(no subject)
I don't know if i can face him tomorrow... I can barely hear his voice on the phone. I see this ring, and I think of him, and what he's changed in me. Am i happy with these changes? I think so. I'm so pleased with the way I look at myself in the mirror now, the way I see what's here. I don't know why I didn't see it before, but He's lifted this haze from around me, and now... now I can see. I see what I want, what I need, what's not even important anymore.
Sure, I still have my childish ways, but they make me all the sweeter. Sure, I'm still a little tom-boyish at times, but it adds to the boyish way I act around guys, and adds to the attraction. And of course, I'm still a Little Women at times, but It makes my corners all the softer, and eaiser to handle.
So yes, I'd like to think i'm completely happy with myself now. If only these feelings didn't come with such a price tag... but I guess I have expensive taste. Maybe some of the greatist art was created only after it had been broken, and fixed again.
I think the tought of him, might possibly hold me over, and into the school year. My memories of him shall be my pillar's of beautiful strenghth. Memories. Thats all we are, aren't we? If a child doesn't remember the lesson he was taught, it makes him no better. So am I to remember these horrible feelings brewing i the pit of my very being, or at least the pit of what I think to be my existence, and am I to look back on them and remember that this is what hurts, and not to try it again? humph. We are beings of emotion, and sway with the slightest breeze of pain, love, hate, empathy. Why can't this young reed become a great oak tree, and stand up to the hurricanes of human emotion?
But maybe I am the oak tree, falling hard and loud, complaining to the reed below me that, had I swayed to the winds as he had, than i might of faired the storm as well as he had. Despair is a horrible feeling, an utter bleakness in the depths of my soul, no light there, just dusk, and not the dusk of night. no, that would be to beautiful. No, the dusk brewing in my being is dark, without warmth or kindness. hateful, painful, torchersome.
Enough of my bother.
I fling my emotions to the wind, to be carried off, and to swell within that horrible soul crawling benieth the skins of the many men who rule the young, who rule the weak, who rule the pitiful. May my true sorrow eat away at thier sad excuses of anger, and show them that thier anger is nothing. thier pain is simple pleasure to those whom they trample.
Sure, I still have my childish ways, but they make me all the sweeter. Sure, I'm still a little tom-boyish at times, but it adds to the boyish way I act around guys, and adds to the attraction. And of course, I'm still a Little Women at times, but It makes my corners all the softer, and eaiser to handle.
So yes, I'd like to think i'm completely happy with myself now. If only these feelings didn't come with such a price tag... but I guess I have expensive taste. Maybe some of the greatist art was created only after it had been broken, and fixed again.
I think the tought of him, might possibly hold me over, and into the school year. My memories of him shall be my pillar's of beautiful strenghth. Memories. Thats all we are, aren't we? If a child doesn't remember the lesson he was taught, it makes him no better. So am I to remember these horrible feelings brewing i the pit of my very being, or at least the pit of what I think to be my existence, and am I to look back on them and remember that this is what hurts, and not to try it again? humph. We are beings of emotion, and sway with the slightest breeze of pain, love, hate, empathy. Why can't this young reed become a great oak tree, and stand up to the hurricanes of human emotion?
But maybe I am the oak tree, falling hard and loud, complaining to the reed below me that, had I swayed to the winds as he had, than i might of faired the storm as well as he had. Despair is a horrible feeling, an utter bleakness in the depths of my soul, no light there, just dusk, and not the dusk of night. no, that would be to beautiful. No, the dusk brewing in my being is dark, without warmth or kindness. hateful, painful, torchersome.
Enough of my bother.
I fling my emotions to the wind, to be carried off, and to swell within that horrible soul crawling benieth the skins of the many men who rule the young, who rule the weak, who rule the pitiful. May my true sorrow eat away at thier sad excuses of anger, and show them that thier anger is nothing. thier pain is simple pleasure to those whom they trample.