He was walking… he was alone. The rain was pittering and pattering at the windows next to him while he window shopped in London. A familiar double decker red bus pulled over and he hopped back in, pulling his Macintosh closer to keep warmth.
Himself was a boy with a rather strange name. The kids wouldn’t even have to make up hurtful nicknames for him, as his name was ridiculous enough. His parents were former hippies who smoked pot and loved listening to the homeless poets in nyc.
He was in love with her, he thought to himself. While at the same time thinking he wasn’t capable of it. Love? Love? So mundane. So human. And he wasn’t human. Not even close.
he herself self trying to find himself self re evaluation looking in the mirror herself. inner self check. trusting himself. allowing himself. keeping himself.
He leaves a good impression of himself everywhere he goes. The scent of his charisma is left lingering behind him. But deep within he feels an emptiness that he cannot explain. People are his distraction from the pain.
Himself. No one near. Just himself. His wife left, the kids were too damn busy and he cried. Oh, he cried. He didn’t felt very good with himself, but that’s the way he managed: crying.
Himself. He. His. Hers. She. Herself. Them. We. Connected. To whom. Himself. Right. We all know. We all are connected. To whom. himself. herself. we. him her me we. himself.
Himself being ready to go, he called upstairs. With a Southern trill she called back, “Just a mo’!” He smiled to himself. What a beauty she was. He adjusted his tie and stepped outside to breathe in the cool Midwest air.
He sat by himself. There wasn’t much to do that day. When the rain tapped on the window, all he could think of was time wasting, wasting away. Each drop was just another day that had gone by. He was thirsty. Yet still he wouldn’t move himself to satisfy that thirst. The real trouble was, he wanted to but just didn’t know how.
He wasn’t sure what to do with himself anymore. He had washed the dishes, dried them and put them away, cleaned the floor until it shined, dusted all of the surfaces in the house, even the hard-to-reach ones (he wished sorely he were taller), prepared dinner, and read the newspaper front-to-back. And it was still not yet noon.
He looked at his ragged self and thought of how he got there. He spent too much on vanities rather than necessity . His heart was broken as the dirty mirror cracked and he faded into the background.
The one person be ciuld never quite tolerate being ariund. Maybe that’s why he was such an irritable and disagreeable person. When he was around others he realized that some people were nice. Some people weren’t like him.
I think of someone who is selfish and only thinks of himself. They do not care what other people have to day. They only care about “himself” These sorts of people are narcissistic and don’t care about others.
Why does he avoid them?
Nobody knows. Or, rather, nobody cares to mind.
Each day he trudges, realizing his loneliness, but never complaining.
They pay him no mind.
He has only himself.
opposite to herself. He is just sitting htere all by himself. Lonely, not knowing who to speak to. Who to play with . I guess he just has to play by himself. All by himself until tomorrow when his firends will be abe top play with him.
he is wonderful and i miss him so much, i don’t really know why i ever let him go because he really did make me happier than anyone else. i don’t know. i fucking miss him and it hurts because he hates me and it’s all my fault. what am i supposed to do and how do i fix this? i just want to talk to him one more fucking time without him talking shit about me to all of his friends. i still love him. fuck.
How much more of this he could take, he didn’t know. Although he had gown used to the numbness of it all. He had found a home in the dark. But he was tired. So tired of living by himself.
He pleaded – he begged – to the gods. Whoever they were, wherever they were. He didn’t necessarily believe they were listening, but he didn’t doubt them. He just couldn’t live all by himself anymore.
HE LOVED HIMSELF SO MUCH, IT BECAME UNBEARABLE. HE WAS ALWAYS BOASTING ABOUT HOW GREAT HE WAS, AND HE REALLY STARTED TO GET ON MY NERVES. I MEAN SURE, GIVE YOUR SELF SOME CREDIT, BUT DONT DEVELOP A MAN CRUSH ON YOURSELF. DISGRACEFUL, REALLY. YES, YOU SHOULD RESPECT YOURSELF, BUT YOU SHOULD NOT TELL EVERYONE ABOUT YOUR CONSTANT ACHIEVEMENTS AND/OR AWARDS. NO ONE WANTS TO HEAR YOU BOAST ABOUT YOUR WEALTH OR HOW MANY HOMES YOU OWN ACROSS THE WORLD, EITHER.
