"With hope. Love should end with hope. Hope guides me. It is what gets me through the day and especially the night. The hope that after you're gone from my sight it will not be the last time I look upon you." ~ Kate (A Knight's Tale)
Status: the world can go fuck itself, unless they can put my baby back in my arms where he belongs!!!
Sex: female Age: 22 Location: In His Arms Forever,
Oregon, United States
Member since: April 02, 2007 Account: Free Account Orientation: Straight Status: In a relationship Occupation: mommy..becoming a mechanic!!..going to college
My name is Twilight(askk and you may receive my real name) i'm 18, i have a kid(can't deal with that then oh well), i'm a very outgoing person, friendly, and fun to hang with. when im angry i can be slightly dangerous, dont think clearly when im hyped up. get to know me before you judge me, well hit me up if you want to know more.
swords,guns,blood, biting and being bit in return(major turn on)...i love books espically murder book and vampire books..my favorite book is twilight and it sequel new moon, eclipse, can't wait for Breaking dawn...favorite movie Queen of the damned..lestat omg!!..theres more ask..
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
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