Okay, I have now tried very hard to get the perfect picture background for my new found obession; Guild Wars. Now granted there are alot of other charecters in the game, but what self-respecting red-blooded male has a man as the background for his weblog? I mean maybe Prince would be an exception, but I think that is even pushing it.

So here it is, finally, the almost perfect background of the Necromancer from Guild Wars. Guys dig chicks that can cast spells. And as Lady Death proves, men dig chicks with pale white skin as well. (Although I dig AOA's Blink, with purple skin even more.)

I have to do a bit more work on it and clean it up, so the black blends with the purple better, but overall I am pretty pleased with this background. I have a feeling it will hang around for a while. Also I tried to use the above picture for my icon, but I think that the present icon I have has been permentatly embeded into my weblog, because when I try to change it nothing happens.

You think that is all her real hair?? That's alot of work to do in the morning just to get it messed up in battle. Ohh well, if your going to get slaughtered by a chick, at least you get one that knows the importance of dolling up for you. 8-)

May U Live 2 See The Dawn

He left the house, not really thinking, the door hanging open, and her standing there in the doorway. It wasn't like he wanted to be unkind to her, and tell her that. He just wasn't sure of himself, and didn't want to drag her through his uncertainty. He's been that way ever since, she left him. Since then he has always been alone, even in a crowded house. Still alone.

He needed to talk to her again. But he knew she wouldn't call again, and wasn't going to call her. This had to be face to face. He just needed to know.

He got in his car and speed off. It wasn't like she was going anywhere, but he felt the urgency to talk to her and clear this up. He just didn't know what to do. She was always there to help him, and guide him, and now she was gone. Gone from him forever.

He finally reached his destination. He drove through the iron gates, and down the pathway. The rain still came down in a torrent. The soft gravel road was now muddy and hard to travel. He got out of the car and started to walk down the path. He turned onto another path, and stopped. There she was . . . the same place she was last time he needed to talk to her.

He begged with her, to tell him that it was okay. That it was okay to love again. He wanted to be faithful. He didn't want to stray. But he was so lonely and he just wanted the affection of another human being. He stared at her, waiting for a response, but she said nothing. The answer that he wanted didn't come from her. He was now on his knees in the rain and mud begging her to tell him that it was okay.

"Maybe she is telling you it's okay. Maybe that is why she sent me."

He turned. She stood over him, tears even visible through the rain. She hadn't know. She just thought that he couldn't move on. She didn't know this.

She looked at a man desperate for an explanation for something that shouldn't have happened. Looking at a man, whose whole life had been taken from him. A man who had nothing. No wonder he didn't know how to move on.

She kneeled down in the mud and rain, right next to him. He looked at her. He didn't know what to do. She leaned in and embraced him. Told him that she loved him. Told him that it was okay. That loving her, didn't betray his angel. She told him that she could never replace her, and wasn't trying to.

"And I never wanna say goodbye. But girl you make it hard to be faithful, with the lips of an angel ."

"You don't have to say goodbye, to move on."

He glanced at the tombstones. Hers, and their two boys. He kissed his hand and laid his hand on her tombstone. He turned to her and took her hand, and together they walked to his car.

The lips of an angel . . .

He sat there with her.  They were watching a movie, although his mind was to say the least, on her.  But then his mind never was on anything else but her . . . the other her.  But he feigned interest in the movie and her reactions.  It wasn't as if he didn't care at all, just less than the angel that was on his mind at the moment.  The angel with lips, that made it hard to be faithful.

The sound of the phone ringing got him up from the couch.  She looked at him strangely, as if he was hearing things.  He looked at the number, and took the phone upstairs.  He talked, he cried and he smiled.  It was so good to hear the sounds from the lips of an angel.

He held the picture in his hand, as he talked to her.  Remembering all the good times.  Him, her, the boys . . . The memories meant so much to him.  He grasped the picture frame, tightly, as if the memories might escape his memory if he didn't hold on to it.  As if the gold band around his finger, still, meant nothing.  As if the lady waiting in the room close to him, didn't ignore that fact.  That he could never move on.  That he couldn't be faithful.

The lips of an angel.

He sat there on the floor, clutching the picture of them.  So happy together.  The four of them.  No matter how long ago it was, he still tried to be so faithful to her.  And here he had another woman in her house.  In her bed.  Why was he so weak?  Why couldn't he stay faithful?  Was it the lips of another angel?  Is that possible?  Two angels?  He wanted to be faithful to her.  Never forget her.  His friend, lover, sister, mother/wife.  Never forget her.

He heard her coming up the stairs.  He sat there clutching the picture.  The moisture of his falling tears, soiled the glass of the picture frame, falling on her face.  Right where her tears would be, if she found another woman in her house.  But despite his weakness he continued to talk to her on the phone, trying to explain himself.  Trying to make excuses for his weaknesses and his inadequacies.  Hoping against hope that she would understand what he was trying to say.  That she might understand what he was saying.  But when he would touch that gold band on his finger, he realized that nothing could explain his actions.  And that made him weep.

She cautiously entered the room.  She saw him sitting there on the floor, tears streaming from his eyes.  She asked him if there was something wrong.  He made an excuse and got up from the floor.  He walked towards the doorway, the phone hanging in his hand.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I can love you."

He handed her the phone, and walked down the stairs.  She brought the phone to her ear and listened for the other end.

All she got was a busy signal . . .

She looked down at the picture that he had been holding.  A picture of him with another woman and two young boys with them.  And then she remembered the gold band that was still on his finger.  The lips of an angel . . .

 

 

 

 

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1. n: the performance of the act of masterbating a sexual partner, usually while the person performing this act is simultaneously performing doggy style, anal sex, or spooning on the same partner as the person on top. Or as a metaphor . . . The Feds screwed me on my federal tax return, but the State was nice enough to give me a reach around (ie the state tax return). Now as only Peter Griffin can express it . . .

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