He was lost. He was all by himself. was he left alone by his parents. he heard all the footsteps around him, and the chatter of people talking to each other, he couldn’t do that. he was all by himself. he felt alone.
He looked at himself in the mirror, scars cutting through his face. Salt ran through his features, as he stroked the raised marks. Knowing it was his own doing.
My daddy brother my boyfriend. How they view them selves. What they think they are worthy of, who would they be if they were alone And no one else exist? If I ever have a kid, what will he be like?? Who is HE….a question every man should ask himself….
he looked at himself.
he was now 49 and starting to look his age.
something he was not used to. usally he looked younger, like a better version of himeself, when he was 20 he looked 18 and when his 34th birthday came around he looked 28. he stared into the mirror and relized the reason he was not pleased with himself, was not because of this body image, (and how could he, with his chiseled featuers and his perfectly toned body) it was because of his personality, he out of all his friends was the person that no body liked. and he was just now staring to get the message
He walked with a strut that suggested confidence. But we all knew. Everyone knew. This is a guy that doesn’t know what he is. What an asshole. I first saw him on the corner of Bixman street one night a few years back. The first thing he said to me was “Can I have some of your drink?”
He himself is nothing more than a man, despite his insistence that he’s a God compared to his precious humans. But he feels pain, he cries, he has weaknesses. He hates it, but he does.
His main weakness is a certain blonde host.
His weakness being that he is love with him.
And that is one thing that he himself cannot fathom.
He stood across the room and brushed the wrinkles out of his plaid shirt, looking up at me with a smile that only I could find consuming. I was so absolutely drawn into the light that gleamed in his gold iruses that I almost forgot I had just speant the last ten minutes squawking incessantly about his dirty habits in relation to my clean ones.
He was pleased with himself, I could tell by the way he glided like an awkward ballerina over a pile of dirty boxer-briefs. I couldn’t help but crack a smile, and kneel down to pick them up.
I look across the room and he is all by himself, my boyfriend that is. I glance down the hall and he’s alone. I pass him in the halls, walking with all my friends while he, by himself walks. I never join him. He should be alone if he doesn’t have the courage to come to me, his girlfriend. He deserves to be by himself.
he was himself one time before he discovered his true self. the subconscious is a crazy thing. for one to think they know himself and truly be misguided. he lived a life of lies to himself. the himself he thought was himself. his self was not actually himself. he was a mixture of what society wanted him to be, what he was going to become was not himself but it was THEIRself. they did not care about his self. only theirs. he himself was nothing. it must be a terrible thing to think about. how the subconscious lures itself into a pit of never ending societal battles. what is scarier is that the subconscious is writing this entire statement. the only time the conscious body became aware was when it misspelled something. there is no such thing as himself.
He only ever cared about himself. Always only concerned with what he wanted and what made him happy. So I gave up on him. Because one day, I got tired of it, of always forgiving him for being so selfish, and so that was the end of an epic friendship.
he wasn’t himself. the man who would do anything to protect her from harm. no, instead he was the one inflicting it. unintentionally, but still. he was hurting her in a way that nobody else could, in a way that cut deeper than any knife ever could.
Himself. Who is he? He is the man with the blue eyes and the blond hair that everyone loves. Himself. Does he know who he is? Everyone thinks he is the coolest kid in school but do they really know what he is going through? Himself.
He keeps to himself a lot- holds everything inside. He doesn’t like to burden people with his problems, but will take on anyone else’s and try to help them. He’s a genuinely nice person. He doesn’t manipulate, gossip, or lie. I trust him. I’ve never trusted anyone so much that I would let them make me promises. He’s broken my walls. He’s special and I love him.
He was walking… he was alone. The rain was pittering and pattering at the windows next to him while he window shopped in London. A familiar double decker red bus pulled over and he hopped back in, pulling his Macintosh closer to keep warmth.
Himself was a boy with a rather strange name. The kids wouldn’t even have to make up hurtful nicknames for him, as his name was ridiculous enough. His parents were former hippies who smoked pot and loved listening to the homeless poets in nyc.
