She pressed closer to him, and her body rubbed up and down his in some tantalising dance that was age old and known by everyone who had that … well, decent conversation did not name it. But he looked at her, slightly disgusted, and pushed her away.
“Not here,” he spat. “Good god, woman, you’re not a common prostitute.”
I always feel pressed for every thing I do. Pressed for time, patience, money. Everything. I wish I had more time and all to do everything that I need too.
It smelled of newly-pressed cloth. They say smell has memory and this is testament to it. This sweetness came from childhood. Don’t you ever think memories are messy things, but given time, they’ll align themselves neatly, in boxes one atop another; like linen shirts you never use because you’re scared to ruffle the rest.
He pressed the gun to my temple. I didn’t know what to do. I was panicking. But you know what’s funny? When you think you’re going to die, you always expect your life to flash before your eyes. It didn’t happen for me. All I felt was the pressure of the gun as it pressed against my skin.
pressed in between is what the question that lies beneath my skin. I can’t help where I am these days it’s just a matter of persuation is suppose. what would you do if you were in my shoes. pressed in to a situation, one that you didn’t choose. But I suppose being forced is a little bit different. Not the cookie cutter what not’s you see out and about but the affirmative and the poignant.
I was pressed to make something of how he felt, but I really couldn’t find it in me to make it happen. I was indifferent to this whole ordeal. Sadly, for years I thought I was still in love with him, but I was wrong.
I’ve always wondered how it would feel if he pressed his lips ever so gently against mine, or if he pressed his muscular body against my own. I’m horribly infatuated, could you tell? I wonder constantly if he thinks along same lines. Dear God, I hope he does.
I pressed a pink carnation into a book, for you to find later. I miss you all the time when you are gone. I have a hard time expressing my feelings for you, dear. I have all the faith in the world in you.
I pressed up against the wall, feeling the rough edges; brittle and weak beneath my finger tips I smoothed away some of the dirt and grime that had accumulated over the years. I tried to peel away vines that had found their way over the edge of the grave marker, but had no luck. Her name was no longer visible and I knew I’d be the last to know it.
Pressed up against the wall I told the robber to please let me go. He stopped and stared at me and I trembled with tears. He stopped and RAN! A sI looke dot my left a very large man stood there with a rain coat and a hat slowly walked towards me. You saved my life. You did something to that man.
Pressed for time, I always feel like I need to rush. it makes me crazy. I feel like there are walls that are trying to press together and squish me like a bug.
I pressed the button and waited for the lift. My claret high heels felt suddenly too elevated as I wobbled on my tiptoes. As I caught a glance of my mirrored self I saw that the shoes had toned my calves. My legs looked longer and I was thankful for that.
upon the lonely night, I am pressed upon the anvil of my desires.
blanketed upon the pallet of reality I am pressed with unwavering desires
anally pressed.
i pressed a button on my tv remote and the channel changed but to what?to nothing i just keep wasting my time and not producing anything worth anything i just cant do it anymore i feel like im running out of time i feel like im pressed against the wall of time and maturity and what i have to become.
She was extremely close to him. Standing near the railing of the cruise ship, she pressed up against his body for warmth and shelter from the stiff breeze that comes along with travelling at 40 knots. The, the unthinkable happened: an iceberg in the midst.
pressssssssssssed. it’s a siss, it’s a sizzle. cramming. cramming what? idea, objects, emotions. you cant gather your thoughts. you can’t fit all your clothes. you can’t let your emotions out. the word itself it pressing.
I pressed the down button on the controller so the channel would change. I hated the TV show that was on because it reminded me of the life I used to have. Back when I was happy and had everything I wanted and more than I needed. Before I lost everything I had to the one person I loved the most.
time is pressed. Everything is involved with time. Time is precious, yet fleeting. No one can turn back time, and that is what makes it so pressed. It is hard to manage time correctly, but you dont have to feel overwhelmed by running out of time if you just relax and use time to your advantage.
