tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78568070399389336872024-03-08T09:50:48.995-08:00paper heart 19This blog is my heart.
My paper heart.
My lessons learned.
My happiness.
My questions.
My heartbreaks.
My feelings on paper.
This blog is me.iamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00999015496203401926noreply@blogger.comBlogger20125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7856807039938933687.post-70804544840168749342013-05-26T20:41:00.000-07:002013-05-26T20:41:08.996-07:00Make Up Your MindI love my relationship with my mom.<br />
We're best friends.<br />
We tell each other everything.<br />
We have countless inside jokes.<br />
We do everything together.<br />
Most envy our relationship.<br />
But to be honest, I hate it sometimes.<br />
Sometimes I just want her to be my mom.<br />
And yet other times, I just want her to be my friend.<br />
There's a fine line between mother and friend.<br />
There is no distinction between the two boundaries for my mom and I, until that one moment when she snaps.<br />
She'll be all buddy-buddy with me, and then all of a sudden she'll pull the mom card and decide to tell me right from wrong and so on and so forth.<br />
It's quite annoying.<br />
Just make up your mind already. iamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00999015496203401926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7856807039938933687.post-24910324961831793542013-04-01T07:04:00.001-07:002013-04-01T07:06:11.126-07:00My story...condensed into 600 words<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
I am not like many high school
students. My high school experience has been everything but normal. I have had
to overcome pain, frustration, and having everything I valued as important to
me taken away. When I started freshman year, I had it all: looks, brains,
talent, athleticism. My personality was molded into what the world wanted to
see. But I was spiritually broken. Two months into freshman year, I got two
severe concussions in one weekend. Pain, headaches, and medication became daily
vocabulary words. Academics became nearly impossible. Reading and writing were
chores that I avoided at all costs. Every day, I suffered debilitating
headaches. I was spiritually broken before, but now I was emotionally and
physically broken as well. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
As the school year went on, my condition
became worse. The doctors diagnosed me with a severe case of Post-Concussive Syndrome.
Supportive friends grew tired of helping me with homework. Teachers started
asking me why I even bothered coming to school. I got special treatment during
tests, homework extensions, and excuses from class often, and other classmates
began to comment, as if they were jealous of me. Many asked why I wasn't healed
yet, like I knew the answer to that. I felt so alone, so lost. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
Every day, I silently suffered, questioning
God and trying to reason with Him. I convinced myself that I was a pretty godly
person. I did all the "Christian" things I should do. I believed that
my injury was all for nothing, and I hadn't learned anything through this. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
Over the summer, I had recommitted
my life to Christ, which was becoming an annual happening, unfortunately. I
would go to summer camp, be filled with the Holy Spirit, come home, and go back
to my old ways. When I started school that fall, I felt something missing. My
head was pretty much the same, though the three therapies I went through during
the spring and summer helped a little bit. My friends came back from the summer
break and were more ungodly than ever, even the "Christian" kids. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
Through a series of God-given
events and opportunities, I began attending Christian Heritage Academy Upper
School on October 23, 2013. I loved it. I felt connected socially,
academically, and, mostly, spiritually. My family saw a change in my behavior
almost instantly. I listened to them,
respected them, and got along with my siblings. I paid attention and learned during
family devotions, instead of rolling my eyes and not caring. My mom and I
listened to Christian radio in the morning ride to school instead of country
music, much to her delight. I thought before I spoke, prayed often and hard,
and wanted to please God in everything I did. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
Now, looking back on last year, I
can see why I had my accident. I don't question God, but I obey Him. His plans
are much better than mine will ever be. If I didn't receive my injury, I
wouldn't be where I am today. I would be playing varsity soccer at my old high
school, partying, slacking off academically, and disobeying God. My life would
look so good from the outside, but be so broken on the inside. I am so thankful
that the Lord led me from my plans and guided me to His path for me, a path
that I can have confidence in and security. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
My high school experience has been
a roller coaster ride, but without everything, I wouldn't be who I am today.
