14 October 2008
unpack this overflowing bag of a heart and show me what i've forgotten.
what i packed and let fall to the bottom burroughs.
show me how to care. because all i know now is how to shrug my shoulders and move on.
show me. remind me how i used to hold on, how i used to cry.
unpack this heavy heart so i can remember to not forget. unpack my heart that used to be so fragile.
what i packed and let fall to the bottom burroughs.
show me how to care. because all i know now is how to shrug my shoulders and move on.
show me. remind me how i used to hold on, how i used to cry.
unpack this heavy heart so i can remember to not forget. unpack my heart that used to be so fragile.
this loveseat hasn't seen love in quite some time.
to be accurate it's a singlegirlseat.
the closest its cushions get to love is when books get left behind, or when the television glares at its upholstery.
this piece of furniture has the hardest name to live up to. if it never feels the throes of passion or witnesses a shiver, is it stil considered a "love seat"? does it become an elongated arm chair? just a seat? what happens in the absence of love?
and what about me? if i haven't seen love in quite some time, will i ever remember it? if i've let it slip through my fingers before, will i be able to hold on next time?
will there be a next time?
will i ever see love? will i ever be able to bring it home?
to be accurate it's a singlegirlseat.
the closest its cushions get to love is when books get left behind, or when the television glares at its upholstery.
this piece of furniture has the hardest name to live up to. if it never feels the throes of passion or witnesses a shiver, is it stil considered a "love seat"? does it become an elongated arm chair? just a seat? what happens in the absence of love?
and what about me? if i haven't seen love in quite some time, will i ever remember it? if i've let it slip through my fingers before, will i be able to hold on next time?
will there be a next time?
will i ever see love? will i ever be able to bring it home?
13 October 2008
With the swipe of an eraser, you can erase history. I never loved him, she was never my best friend. But with the strokes of the pen, you can rewrite it. Make sad stories not so bad - at least for those reading. For those interested. It's not that I loved him and he didn't love me back...we just didn't mesh well together. Actually, it's not that I "loved" him at all - he was the only one there. As a result of having no one else around, I decided he was good enough. My otherwise high standards were lowered so that he would fit them.
History is about lessons
learned so they aren't repeated.
Be kind.
Rewrite your history
so you can learn the lessons
no one else can teach you.
History is about lessons
learned so they aren't repeated.
Be kind.
Rewrite your history
so you can learn the lessons
no one else can teach you.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)