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| Sick for a week and a half. 96 pounds and still too nauseated to eat much. I'm getting really tired of this. I'd be happy if even all I could get down was pizza! (and that's a first, for me) | | |
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Sometimes you lose people. Sometimes they were what you needed to
lose.l Cutting away a dead limb that you were always use to playing on,
because it hurt to drag it around with you everywhere you go. A fresh
start, a new love, a different time and place and pain eases like a
scar replacing a scab. You can wish them well, or ill, but revenge will
never make it any easier. Nobody cares where the light is anymore,
because we're too use to groping uselessly in the dark, where mistakes
and blushes can be hidden and not remembered. Remember your mistakes,
cherish them,b ut never repeat them. Refuse to let them take you down
again, but don't every forget the lesson you learned from what hurt you
to begin with.
Sometimes you lose people. They may not have
been what you needed to lose, or needed to keep, they're just people
you lvoe, laugh with, and love with, but that doesn't mean they ar to
remain in your life forever. You have to let go sometimes,
because not every thing is for every time and every place. There is no
such thing as a change for better, or for worse, only a further set of
choices for you to change yourself and those around you in ways that
may hurt, may not. "Don't hesitate, and go. "-Myv.
Sometimes
you lose people. They may be people who pushed you away, who you pushed
away, or you just drifted apart like dead leaves from a tree in a
gentle, but pursuasive breeze. It's not always bad, the casual distance
between those who don't have the time, but never forget their value and
worth as people, and of yourself. Distance doesn't always mean that
there is hate or pain...it's just distance. Speak honestly, and never
assume you understand.
Sometimes you lose people...sometimes you find people.
So that is how I learned the lesson that everyone is alone. And your eyes must do some raining if you are ever going to grow. But when crying don't help and you can't compose yourself. It is best to compose a poem, an honest verse of longing or simple song of hope. -bright eyes, Bowl of Oranges
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| Dear friend, Once upon a time, you made sense to me. There was laughter, tears, joy and heartache but it all made <i>sense</i>. You still do, in some small, ways, but time and distance aches and breaks and I don't know the color of your eyes anymore. Eyes, windows of the soul and I can't see the color, the shape, hue and expression of your soul that use to peek out like rabbits among the most vibrant flowers.
I smiled sardonically, and I didn't put as much effort into making it a completely 'happy' expression. We had gotten older. I had gotten older. So had my smiles. The muscles felt tired. But, for him, I could try.
I hope it all gets better.
S.
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| I dreamed about you last night, with the stars in your eyes and hair silver and shining like the moon. The bright eyed look and the sweet-sad sharpness of your face. "Why, perish the thought," you murmured, and laughed at the irony before waltzing us down corridors of groceries and over the counters of the bag 'n save that's a dozen blocks away.
Ever had that feeling of dreadful inevitability? Like Zach's scribbled-chalk words the morning of our English AP exam, "IMMINENT DEATH!" Only much more sneaky?
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