And I will be eternally grateful for that. </div>
iamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00999015496203401926noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7856807039938933687.post-85370482583135190802013-02-11T13:20:00.000-08:002013-02-11T13:21:51.282-08:00Insecurities We all have those little insecurities that aren't very noticeable to others, yet to that person they are.<br />
You don't want to point them out, because once you do, they're magnified. And everyone listens.<br />
I have one insecurity that has become worse through my concussion.<br />
If you listen to me talk, you can tell that I can't pronounce 'ch', 'sh', 'g', or 'j'. It comes out funky.<br />
I confided in my best friend and told her how embarrassed I get about it.<br />
She understood, as she has her own insecurities as well. I asked her not to say anything about that and she promised she wouldn't. <br />
About a month after that, she stopped me when I was talking privately with her and started imitating me.<br />
It really bothered me, but I tried to keep the conversation going.<br />
I thought she was just being silly, as I get with her a lot.<br />
But I began to see a trend. When we were talking just the two of us, she'd giggle and stuff whenever I said one of those consonants.<br />
Today, she completely betrayed me and teased me about it in front of her "former" crush and my former crush as well. When I looked at her, I couldn't even recognize her. She was laughing at my expense. Getting him to laugh with her at my expense.<br />
I would never even think of doing that to her, and yet it seemed so easy for her to tease me about my insecurities, as well as my personality.<br />
I think this friendship needs a little vacation.iamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00999015496203401926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7856807039938933687.post-18949689331398845402013-01-20T14:10:00.000-08:002013-01-20T14:10:33.505-08:00SometimesSometimes, I think of you.<br />
I wonder what you're doing right now.<br />
Sometimes, I remember the memories we shared.<br />
I looks at the pictures, read the letters, and feel what we were feeling then.<br />
Sometimes, I get sad.<br />
I realize things will never be the same. That what happened will never happen again. That I will never be the center of his life. That, one day, someone else will make him laugh.<br />
But then, it hits me.<br />
One day, I'll have someone that will make me laugh. That will be the center of my life. And new memories will be made.<br />
Sometimes, we have a hard time letting go.<br />
We tend to hold on too tightly.<br />
But what we don't know is that there's someone out there for us.<br />
We hold onto our first love because we're scared we're never going to find that again.<br />
We live in fear of not being loved like that.<br />
We're scared to step out.<br />
We don't understand that there's a better person for us.<br />
Sometimes, I take a step back and remember that you aren't meant for me.<br />
And that I'll find someone who will treat me much better than you ever did.<br />
Because, someday, you're going to come looking for me.<br />
But you won't find me.<br />
Because, eventually, I'll find him.<br />
And I'll know for sure that I don't need you. iamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00999015496203401926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7856807039938933687.post-88745297833236113182013-01-20T13:56:00.000-08:002013-01-20T13:59:38.588-08:00Charging RhinosI lose myself in your eyes.<br />
They're the coziest eyes I've ever seen. Their hazel hue makes me feel safe, comfortable.<br />
You catch me staring and I look away, embarrassed.<br />
I feel my cheeks turn red and I suddenly become focused on what the teacher is saying. I scribble some notes down, though they are barely legible, because my hands are shaking.<br />
After class, you set your things down across from where I'm sitting.<br />
You smile at me, and your eyes light up.<br />
My heart jumps, and I feel that familiar blush creep into my cheeks, warming them.<br />
I pretend to be interested in something else, but I can't focus.<br />
I want to run away and stay forever at the same time.<br />
I'm trying so hard to pay attention to something, anything.<br />
Self-control has never been one of my strong suits.<br />
I'm trying so hard to keep myself from rushing into anything.<br />
Patience has never been one of my strong suits, either.<br />
I suddenly remember past relationships, the train wrecks they'd become, the hurt and pain I went through, that I put them through.<br />