He was in love with her, he thought to himself. While at the same time thinking he wasn’t capable of it. Love? Love? So mundane. So human. And he wasn’t human. Not even close.
he herself self trying to find himself self re evaluation looking in the mirror herself. inner self check. trusting himself. allowing himself. keeping himself.
Love, oneness with self, he loves gives provides himself referring to himself, men, masculinity. Friends lamp, panda rain
He leaves a good impression of himself everywhere he goes. The scent of his charisma is left lingering behind him. But deep within he feels an emptiness that he cannot explain. People are his distraction from the pain.
Himself. No one near. Just himself. His wife left, the kids were too damn busy and he cried. Oh, he cried. He didn’t felt very good with himself, but that’s the way he managed: crying.
Himself is a word that describes a person who talks about a man on his own. Ex: He did it himself.
Himself. He. His. Hers. She. Herself. Them. We. Connected. To whom. Himself. Right. We all know. We all are connected. To whom. himself. herself. we. him her me we. himself.
Himself being ready to go, he called upstairs. With a Southern trill she called back, “Just a mo’!” He smiled to himself. What a beauty she was. He adjusted his tie and stepped outside to breathe in the cool Midwest air.
He sat by himself. There wasn’t much to do that day. When the rain tapped on the window, all he could think of was time wasting, wasting away. Each drop was just another day that had gone by. He was thirsty. Yet still he wouldn’t move himself to satisfy that thirst. The real trouble was, he wanted to but just didn’t know how.
He wasn’t sure what to do with himself anymore. He had washed the dishes, dried them and put them away, cleaned the floor until it shined, dusted all of the surfaces in the house, even the hard-to-reach ones (he wished sorely he were taller), prepared dinner, and read the newspaper front-to-back. And it was still not yet noon.
He looked at his ragged self and thought of how he got there. He spent too much on vanities rather than necessity . His heart was broken as the dirty mirror cracked and he faded into the background.
The one person be ciuld never quite tolerate being ariund. Maybe that’s why he was such an irritable and disagreeable person. When he was around others he realized that some people were nice. Some people weren’t like him.
I think of someone who is selfish and only thinks of himself. They do not care what other people have to day. They only care about “himself” These sorts of people are narcissistic and don’t care about others.
Why does he avoid them?
Nobody knows. Or, rather, nobody cares to mind.
Each day he trudges, realizing his loneliness, but never complaining.
They pay him no mind.
He has only himself.
opposite to herself. He is just sitting htere all by himself. Lonely, not knowing who to speak to. Who to play with . I guess he just has to play by himself. All by himself until tomorrow when his firends will be abe top play with him.
all he cares about is himself. he sneaks out at night, smokes pot, and skips school. he doesn’t care that he makes our mother and father cry.
he is wonderful and i miss him so much, i don’t really know why i ever let him go because he really did make me happier than anyone else. i don’t know. i fucking miss him and it hurts because he hates me and it’s all my fault. what am i supposed to do and how do i fix this? i just want to talk to him one more fucking time without him talking shit about me to all of his friends. i still love him. fuck.
How much more of this he could take, he didn’t know. Although he had gown used to the numbness of it all. He had found a home in the dark. But he was tired. So tired of living by himself.
He pleaded – he begged – to the gods. Whoever they were, wherever they were. He didn’t necessarily believe they were listening, but he didn’t doubt them. He just couldn’t live all by himself anymore.
HE LOVED HIMSELF SO MUCH, IT BECAME UNBEARABLE. HE WAS ALWAYS BOASTING ABOUT HOW GREAT HE WAS, AND HE REALLY STARTED TO GET ON MY NERVES. I MEAN SURE, GIVE YOUR SELF SOME CREDIT, BUT DONT DEVELOP A MAN CRUSH ON YOURSELF. DISGRACEFUL, REALLY. YES, YOU SHOULD RESPECT YOURSELF, BUT YOU SHOULD NOT TELL EVERYONE ABOUT YOUR CONSTANT ACHIEVEMENTS AND/OR AWARDS. NO ONE WANTS TO HEAR YOU BOAST ABOUT YOUR WEALTH OR HOW MANY HOMES YOU OWN ACROSS THE WORLD, EITHER.
