>>214555029
miksiköhän kaikki liisat on aina niin söpöjä

>>514091345
>>514090754
My ex used to bring junk home that she'd find on the side of the road or in front of people's houses. Just fucking useless garbage like old pallets, wood, broken furniture, roach-infested appliances. She'd promise me she'd use it for some "project" or fix it up, but whatever she hauled back would just sit on our tiny patio after I dragged it upstairs, where it would collect bugs and snakes for the next several months. Inevitably, I would end up having to dismantle whatever it was, shove it in my sedan, then haul it to the dump once I was certain she'd forgotten about that particular brilliant idea. She's a hoarder now, which isn't surprising. I was the only thing keeping her in check.

I don't hate women, but they're so fucking retarded that it drains whatever joy you get out of the relationship.

black souls tuli jo höyryyn eikä nyymit kertonu siitä mulle mitään

I watch the drowsy night expire,
And Fancy paints at my desire,
Her magic pictures in the fire.

An island-farm 'mid seas of corn,
Swayed by the wandering breath of morn,
The happy spot where I was born.

The picture fadeth in its place;
Amid the glow I seem to trace
The shifting semblance of a face.

'Tis now a little childish form,
Red lips for kisses pouted warm,
And elf-locks tangled in the storm.

'Tis now a grave and gentle maid,
At her own beauty half afraid,
Shrinking, yet willing to be stayed.

'Tis now a matron with her boys,
Dear centre of domestic joys:
I seem to hear the merry noise.

Oh, time was young, and life was warm,
When first I saw that fairy form,
Her dark hair tossing in the storm;

And fast and free these pulses played,
When last I met that gentle maid-
When last her hand in mine was laid.

Those locks of jet are turned to grey,
And she is strange and far away,
That might have been mine own to-day-

That might have been mine own, my dear,
Through many and many a. happy year,
That might have sat beside me here.

Ay, changeless through the changing scene,
The ghostly whisper rings between
The dark refrain of "might have been."

The race is o'er I might have run,
The deeds are past I might have done,
And sere the wreath I might have won.

Sunk is the last faint flickering blaze;
The vision of departed days
Is vanished even as I gaze.

The pictures with their ruddy light
Are changed to dust and ashes white,
And I am left alone with night.

>hundreds, thousands even, of lolibait games
>only like 12 shotabait games
Literally why?

Have you thought of Alice recently?