Oh, it's just perfection.
There there baby
It's just text book stuff
It's in the ABC of growing up
Now now darling
Oh don't lose your head
Cause none of us were angels
And you know I love you yeah
I miss it. I just wish it was yesterday. I'm going to write a story. I have so many other things to do, but I'm ok with just expressing Liz right now.
I am in a mystical sad mood. I feel so disappointed in a way. I don't know. I'm just sort of wistful. Maybe a little wispy and dreamy. I feel like forgetting, but I just can't. I'm quixotic.
You know what I adore about shopping at the Salvation Army? I love finding value in things that people didn't want. There's always a part of me that is so proud of the fact that I've discovered perfection in what others saw as trash.
I wonder if we're worth a little less when used - or if we love just a little less. Maybe we value the love we possess even more because of our past failures? It would have been so much easier if everything would have worked out the first time, so we probably do value it - but it's a lot more inconvenient. I doubt love is supposed to be convenient though.
Maybe I wonder too much.
Maybe I hate too much.
Maybe I lie too often.
My lies are so nice though. If I told people the truth, it would be a disaster. It would make me a wreck.
I can't forget, so how can I expect others to forget?
Because I desperately want them to.
I think I need some alone time. I had a dream last night that shook me up. Nothing about death or terrible beasts, but continual indecision. I'm always a little worried about showing feeling, especially if it could change things. I'm sure no one enjoys change or exposing themselves to other people, but I'm just afraid of acting as if I'm hurt. I don't mind that I get hurt occasionally, but my greatest fear is that others will see how hurt I am.
It's just text book stuff
It's in the ABC of growing up
Now now darling
Oh don't lose your head
Cause none of us were angels
And you know I love you yeah
I miss it. I just wish it was yesterday. I'm going to write a story. I have so many other things to do, but I'm ok with just expressing Liz right now.
I am in a mystical sad mood. I feel so disappointed in a way. I don't know. I'm just sort of wistful. Maybe a little wispy and dreamy. I feel like forgetting, but I just can't. I'm quixotic.
You know what I adore about shopping at the Salvation Army? I love finding value in things that people didn't want. There's always a part of me that is so proud of the fact that I've discovered perfection in what others saw as trash.
I wonder if we're worth a little less when used - or if we love just a little less. Maybe we value the love we possess even more because of our past failures? It would have been so much easier if everything would have worked out the first time, so we probably do value it - but it's a lot more inconvenient. I doubt love is supposed to be convenient though.
Maybe I wonder too much.
Maybe I hate too much.
Maybe I lie too often.
My lies are so nice though. If I told people the truth, it would be a disaster. It would make me a wreck.
I can't forget, so how can I expect others to forget?
Because I desperately want them to.
I think I need some alone time. I had a dream last night that shook me up. Nothing about death or terrible beasts, but continual indecision. I'm always a little worried about showing feeling, especially if it could change things. I'm sure no one enjoys change or exposing themselves to other people, but I'm just afraid of acting as if I'm hurt. I don't mind that I get hurt occasionally, but my greatest fear is that others will see how hurt I am.