the forgotten
anonymous
November 14 2010, 15:17:11 UTC
hello, in the emptiness of the night, i did what i usually do: google random words and read what comes out of it. (i would like to recommend matador network. it's the most useful site to me now.) i've read a few of your entries in the past 10 minutes and have managed to piece together a somewhat fragmented story that i find hauntingly familiar. the 'he' you speak of deserves no name. i am glad you have relegated him into the nether regions of Pronouns.
if 'he' is anything like the 'he's i knew in my lifetime, then here is the story i would like to share: there was once a boy who refused to grow up. he would dip his greedy fingers into every box of candy, every tin of cookies, every bag of treats to taste the lovely joys life has to offer. but when things got sticky and he had to clean up, he would up and go. run away to the next store and enjoy himself again. in his wake, he left a trail of broken crumbs and candy stains that may or may not go away. this boy had many talents, talents which he used to distract the People while he took away their sweets and treats, their smiles and their tweets. when the People caught him, which they sometimes (not often) did, he would swallow all the candy he could and laugh at them, hurling the words of hardened candy through the air and hurting them where it would hurt most. the candy would hit the People and stick on their bodies everywhere and so the People clung on to him. desperate to cut him off and yet terribly stuck on to him. in the quiet of the night, when the boy thought no one was around, he would unbutton his jacket and touch the hole in his chest. the hole would be filled with the candy he stole but every day, one by one, the candy would fall out of the hole and he would have to look for more.
nobody can fill that hole for him. the candy he steals can never be enough.
moral of the story: a man who cannot govern his Self cannot be expected to be on equal terms with a woman. he must be alone with his Self and learn to master it, before he can be expected to be accepts by a woman.
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in the emptiness of the night, i did what i usually do: google random words and read what comes out of it.
(i would like to recommend matador network. it's the most useful site to me now.)
i've read a few of your entries in the past 10 minutes and have managed to piece together a somewhat fragmented story that i find hauntingly familiar.
the 'he' you speak of deserves no name. i am glad you have relegated him into the nether regions of Pronouns.
if 'he' is anything like the 'he's i knew in my lifetime, then here is the story i would like to share:
there was once a boy who refused to grow up. he would dip his greedy fingers into every box of candy, every tin of cookies, every bag of treats to taste the lovely joys life has to offer. but when things got sticky and he had to clean up, he would up and go. run away to the next store and enjoy himself again. in his wake, he left a trail of broken crumbs and candy stains that may or may not go away.
this boy had many talents, talents which he used to distract the People while he took away their sweets and treats, their smiles and their tweets. when the People caught him, which they sometimes (not often) did, he would swallow all the candy he could and laugh at them, hurling the words of hardened candy through the air and hurting them where it would hurt most. the candy would hit the People and stick on their bodies everywhere and so the People clung on to him. desperate to cut him off and yet terribly stuck on to him.
in the quiet of the night, when the boy thought no one was around, he would unbutton his jacket and touch the hole in his chest. the hole would be filled with the candy he stole but every day, one by one, the candy would fall out of the hole and he would have to look for more.
nobody can fill that hole for him. the candy he steals can never be enough.
moral of the story: a man who cannot govern his Self cannot be expected to be on equal terms with a woman. he must be alone with his Self and learn to master it, before he can be expected to be accepts by a woman.
you are a woman. you are not his Mother.
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