The story of Wednessday evening.
I sit in a cold metal chair next to the airconditioner vent which turns the chair into an icicle. I'm the only one awake at this late hour and with being bored most of the day I hop online. Nothing is new. My hotmail account is overflowing with Bullshit that I can't relate to and no one is on to chat so I flip the pages to my live journal.
I do the usual checking to see if anything is new. Nothing. But when I went to my info page a new name was there. Andrew, copper top, added me as one of his friends for live journal. I thought it weird to have a bully add you to his list, though strangely I do feel in a way rather honoured.
I read a few pages of other people listed on my friends or friends of list. Then I came across a rather upsetting entry. It was two lines at most and it was all I needed to forcast the flood which ran down my face.
My cheeks stung with the salty tears and I couldn't see anything. My heart was stabbed and ripped open by the knife of pain as I gasped for breath in between. I should not have worn the shirt I was wearing that night, a big jersy that I only wore to remind me of times where I was most happiest. The jersy was a hug which engulfs me into flashbacks of the warmest hugs and the best kisses. Where are they now? On the thoughts of another girl. Am I overeacting? That I am not sure of.
What I am sure of though is the deffinate pain which I thought would never effect me, did. I never realized how much he meant to me, how dear he was to me. But all of that now is crinkeled in the back of my mind.
Floods are terrible. With the force they move on they ruin entire vasts of precious land and buildings. For the time that was spent building and harvesting, are lost. People will always remember where the Burger King and the forest used to stand but they would have to just move on to another place and rebuild. Many people died and many suffered from losing everything they had but most suffered because of the pain which all felt for the loss of what or who they loved.
Crinkled pages of pleasent memories stuck in the back of the head can be unfolded but will never be perfect again.
I need a drink...lol!