I don't want this to end that way.<br />
I don't want another relationship to fizzle out, and to have to ignore you.<br />
I come back to reality and I watch as you walk over to me, telling me about the latest gadget in the technology.<br />
I try to concentrate on what you're saying, but I get lost in your eyes again.<br />
They somehow draw me in and I find it hard to speak.<br />
I've never been speechless before. Maybe a couple of times.<br />
The butterflies in my stomach feel like stampeding rhinos.<br />
I want this game to end, and yet I want it to drag on endlessly at the same time.<br />
I'm so scared and so happy at the same time.<br />
You listen to me, give me advice, and make me smile almost everyday.<br />
And yet I feel trapped.<br />
I'm scared for what lies ahead.<br />
I don't want to ignore you and pretend like nothing happened, like I have so many times before.<br />
I don't want another fight, another heartache, another relationship in ruins.<br />
I meet your eyes again, and I fight the charging rhinos in my stomach.<br />
And hopelessly lose myself in your eyes.iamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00999015496203401926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7856807039938933687.post-46796602859080275732012-11-18T15:36:00.000-08:002012-11-18T15:36:01.517-08:00Health health healthSo many things have changed. New school. New haircut. New health issues. New problems everyday.<br />
I've been diagnosed with Meniere's disease, which is a disease of the inner ear that can be caused by head trauma, like my concussion. It's not that big of a deal, except it brings on these terrible attacks. I get dizzy, sick to my stomach, weak, and tired. These attacks can last for a few minutes, a couple hours, or, as it happened last week, several days. There's no cure (yet), but there are ways to control it, like staying away from things that can trigger it. For me, that's caffeine and sugar. Which I love so dearly. I'm so worried about having an attack at the most inconvenient time, which normally happens. I'm just trying to adjust right now, because that's all I can do.<br />
<br />
"I am leaving you with a gift--peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give is a gift the world cannot give. So don't be troubled or afraid..." John 14:27<br />
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<br />iamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00999015496203401926noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7856807039938933687.post-88064412470206757482012-07-04T17:08:00.001-07:002012-07-04T17:08:31.463-07:00With New Memories Come New FeelingsSo since I got some (a lot, actually) memory back, I've got some new feelings I have to deal with again.
Especially memories about him.
He was everything to me. My "first love" as well as best friend.
He was also my first real heartbreak.
For almost two years I kept my distance and didn't talk to him after he broke my heart.
I finally got over him eight months before my concussion.
An now I can only remember the boy I loved, not the boy who made me feel miserable.
It's a terrible feeling, getting over someone and them falling for him again.
It's like climbing a mountain and finally reaching the top, only finding yourself sliding back down and having to start all over.
I have vivid images of us, the way we were.
And then I have to remind myself of how we haven't spoken in a year and how I can't just go "hang out" with him and how I've fallen for him all over again.
I need to remember the boy who broke my heart so I can protect myself from him.iamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00999015496203401926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7856807039938933687.post-54551091804475691252012-06-22T09:03:00.000-07:002012-06-22T09:03:34.070-07:00Go back part 5: New Hope and Old MemoriesIn about a week, it will be 8 months since my concussion. I'm still not healed, but I'm getting there.
Through a lucky string of events, I have new hope for my soccer career
I had physical therapy for a long time before switching over neurofeedback, or which I call brain therapy.
The point of brain therapy is to alter the way my brainwaves work. After the hits, my brainwaves created a new pattern, therefore not functioning properly. This caused anxiety, massive headaches and memory loss.
Lately, I've gotten some memory back, but. It necessarily memory that I want back.
That's the tricky thing: I've gotten used to not knowing that it's taking a lot to get used to knowing these old memories.