My stomach is twisting in knots that are now being invented. There is a hand pressing down and it won’t stop. For just one minute I wish the hand would stop. I wish that I could feel normal again. I wish that for one minute my stomach would untwist and I could breathe again.
She stared at the carnation for a moment, wondered at the brief, unheeded life it lived before falling from some tuxedo lapel. Would it know how neglected it was? Could it understand that luck of the draw had landed him the hungover groomsman, when some lucky bud had been fortunate enough to be chosen by the father of the bride, destined to spend the rest of eternity pressed in the family Bible?
Pressed for time, I hurried down the hall toward the elevator. I hit the button furiously, wishing that would somehow that would actually speed it to my floor. The doors finally opened and I squeezed into the overcrowded space, thinking how my shirt was going to be wrinkled by standing too close to so many people.
the little boy pressed his nose up against the window pane. He wanted the train. It was chugging around the tracks, full of purpose and it magnificently kept on moving through the tunnel and over the hills. The glass was fogging up with the warmth of his breath on the cold winters day. He wanted that bright red train.
Here we are,
pressed against each other,
hearing each other for the first time it seems.
How could it be that such a simple task
took so long to accomplish?
I wonder what he is thinking.
I wonder how he feels
as he is pressed,
pressed against my skin.
I wonder if he can feel my heart beating,
pounding.
I am so anxious.
I want his lips
pressed to mine.
Here we are,
pressed against each other,
hearing each other for the first time it seems.
How could it be that such a simple task
took so long to accomplish?
I wonder what he is thinking.
I wonder how he feels
as he is pressed,
pressed against my skin.
My immediate thought would be of the unity between two harmonious bodies. Out of habit, I reluctantly dismiss this thought to the place where all inappropriate and most inconvenient of its kind go, and I very soon replace it by that which reminds me how pressed I am for time.
Pressed on you. Pressed upon you. Pressed up on you. Pressed to your hips, pressed to your lips. Pressed up to you like it was our last chance. Pressed to the wall, pressed to ground, pressed up to your lips until you make a sound. Pressed here, pressed there, pressed almost everywhere.
Pressed. Pressed for time. Pressed for money. Pressed to do the right thing. Pressed to iron out all the kinks. Pressure. Pressure to be perfect. Pressure to be successful. Depressed. Maybe if we didn’t have so much pressure to be amazing and be more than we ever dreamed, we’d have some time to decompress.
The sunlight presented in shafts with motes of dust. I peered into the room, noting time had stopped. The floorboards scuffed shiny through the dust. The walls dripped faded icecream colours. The magic intricacy of the pressed ceiling won my heart.
ironing. pressed for time. perm press. I pressed a button and now I’m 50 years back in time. but now I’m pressed for time to return to my own time in order to pick up my pressed shirt for an event that I’m being pressed to attend. I’m pressed the eff out man.
But where was I going to go. Where could I run? Everything was open. There was no place to go.
I bit my nails as I fretted about my situation. Pulling my rucksack close I rushed into a train terminal and slipped into the darkness. I shut my eyes tightly and with a sucking noise I was gone. I was sucked back onto land someplace where snow was falling heavily. I looked around and saw a town not too far off and headed there.
First things first. I needed to find someplace to eat and sleep.
I pressed my hand into the heat of his neck, flowing upwards through his dark locks.
My hands were always cold. He is perpetually warm
Perfection. And this is why we’re best friends.
i used to iron clothes for my besties mom. she would pay me fifty cents a piece to iron her husband’s shirts and slacks. i would take them to my apartment and iron while watching tv. she would always ask “how many pieces have you pressed?”
She pressed closer to him, and her body rubbed up and down his in some tantalising dance that was age old and known by everyone who had that … well, decent conversation did not name it. But he looked at her, slightly disgusted, and pushed her away.
“Not here,” he spat. “Good god, woman, you’re not a common prostitute.”
I always feel pressed for every thing I do. Pressed for time, patience, money. Everything. I wish I had more time and all to do everything that I need too.
Not again, please not again. I can’t go through this not even one more time. I… I’m.. oops time’s up.