He was lost. He was all by himself. was he left alone by his parents. he heard all the footsteps around him, and the chatter of people talking to each other, he couldn’t do that. he was all by himself. he felt alone.
If it had to be done again I would encourage him to do it himself. If
He is himself
Lion without mane
Mother without son
Life pompous
He is himself
Though he is me
Though he is she
He looked at himself in the mirror, scars cutting through his face. Salt ran through his features, as he stroked the raised marks. Knowing it was his own doing.
Himself is a man without his daemon.
Walk alone in the late world.
Trying to breath perrenially.
Lost among the dead.
Selfish
Swiming solely
In his own waters
Alone
My daddy brother my boyfriend. How they view them selves. What they think they are worthy of, who would they be if they were alone And no one else exist? If I ever have a kid, what will he be like?? Who is HE….a question every man should ask himself….
he looked at himself.
he was now 49 and starting to look his age.
something he was not used to. usally he looked younger, like a better version of himeself, when he was 20 he looked 18 and when his 34th birthday came around he looked 28. he stared into the mirror and relized the reason he was not pleased with himself, was not because of this body image, (and how could he, with his chiseled featuers and his perfectly toned body) it was because of his personality, he out of all his friends was the person that no body liked. and he was just now staring to get the message
He walked with a strut that suggested confidence. But we all knew. Everyone knew. This is a guy that doesn’t know what he is. What an asshole. I first saw him on the corner of Bixman street one night a few years back. The first thing he said to me was “Can I have some of your drink?”
He himself is nothing more than a man, despite his insistence that he’s a God compared to his precious humans. But he feels pain, he cries, he has weaknesses. He hates it, but he does.
His main weakness is a certain blonde host.
His weakness being that he is love with him.
And that is one thing that he himself cannot fathom.
He stood across the room and brushed the wrinkles out of his plaid shirt, looking up at me with a smile that only I could find consuming. I was so absolutely drawn into the light that gleamed in his gold iruses that I almost forgot I had just speant the last ten minutes squawking incessantly about his dirty habits in relation to my clean ones.
He was pleased with himself, I could tell by the way he glided like an awkward ballerina over a pile of dirty boxer-briefs. I couldn’t help but crack a smile, and kneel down to pick them up.
I look across the room and he is all by himself, my boyfriend that is. I glance down the hall and he’s alone. I pass him in the halls, walking with all my friends while he, by himself walks. I never join him. He should be alone if he doesn’t have the courage to come to me, his girlfriend. He deserves to be by himself.
Acompañada por si misma descubrió el placer con sus propios dedos.
he was himself one time before he discovered his true self. the subconscious is a crazy thing. for one to think they know himself and truly be misguided. he lived a life of lies to himself. the himself he thought was himself. his self was not actually himself. he was a mixture of what society wanted him to be, what he was going to become was not himself but it was THEIRself. they did not care about his self. only theirs. he himself was nothing. it must be a terrible thing to think about. how the subconscious lures itself into a pit of never ending societal battles. what is scarier is that the subconscious is writing this entire statement. the only time the conscious body became aware was when it misspelled something. there is no such thing as himself.
He only ever cared about himself. Always only concerned with what he wanted and what made him happy. So I gave up on him. Because one day, I got tired of it, of always forgiving him for being so selfish, and so that was the end of an epic friendship.
he wasn’t himself. the man who would do anything to protect her from harm. no, instead he was the one inflicting it. unintentionally, but still. he was hurting her in a way that nobody else could, in a way that cut deeper than any knife ever could.
Himself. Who is he? He is the man with the blue eyes and the blond hair that everyone loves. Himself. Does he know who he is? Everyone thinks he is the coolest kid in school but do they really know what he is going through? Himself.
He keeps to himself a lot- holds everything inside. He doesn’t like to burden people with his problems, but will take on anyone else’s and try to help them. He’s a genuinely nice person. He doesn’t manipulate, gossip, or lie. I trust him. I’ve never trusted anyone so much that I would let them make me promises. He’s broken my walls. He’s special and I love him.