You are the best thing
I never asked for.
Going to paradise, see you all in a week.
19 November 2010
15 November 2010
Light
Ain't it funny how one thing can make your day better?
Things will pass. Things will go on. You will see happiness again, and your hard work will pay off.
Thank you for your help, you have no idea what it means to me.
Things will pass. Things will go on. You will see happiness again, and your hard work will pay off.
Thank you for your help, you have no idea what it means to me.
"It is easy in the world to live after the world's opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after our own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude."
-Ralph Waldo Emerson
Thank you.
14 November 2010
11 November 2010
Empty
It's kind of strange that I wrote this before yesterday. But I wrote it, and I feel as though I should share it.
It's funny how we age. We grow older and lines scar our eyes where we once smiled, and as those lines increase, the lines on our brains deepen with things we have learned.
Your arms grow tired of embraces, and your legs grow tired of walking, of searching.
The spaces between your fingers have widened from holding so many others, and your fingers need rest.
It's funny how we learn. How we seemed so young, so innocent, so vulnerable just yesterday, a million chances we have yet to take and thousands of facts we have yet to discover.
With each day, we age, we learn, we survive. The earth has years of stories beneath its ever-changing surface, carved by mountains and rivers, tales that are waiting to be told.
But just because we age does not mean we are old, and just because we learn does not mean we are wise. We are never those qualities in our own eyes, but rather the eyes of others. You are not wise until you are told so, and we are not old until we compare with someone younger.
Age is not about a number, it's about the time you have had to learn. Wisdom is not about the standards of intelligence, it is about the experiences you have had, what you get out of them, and what you choose to do with them.
Intelligence should not be categorized by numbers, but rather your potential to teach.
It's funny how we age. We grow older and lines scar our eyes where we once smiled, and as those lines increase, the lines on our brains deepen with things we have learned.
Your arms grow tired of embraces, and your legs grow tired of walking, of searching.
The spaces between your fingers have widened from holding so many others, and your fingers need rest.
It's funny how we learn. How we seemed so young, so innocent, so vulnerable just yesterday, a million chances we have yet to take and thousands of facts we have yet to discover.
With each day, we age, we learn, we survive. The earth has years of stories beneath its ever-changing surface, carved by mountains and rivers, tales that are waiting to be told.
But just because we age does not mean we are old, and just because we learn does not mean we are wise. We are never those qualities in our own eyes, but rather the eyes of others. You are not wise until you are told so, and we are not old until we compare with someone younger.
Age is not about a number, it's about the time you have had to learn. Wisdom is not about the standards of intelligence, it is about the experiences you have had, what you get out of them, and what you choose to do with them.
Intelligence should not be categorized by numbers, but rather your potential to teach.
10 November 2010
End
Death is a profound thing. It makes you feel and it makes you numb at the same time. You drive down the road and see the moon, only to realize he will never see the moon again. He will never see his son's game-winning goal or his daughter's tear soaked face as she drapes her body across his. Your heart aches and your mind races but you have no words to say, but nothing comes to your lips except an empty "I'm sorry."
It does not matter how many times you have visited their house or conversations you have had with them, your heart will always be bruised by their absence, an aching to bring them back for the sake of their family.
What were once laughs turn into choked gasps, struggles for air as your heart and mind collide in forming sounds.
Death is a profound thing.
John Hindle, know that although you have not directly impacted my life, your loss has affected hundreds if not thousands around you. Your family has provided some light in my life and know that we will always be thinking of you.
It does not matter how many times you have visited their house or conversations you have had with them, your heart will always be bruised by their absence, an aching to bring them back for the sake of their family.
What were once laughs turn into choked gasps, struggles for air as your heart and mind collide in forming sounds.
Death is a profound thing.
John Hindle, know that although you have not directly impacted my life, your loss has affected hundreds if not thousands around you. Your family has provided some light in my life and know that we will always be thinking of you.
09 November 2010
Stumble
"Because of you, in gardens of blossoming flowers I ache from the perfumes of spring.
I have forgotten your face, I no longer remember your hands; how did your lips feel on mine?
Because of you, I love the white statues drowsing in the parks, the white statues that have neither voice nor sight.
I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice; I have forgotten your eyes.
Like a flower to its perfume, I am bound to my vague memory of you. I live with pain that is like a wound; if you touch me, you will do irreparable harm.
Your caresses enfold me, like climbing vines on melancholy walls.
I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to glimpse you in every window.
Because of you, the heady perfumes of summer pain me; because of you, I again seek out the signs that precipitate desires; shooting stars, falling objects."
-Pablo Neruda
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