raised hand just how important I am to him. How important this is to him, to us.

I don't necessarily equate submission with pain. As anyone who has been involved with the lifestyle will tell you, there are many different levels. BDSM is an acronym - containing three different levels of involvement. There is B/D - bondage and discipline (simply about the implements used - ropes, cuffs, blindfolds, etc.), D/S - domination and submission (the mental aspect - dominating by emotional force, probably the deepest level of involvement), and S/M - sadism and masochism (pain - either giving or receiving). My submission is more about force of will - acknowledging that he is the alpha male. Letting him make some of the decisions that I don't want to/can't make on my own. Letting him guide me, letting him mold me. Bowing my head and dropping to my knees in front of him, so that he knows he owns me. It's much more than a fetish - it's my life.

I go back and forth between what I want out of this lifestyle. Some days, it's all I think about. The need to be owned - mind, body and soul - is all I want. Other days, his commands hit me like a sharp stab in the side. I hate him for it, I want to live on my own. It hasn't really mellowed any - I feel sexually bipolar. Today, it's there. It's more like an ache on the back of my heart, a call to him. I wonder if he can feel it.


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The color of love.

Thursday, May 19, 2005 by Mellie

To me, love (which goes hand in hand with human sexuality) has always been full of multiple layers. The dichotomy of love and relationships have made them even more attractive to me; the thought that one could be incredibly intelligent (either "street smarts" or "book smarts") and still know nothing once he or she turns another romantic bend appeals to my inner child. I've always been a student of the school of life, I know absolutely nothing about a myriad of things and wholeheartedly believe that I will never stop learning until my death (hopefully DECADES in the future).

Some people never really embrace the fact that love doesn't work in black and whites, doesn't function well with absolutes/pessimism/ultimatums. They want life to be simple - either you're in love with me or you're in love with him. You couldn't possibly be able to love both of us, not with your whole heart. Inconceivable! (Ten points for anyone who gets that reference.)

Yet, there was a time where I was deliriously, ridiculously, madly in love with two different people. Of opposite gender. At the exact same time. It wasn't that long ago either. I'm a whole new person now, perhaps because of the love of those two people. I haven't decided if (or when) I'm going to mention names. Perhaps I'll give both of the pseudonyms (or let them choose for themselves), perhaps I'll just reference them by gender.

What I do know is that, even now, they are both very important to me. He is the most important person in my life (next to my daughter). He is intelligent, well-spoken, devious, soft, sensitive and wonderful. He keeps me in line (literally and figuratively, as he is also functioning as my dominant male), he keeps me grounded, he mellows me out when I need to calm down. We both try so hard at being good for each other. What we don't know is that we are good. We have what most people don't - the desire to try. The desire to succeed. It's a lesson I've learned from him, one for which I'll be eternally grateful.

She is still one of the most kind-hearted, sweet, genuine people that I know. We've been through some drama together and have both undergone some major changes in the past few months, but still I am drawn to her. We've moved past the romantic thing (perhaps prematurely) and are trying to reform a friendship that has seemingly been lost to time lately. I've hurt her, I've pulled back - I can feel that - but it's only because I'm trying to parse what this latest change means.

I've been forever changed by the love of these two people. His love has always been red to me - passionate, consuming, raw. Her love was more pink - sweet, innocent, full of emotional connection. They really couldn't be more different, but they also couldn't be more alike.

So I write this, as a tribute, to the two people who have loved me through it all. Rain or shine, good or bad, anger or sweetness. Although sometimes it feels as though love is elusive, painted with a sparsely bristled brush on an aging canvas, the truth is that love never really fades. It's still there, in the shadow of some past tense, waiting to reincarnate into a new design. Matter is never created or destroyed, states the first law of thermodynamics, and neither is love. Of course, the second law of thermodynamics deals with entropy and matter in disorder, but we'll forget that at the moment. Love is always around us, everywhere we look.

Love shines in my eyes all the time. It is because I love, and am loved, that I can be as strong as I really believe I am sometimes. As John Samson from The Weakerthans sang - "I swear I more than half believe it when I say that somewhere love and justice shine."

If only we could find that place, curl up and fall asleep forever.


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The lily.

Wednesday, May 18, 2005 by Mellie

Ever since I was a young girl, I've always adored calla lilies. The beauty drew me in, the mythology behind the floral miracle that they are kept me coming back for more. Such an enigma, these flowers. Used at weddings to make the bride look even more radiant, yet held in the hand of corpses as they're lowered slowly into their six foot deep home. So delicate, yet so resilient.