My life is a legit roller coaster right now. One minutes I'm at the top, the next I'm hurling downwards, and other times I'm spiraling out of control.iamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00999015496203401926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7856807039938933687.post-15507325785627351152012-02-25T14:34:00.000-08:002012-02-25T14:34:19.263-08:00What Now?*<em>Each line of the post has a different person in mind...</em>*<br />
<br />
You push me down.<br />
I get back up and say, "What now?".<br />
You trample on me.<br />
I get back up and say, "What now?".<br />
You come into my life. <br />
I fall in love with you.<br />
You break my heart.<br />
I pick up its shattered pieces and glue them back together.<br />
I look up and say, "What now?".<br />
You call me fat. <br />
I laugh and say, "What now?". <br />
You say I'll never be good enough. <br />
I say, "What now?".<br />
You compete with me and think that you'll win.<br />
I beat you every time and say, "What now?".<br />
You make fun of me.<br />
You point me out because of medical problems.<br />
You make me feel so small. <br />
You hurt my family.<br />
You kick me to the ground and hold me there.<br />
I wrestle free and say, "What now?". <br />
You don't understand what you can never keep me down.<br />
I smile and say, "What now?".<br />
<br />
<br />
"When I am afraid, I put my trust in you.<br />
In God, whose word I praise— <br />
in God I trust and am not afraid. <br />
What can mere mortals do to me?"<br />
Psalm 56: 3-4iamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00999015496203401926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7856807039938933687.post-59436568220525658372012-02-25T14:23:00.000-08:002012-02-25T14:23:51.965-08:00I Know, But I Don'tTwo years. 730 days. 17520 hours. <br />
On January 27, 2012, I reached the two-year mark of our short-lived relationship.<br />
I don't remember a lot of it.<br />
I know we went out, but I don't know why.<br />
I know he gave the best massages, but I can't remember the way they felt.<br />
I know he broke my heart, but I can't remember the raw emotion I was feeling.<br />
I know that he loved me and that he hurt me a lot.<br />
I also know that on January 27, 2010, I was completely in love with him.<br />
And I know that on January 27, 2012, I felt absolutely nothing for him. <br />
I tried to read some of the letters he wrote to me, but I couldn't. <br />
Because I don't want to remember how it felt.<br />
I don't want to remember him.iamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00999015496203401926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7856807039938933687.post-23938621523197905672012-01-25T14:38:00.000-08:002012-01-25T14:39:23.266-08:00Go Back: part 4 Today's FutureThe doctor confirmed it.<br />
I can no longer play soccer.<br />
That phrase dones't make sense to me. I refuse to believe it. <br />
I refuse to believe that I will never be able to siut up, jog out, and play on the field. To play on the fresh green grass, feel the wind on my back as I spriont down the field, go for the ball against my opponenet.<br />
But I know it's true.<br />
I'm now missing a part of me.<br />
The doctor says I need to find other things to do. Other hobbies perhaps.<br />
But I can't think of any. My life was soccer.<br />
My heart has always been with soccer.<br />
I don't want to deal with this. <br />
I am so tired of having a constant headache for the past three months.<br />
I shouldn't have to go throigh this.<br />
But I guess God has a reason for everything.<br />
Right?<br />
<br />
"For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11<br />
<br />
"Take delight in the Lord and he will give you your hearts desires." Psalm 37:4<br />
<iframe frameborder="0" height="0" id="stSegmentFrame" name="stSegmentFrame" scrolling="no" src="http://seg.sharethis.com/getSegment.php?purl=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.blogger.com%2Fpost-create.g%3FblogID%3D7856807039938933687&jsref=&rnd=1327531007924" style="display: none;" width="0"></iframe>iamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00999015496203401926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7856807039938933687.post-91600904804461488542012-01-25T14:31:00.000-08:002012-01-25T14:31:32.906-08:00Go Back: part 3 Focus on Right NowAlmost three months have past. <br />
Everyday is a struggle, holding its own surprise--whether it be triumph or set-back.<br />
