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EroticNights
stories

How many nights have I spent at your bedside?
Mystified, anxious, hopeful. How many times have I returned to your face and these words I am so desperate to find? Yes, my love. I am at your window, yet again. I am here, as old as the sun and with equal purpose. Despite my age, and our history, I am not tired. I am not tired of writing about you. I am not tired of trying to understand the enigma of you. I am not done, nor satisfied, with our divine communication that has spanned ages. We witnessed the birth of memory, we cared for the stars when they were children (and even named our own).This passion was alive when there was none to give name to it. Only the ancients who tended gardens of night and day.
And yet I foolishly wonder if you get tired after all this time. I wonder if you think I’ll stop seeking you out, if I’ll grow with avarice and look at other women. There are nights, such as this one, when I only look at now, I forget about the eternity we share. I forget that our history is longer then human emotions, and that I have no need to worry about the petty affairs of being mortal. Sometimes, when I concentrate on now, I forget that because I love you, I’ll never die, and haven’t since this wonderful game began. ...A beautiful memory - (by EroticNights)
Snow.
It didn’t look that bad upon peering out the window. A soft, steady fall from a new winter, his second, now old enough to sit up by himself. We thought we'd take him out, a first like many others. Something new, something to snap pictures of and look back on with warm tears of never again. It was a big field across the street from her house belonging to a school. A field full of memories, where we flew kites, walked, even once made love in the dead of night while she was six months pregnant. This field now blanket white on some lazy snowed in Saturday.
It took forever. ...
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