Lilies have been around for 3000 years, originating near China. Feng Shui believers call them the ultimate symbol of purity, the symbol of being "forever in love." In Greek poetry, the lily was often referred to in the context of tenderness. It was said that it was the "voice of the muses," born from the milk of the goddess Hera.

I feel a strong affinity with the calla lily. So beautiful, yet so tender. Strange as it may sound, I've always dreamed of being able to possess most of its qualities. I wish to bloom where I'm planted, to be able to survive anywhere and through anything. I want people to see me as charming and beautiful. I want to thrive in any situation, to know just what to say to make a person's eyes light up. I'm not quite there yet, but I hope to find my way down that dusty path.

So, that's why there are so many lilies blooming around here. The pure, virginal innocence of them makes my heart sing, makes me dream of a time when life was much more simple and people didn't hide so much vengefulness and hatred in their hearts, undercover. As strong as I may come across sometimes, I'm really just as fragile as they are. Maybe even more so. But I hope to one day grow stronger, even if it takes a lifetime.


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A new beginning.

Tuesday, May 17, 2005 by Mellie

I am a submissive. I make no apologies, I accept no condemnation. It simply is who I am, my basic genetic makeup has made this my fate since before I was born.

Those words taste sweet on my lips like candy. They're the type of candy that you swirl around your tongue for a few minutes as you savor the taste, only to find out that it has begun to wear a pattern into your inner cheek. The type of candy that only gets better with time, like the toffee your grandmother always has in her oversized purse. To admit defeat to my more base desires, even if only to myself, is to finally begin to be free.

None of this has anything to do with outside forces, had I been in complete solitude this adventure would have begun the same. It's simply time, life is much too short to fight who you are and it's a tiring battle even from the beginning. There have been some players who have encouraged me to come out of my shell more than others, but no one alone deserves the blame or applause for this besides myself.

So I say it again, I sing it proudly from the peaks and the valleys, I am submissive. I am who I was always meant to be. A girl who enjoys pain, a girl who dreams of forbidden things as she silently strokes her clitoris. A girl who feels so alone sometimes, so devastatingly cut off, that she once slit her arms open just to watch them bleed and remind herself that her heart was still beating. A girl who went from bed to bed trying to find the one, trying to feel something. A girl who is coming to grips with who she is for the first time in her life.

I won't promise anything in this space but complete honesty. That honesty may hurt or it may caress. You may come away with a smile on your face, other times you may cry out of frustration/anger/sadness/recognition. This may not all be about sex, submission, fantasy. But it will all be truthful and will be about the closest I ever let people get to me.

This site is a work in progress, things will continue to be tweaked for weeks to come. Just in case you're curious, my name isn't really Aine. Aine is an Irish/Gaelic name I found recently, one that means joy. I have a large amount of Irish blood running through my veins, even though I was born in America, and I'd like to pay tribute to that as best I can. Decorus poena means beautiful pain/punishment in Latin. I think Latin is one of the beautiful, albeit dead, languages in the world. Those Greeks certainly had a way with words.

Here's one of my favorite early Greek poets, Archilochus:

Be bold! That's one way
Of getting through life.
So I turn upon her
And point out that,
Faced with the wickedness
Of things, she does not shiver.
I prefer to have, after all,
Only what pleases me
Are you so deep in misery
That you think me fallen!
You say I'm lazy; I'm not,
Nor any of my kin-people.
I know how to love those
Who love me, how to hate.
My enemies I overwhelm
With abuse. The ant bites!
The oracle said to me:
"Return to the city, reconquer.
It is almost in ruins.
With your spear give it glory.
Reign with absolute power,
The admiration of men.
After this long voyage,
Return to us from Gortyne."
Pasture, fish, nor vulture
Were you, and I, returned,
Seek an honest woman
Ready to be a good wife.
I would hold your hand,
Would be near you, would have run
All the way to your house.
I cannot. The ship went down,
And all my wealth with it.
The salvagers have no hope.
You whom the soldiers beat,
You who are all but dead,
How the gods love you
And I, alone in the dark,
I was promised the light.


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about


"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-- I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. -- Robert Frost, The Road Not Taken

I'm like that, I'm the untaken road. I walk the path that's filled with jagged rocks, spooky trees and no sunlight - but I come out the other side wiser. It's always worth the price.


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