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Anxiety! Alas, you've taken everything from me
My friendships and everyone who used to call me
No fun, no cheerfulness, never being carefree

If only, if only I hadn't taken you by the hand
When you first struck, I shouldn't have feared
Now you've won many a battle but it's getting near
I'm going to eradicate you, never more in fear

People, my friends. You who read me
Do not do what I have done
Don't turn your back to the sun

Breath the fresh air, and live.
To anyone who's ever been constrained by anxiety or similar mental struggles. I want everyone to know that you shouldn't listen to your anxiety - when you will stop listening, you will be reborn.
A KISS...

Why such commotion for only a kiss?

Asking that do know this;

It was the most earth moving thing,

It was summer and winter, autumn and spring.

Something truly special many will miss.

It was Christmas and May and unending bliss.

It was heaven and earth, fire and ice,

Ten thousand fold more than only nice.

Eloquence without a single word,

Mad secret frenzy... never heard,

Warm lips even caressed by tantalizing fingers,

And a certain feeling that not only lingers…

Hurried urges up and down a spine;

"Be mine! Be mine!"

Both exuding passion and infinite charms,

Being close with much more than only arms.

It was me and you what else did we do…?

Indeed done too…

But with a kiss it all begun,

And now my Sweet Bessie we are One.



With Love and then some...

Always Yours,

Willoughby



Copyright©2013 by Kari M. Knutsen
They met in 1810... well, the first time in 1807... Once... when He was 17 and She a mystery... and a whole lot more... one foggy evening in a nondescript black carriage... Meeting again in 1810, still married Countess Jane Elizabeth Beaumont de Clair at 32... Ooops! Really 37... lying about her age... did not hesitate to "generously accommodate" young Willoughby... by now a Heavy Cavalry Lieutenant... IN... or Not in a Uniform... and who insisted "Love is an Art" and "Nothing is Impossible," falling flat on his face... and more... Again... and She... his former "Mystery Lady"... becomes his Sweet Bessie...this time meeting in a library due to a silly bet, but he comes back the next day, surprising her indeed presenting her with a poem he has written ... and she loves... kissing him even more... even seeing a drawing of her Willoughby has made as well... he has called "My Sweet Bessie."
Love her like
She's the raging sea,
Unrestrained and dark and deep.
And you crave her touch
Through aching pores
As you slowly drown in sleep.

Love her like
She's the tender storm,
A lovely shade of grey.
Like with every whiff
Of breath she takes,
She's taking yours away.

Love her like
She's the silent clouds
With calmness floating by.
Like you'd want to make
Sweet love to her
Under the moon's apocalyptic eye.

Love her like
She's the blazing fire,
And you lust the candied pain.
Like she's the disease
That swallowed you whole
And you'd like to die again.

When her gentle touch
Makes your chest explode,
And your addiction is your girl.
Promise you'll love her
Through hell and back,
Or don't you dare love her at all.

— The End —