I am Dune
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WpMetadataNoticeLast published Thu, Apr 9, 2015
Who am I? I am no one. I am the one who trips on air. The one who would never answer a question in class. The one you wouldn't notice. The one who notices everything. The one who tries to be the best. The one who tries to make everyone happy. The one who is forgotten. The one ho never goes out. The one who people question. The one who would do anything for some ones happiness. The one taken for granted. The one who thinks that there is noting important about them. The one who is a weed in a garden full of flowers. No one wants it there but it is. The one who will not be remembered. My story isn't a happy one, it isn't a sad one. It wouldn't make you laugh, and it won't make you cry,. So why make a story that is not happy nor sad, inspirational nor traumatizing? Because it is a story no matter how big or small, sad or happy. And like every story it longs to be told before the end of the story teller story is finished. For I am not big nor small, important nor unnecessary, strong nor weak, fearful, troubled no carefree, big nor little, a valley nor a peak, stream nor ocean I am, Dune
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❝𝐀𝐝𝐯𝐚𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐚 & 𝐌𝐢𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐚 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐚❞ I should not feel anything for someone who is my enemy, someone who has caused me so much pain that the very thought of him should fill me with nothing but rage and bitterness. Yet, against all logic, I feel it-I feel the heat rising beneath my skin . The mere idea of his touch sends shivers down my spine, igniting sensations that I desperately want to ignore. This isn't right. I shouldn't crave the presence of someone I despise, but my body betrays me, responding to him in ways that my mind fiercely rejects. He stands so close that his breath fans across my face, warm and intimate, stirring emotions that I refuse to acknowledge. A slight movement is all it would take for our lips to meet, for this unbearable tension to shatter into something far more dangerous. His hands are braced on either side of my head, trapping me, yet he doesn't need to touch me to make me feel trapped. His body hovers just out of reach, yet I can sense him, every inch of him, as if the air itself is an extension of his presence. I shouldn't desire this man. I shouldn't want to close the gap, to feel the press of his body against mine. I should be repulsed, disgusted by how my thoughts betray my hatred. But my body doesn't listen to reason , it yearns for what it shouldn't, driven by instincts I can't control. I despise him-my enemy- My rival-but the line between hatred and desire is blurring, and I'm terrified of which side I might fall on. {𝖠 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗇𝖾 } | | Mature content 18+| |

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