hey to all you readers i just want to let you know i did not write this story. Lauren Kimberly did. the only other place you can find this if you go to chronocross.com then fanfiction, then click on a story called Light & Dark. There will be a website page at the bottom. go on it. then brows around on the web site. I had to put it up because its such a good story, its on a web site that has'nt been updated in almost 2 year, and the website is a dead end.
DISCLAIMER: ITS NOT MY FREAKEN STORY! IT'S Lauren Kimberly's. OK? oh... and if i lookes like spelling errors its supposed to look like that. p.s. i dont have spell check
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*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Forever Dreaming*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~**~~**~*~*~*~*~*
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I am dreaming again. And, amist this haze, there is envisonment of you, Mon Cheri. I have pondered fighting these: my cloudy longings for you, the very object of my ob session. Yet, I find that I cannot.
Deep into last night's sky, you stared off at a jasmine horizon while the moons painted your face. And I fear that Mon side is not where you wish to be. But, s'lil vous plait, understand that with Mon selfish desires at set-side, our companionship is a must. For there are many things, Mon Cheri, of which you have yet to know. Ouu! You tres belle oxymoron: tres intelligente, yet so far gone in oblivion.
I must leave you soon, Mon ami, Mon cheri. And, of this you will non understand. There shall come a proper time to explain, perhaps formally bid adieu. Though, that moment is non exactlement for certain.
Withen that sweat, vulnerable mind of yours, you are thinking of this femme; the loud one with her vulgar vocabulary. And I can see her significance, un exhausting passion through those kitten eyes of yours.
You desire to be 'yourself, and not this Monsieur Lynx which now belongs to your own old skin... I am non certain, myself, of which is correctly which.
But there is you, Mon Cheri. Even though the eyes of this 'real' Monsieur Lynx, I can see you. And your lost expression.
Again, you do non wish to be here, to stand at my side.
Within my dreaming, Mon Cheri, I pine for you. For the day that you shall look into my eyes and tell tales of your feelings: that you love only one, and she is moi... Oh, even if it were to be a lie, it would be worth a final breath from Mon lips to hear. My eyes drip for hours at a time onto pillows of red glove. Thisis done in darkness. Et toi pay no attention to this ever present haze of dreams for which the lids of my heart shall never free me. Must moi spell it out? You are an outsider to this dream which is my own... Or perhaps, it is Moi, who has yet to see reality, who os this 'outsider' to truth... Has the abasive femme made way inside of your heart so soon?
She is tres attractive, oui. But you don non follow on such shallow standerds, I just know you would not. Mon mind has spun to understand your pain in thisfemme's absense. If not physicly, then what? There is so much of her, Mon Cheri, which you have yet also to comprehend; things that she, herself, does not know. One day, however, tres soon, all that is important shall prevail. Will you gaze into the moons for her, even then? How deeply are you willing to love?
Sadly, I truly belive with certainlement that you would lay your own life for love. And such loyalty, I feel, should belong to moi... For you are magnifique, tres belle... perfect, Mon Cheri... I shall, perhaps, never understand.
The moons are upon mon face tonight, through this cosmetology that I must wear. Je veux... I desire to be free from what is that clings to me, to strip myself clean of these protective layers. I want for you to see my face, eyes that are unadorned. One day, Mon Cheri, I will do all this withis mon self to allow this... But for tonight, Mon Ami, I must accept that within upcoming hours, I shall bid adieu, wondering exactlement what is it you would give. Would you offer this vulgar one th moons which you stare into? What of moi? I would give this world, the other worls, for you to lie, and both of our lives for each of them to be true. Yet I suppose that I shall always have these dreams, entrapment that they are.
The world, Mon ami, or moi?
You are sleeping now, I believe, and I shall save my Questions, cheep thrill catchers... threads of un-woven hope, for tomorrow. Until then, bonsoir, Mon Cheri... Please dream of moi...
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poor harle. she realy wants serge but she knows he only loves kidd. oh well
please R&R
DISCLAIMER: ITS NOT MY FREAKEN STORY! IT'S Lauren Kimberly's. OK? oh... and if i lookes like spelling errors its supposed to look like that. p.s. i dont have spell check
*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Forever Dreaming*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~**~~**~*~*~*~*~*
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
I am dreaming again. And, amist this haze, there is envisonment of you, Mon Cheri. I have pondered fighting these: my cloudy longings for you, the very object of my ob session. Yet, I find that I cannot.
Deep into last night's sky, you stared off at a jasmine horizon while the moons painted your face. And I fear that Mon side is not where you wish to be. But, s'lil vous plait, understand that with Mon selfish desires at set-side, our companionship is a must. For there are many things, Mon Cheri, of which you have yet to know. Ouu! You tres belle oxymoron: tres intelligente, yet so far gone in oblivion.
I must leave you soon, Mon ami, Mon cheri. And, of this you will non understand. There shall come a proper time to explain, perhaps formally bid adieu. Though, that moment is non exactlement for certain.
Withen that sweat, vulnerable mind of yours, you are thinking of this femme; the loud one with her vulgar vocabulary. And I can see her significance, un exhausting passion through those kitten eyes of yours.
You desire to be 'yourself, and not this Monsieur Lynx which now belongs to your own old skin... I am non certain, myself, of which is correctly which.
But there is you, Mon Cheri. Even though the eyes of this 'real' Monsieur Lynx, I can see you. And your lost expression.
Again, you do non wish to be here, to stand at my side.
Within my dreaming, Mon Cheri, I pine for you. For the day that you shall look into my eyes and tell tales of your feelings: that you love only one, and she is moi... Oh, even if it were to be a lie, it would be worth a final breath from Mon lips to hear. My eyes drip for hours at a time onto pillows of red glove. Thisis done in darkness. Et toi pay no attention to this ever present haze of dreams for which the lids of my heart shall never free me. Must moi spell it out? You are an outsider to this dream which is my own... Or perhaps, it is Moi, who has yet to see reality, who os this 'outsider' to truth... Has the abasive femme made way inside of your heart so soon?
She is tres attractive, oui. But you don non follow on such shallow standerds, I just know you would not. Mon mind has spun to understand your pain in thisfemme's absense. If not physicly, then what? There is so much of her, Mon Cheri, which you have yet also to comprehend; things that she, herself, does not know. One day, however, tres soon, all that is important shall prevail. Will you gaze into the moons for her, even then? How deeply are you willing to love?
Sadly, I truly belive with certainlement that you would lay your own life for love. And such loyalty, I feel, should belong to moi... For you are magnifique, tres belle... perfect, Mon Cheri... I shall, perhaps, never understand.
The moons are upon mon face tonight, through this cosmetology that I must wear. Je veux... I desire to be free from what is that clings to me, to strip myself clean of these protective layers. I want for you to see my face, eyes that are unadorned. One day, Mon Cheri, I will do all this withis mon self to allow this... But for tonight, Mon Ami, I must accept that within upcoming hours, I shall bid adieu, wondering exactlement what is it you would give. Would you offer this vulgar one th moons which you stare into? What of moi? I would give this world, the other worls, for you to lie, and both of our lives for each of them to be true. Yet I suppose that I shall always have these dreams, entrapment that they are.
The world, Mon ami, or moi?
You are sleeping now, I believe, and I shall save my Questions, cheep thrill catchers... threads of un-woven hope, for tomorrow. Until then, bonsoir, Mon Cheri... Please dream of moi...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~**~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~**~*~*~**~*~**~
`````````````````````````````````````the end``````````````````````````````````````````
poor harle. she realy wants serge but she knows he only loves kidd. oh well
please R&R