It smelled of newly-pressed cloth. They say smell has memory and this is testament to it. This sweetness came from childhood. Don’t you ever think memories are messy things, but given time, they’ll align themselves neatly, in boxes one atop another; like linen shirts you never use because you’re scared to ruffle the rest.
Pressed for time, pressed by people all the stress, not enough to live for.. pushing pulling pressed to do what’s right and wrong.. dun dun dunnn <3
He pressed the gun to my temple. I didn’t know what to do. I was panicking. But you know what’s funny? When you think you’re going to die, you always expect your life to flash before your eyes. It didn’t happen for me. All I felt was the pressure of the gun as it pressed against my skin.
pressed in between is what the question that lies beneath my skin. I can’t help where I am these days it’s just a matter of persuation is suppose. what would you do if you were in my shoes. pressed in to a situation, one that you didn’t choose. But I suppose being forced is a little bit different. Not the cookie cutter what not’s you see out and about but the affirmative and the poignant.
I was pressed to make something of how he felt, but I really couldn’t find it in me to make it happen. I was indifferent to this whole ordeal. Sadly, for years I thought I was still in love with him, but I was wrong.
I’ve always wondered how it would feel if he pressed his lips ever so gently against mine, or if he pressed his muscular body against my own. I’m horribly infatuated, could you tell? I wonder constantly if he thinks along same lines. Dear God, I hope he does.
I pressed a pink carnation into a book, for you to find later. I miss you all the time when you are gone. I have a hard time expressing my feelings for you, dear. I have all the faith in the world in you.
I pressed up against the wall, feeling the rough edges; brittle and weak beneath my finger tips I smoothed away some of the dirt and grime that had accumulated over the years. I tried to peel away vines that had found their way over the edge of the grave marker, but had no luck. Her name was no longer visible and I knew I’d be the last to know it.
Pressed up against the wall I told the robber to please let me go. He stopped and stared at me and I trembled with tears. He stopped and RAN! A sI looke dot my left a very large man stood there with a rain coat and a hat slowly walked towards me. You saved my life. You did something to that man.
I really don’t like to be pressed into doing things. It makes me stressed.
she pressed hard but it didn’t work the stupid button was jammed. dun dun dun duuuuunnnn.
she kept pressing but to no avail.
Pressed for time, I always feel like I need to rush. it makes me crazy. I feel like there are walls that are trying to press together and squish me like a bug.
I pressed the button and waited for the lift. My claret high heels felt suddenly too elevated as I wobbled on my tiptoes. As I caught a glance of my mirrored self I saw that the shoes had toned my calves. My legs looked longer and I was thankful for that.
upon the lonely night, I am pressed upon the anvil of my desires.
blanketed upon the pallet of reality I am pressed with unwavering desires
anally pressed.
i pressed a button on my tv remote and the channel changed but to what?to nothing i just keep wasting my time and not producing anything worth anything i just cant do it anymore i feel like im running out of time i feel like im pressed against the wall of time and maturity and what i have to become.
She was extremely close to him. Standing near the railing of the cruise ship, she pressed up against his body for warmth and shelter from the stiff breeze that comes along with travelling at 40 knots. The, the unthinkable happened: an iceberg in the midst.
pressssssssssssed. it’s a siss, it’s a sizzle. cramming. cramming what? idea, objects, emotions. you cant gather your thoughts. you can’t fit all your clothes. you can’t let your emotions out. the word itself it pressing.
writing is a good hobby
I pressed the down button on the controller so the channel would change. I hated the TV show that was on because it reminded me of the life I used to have. Back when I was happy and had everything I wanted and more than I needed. Before I lost everything I had to the one person I loved the most.
time is pressed. Everything is involved with time. Time is precious, yet fleeting. No one can turn back time, and that is what makes it so pressed. It is hard to manage time correctly, but you dont have to feel overwhelmed by running out of time if you just relax and use time to your advantage.
Pressed is to feel the world around you, feeling it pressuring you into something you don’t nessisarily want to do, or be.
My stomach is twisting in knots that are now being invented. There is a hand pressing down and it won’t stop. For just one minute I wish the hand would stop. I wish that I could feel normal again. I wish that for one minute my stomach would untwist and I could breathe again.
She stared at the carnation for a moment, wondered at the brief, unheeded life it lived before falling from some tuxedo lapel. Would it know how neglected it was? Could it understand that luck of the draw had landed him the hungover groomsman, when some lucky bud had been fortunate enough to be chosen by the father of the bride, destined to spend the rest of eternity pressed in the family Bible?
Pressed for time, I hurried down the hall toward the elevator. I hit the button furiously, wishing that would somehow that would actually speed it to my floor. The doors finally opened and I squeezed into the overcrowded space, thinking how my shirt was going to be wrinkled by standing too close to so many people.
smooth clean juicy yummy nice apple carrot hot
the little boy pressed his nose up against the window pane. He wanted the train. It was chugging around the tracks, full of purpose and it magnificently kept on moving through the tunnel and over the hills. The glass was fogging up with the warmth of his breath on the cold winters day. He wanted that bright red train.
Here we are,
pressed against each other,
hearing each other for the first time it seems.
How could it be that such a simple task
took so long to accomplish?
I wonder what he is thinking.
I wonder how he feels
as he is pressed,
pressed against my skin.
I wonder if he can feel my heart beating,
pounding.
I am so anxious.
I want his lips
pressed to mine.
Here we are,
pressed against each other,
hearing each other for the first time it seems.
How could it be that such a simple task
took so long to accomplish?
I wonder what he is thinking.
I wonder how he feels
as he is pressed,
pressed against my skin.
you pressed your thumb
to the tip of my breast
feasted,
left me so dazed
invigorated by your taste
let’s not waste,
the moment
the luminous orb in the heavens
shielding and nurturing
let’s mold into the ground
our dance one with the vines
wrapped around each other
like the bee to the honey
sweet delightful sin
never ending bliss
My immediate thought would be of the unity between two harmonious bodies. Out of habit, I reluctantly dismiss this thought to the place where all inappropriate and most inconvenient of its kind go, and I very soon replace it by that which reminds me how pressed I am for time.
Pressed on you. Pressed upon you. Pressed up on you. Pressed to your hips, pressed to your lips. Pressed up to you like it was our last chance. Pressed to the wall, pressed to ground, pressed up to your lips until you make a sound. Pressed here, pressed there, pressed almost everywhere.
Pressed. Pressed for time. Pressed for money. Pressed to do the right thing. Pressed to iron out all the kinks. Pressure. Pressure to be perfect. Pressure to be successful. Depressed. Maybe if we didn’t have so much pressure to be amazing and be more than we ever dreamed, we’d have some time to decompress.
The sunlight presented in shafts with motes of dust. I peered into the room, noting time had stopped. The floorboards scuffed shiny through the dust. The walls dripped faded icecream colours. The magic intricacy of the pressed ceiling won my heart.
ironing. pressed for time. perm press. I pressed a button and now I’m 50 years back in time. but now I’m pressed for time to return to my own time in order to pick up my pressed shirt for an event that I’m being pressed to attend. I’m pressed the eff out man.
I was pressed for time that was certain.
But where was I going to go. Where could I run? Everything was open. There was no place to go.
I bit my nails as I fretted about my situation. Pulling my rucksack close I rushed into a train terminal and slipped into the darkness. I shut my eyes tightly and with a sucking noise I was gone. I was sucked back onto land someplace where snow was falling heavily. I looked around and saw a town not too far off and headed there.
First things first. I needed to find someplace to eat and sleep.
I pressed my hand into the heat of his neck, flowing upwards through his dark locks.
My hands were always cold. He is perpetually warm
Perfection. And this is why we’re best friends.
i used to iron clothes for my besties mom. she would pay me fifty cents a piece to iron her husband’s shirts and slacks. i would take them to my apartment and iron while watching tv. she would always ask “how many pieces have you pressed?”