I miss my sport more and more everyday. I laugh when I think about how I used to complain about a tough game, frustrating practice, or hard coach. At times, I hated soccer. But what I would do to get it all back!<br />
I guess you never know how much you love something until it's gone.<br />
Now, the doctors' words are sinking in.<br />
Now, I have a fear of my sport.<br />
The fear of getting hit again.<br />
The gear of the unknown.<br />
I've never felt fear towards soccer.<br />
Sure, I'd get nervous. Who doesn't?<br />
I get asked a lot, if I could go back to the moment before i got kicked, would I do it and avoid the blow?<br />
I honestly have no answer. I don't know what I'd do.<br />
I just need to focus on right now.iamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00999015496203401926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7856807039938933687.post-68711989051728086822012-01-16T09:57:00.000-08:002012-01-16T09:57:39.537-08:00Go Back part 2: What's Wrong With Me?I can barely read or write.<br />
My head feels like it's been split open, glued back together, and now someone is trying to split it open again.<br />
My words never some out right.<br />
I can't remember what I did yesterday.<br />
I don't remember names, dates, faces, anything.<br />
What's wrong with me?<br />
The doctors say it's a severe concussion. It's going to take up to a year to recover, maybe more. I'll be feeling like this for months.<br />
And I should give up soccer forever.<br />
I firmly told the doctors mo. I will not be ending my soccer career.<br />
It means too much to me.<br />
They try to explain that, if I get hit one more time, I could be paralyzed, unable to speak, or possibly dead.<br />
And yet I still want to go back to my sport.<br />
What's wrong with me?iamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00999015496203401926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7856807039938933687.post-49934202034174720432012-01-16T09:50:00.000-08:002012-01-16T09:50:45.686-08:00Go Back part 1: The Foolish HeroMy mom has always told me before a game to never be a hero. I've always nodded and rolled my eyes at her. I've always thought," It's soccer. I'd rather protect the goal than myself.<br />
I've been taught to sacrifice myself for the net since I was three. And I've never gotten too hurt doing that.<br />
Except that one day.<br />
It was a pick-up game. No refs, no uniforms, no equipment. Just a ball, two goals, and twenty-two players.<br />
This all counted for nothing.<br />
I was defending. I was in complete game mode.<br />
He kicked at the ball, which was about mid-air. I managed to block it from the goal. But his kick hit, not the ball, but the left side of my head. Hard. <br />
I was blown back. My face felt numb and I couldn't see straight. <br />
Something was wrong. Something had happened. <br />
I was the hero my mom told me never to be.<br />
I was the foolish hero.iamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00999015496203401926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7856807039938933687.post-55716828554221788372012-01-10T16:33:00.000-08:002012-01-10T16:33:40.305-08:00I'm Missing You NowI see him. I may have forgotten a lot, but I definitely can remember his face.<br />
His blue-green eyes. <br />
His laugh. His smile.<br />
The feeling of his arms around me.<br />
All those memories that I've tried to suppress pop into my mind.<br />
I feel like crying.<br />
I want him back.<br />
He sees me. He waves.<br />
He smiles his half-smile that used to mean he still loves me, even though I just said something extremely stupid.<br />
I'm certain that this half-smile doesn't have the same meaning. <br />
I return the smile, then walk into the brisk winter air. <br />
I cannot look at him.<br />
My eyes are filled with tears.<br />
For too long, I've tried to pretend that I'd forgotten him.<br />
That he was worthless to me.<br />
The I didn't need him.<br />
But now it was obvious to me that I do remember him, that he does matter to me, and that I do need him.<br />
I bite my lip. The tears keep falling. <br />
I long to run to him and tell him how I feel.<br />
But even more so, I want him to feel the same for me. I let myself remember how I felt about him, about how I feel about him now. <br />
I've spent the last year and a half trying to fill his spot in my heart with other boys. <br />
None of the boys can do that though.<br />
Only he can.<br />
I try to face the truth--that he will always be my first love.<br />
Maybe not my true love, but my first. <br />
And who knows?<br />
Maybe we'll get back together.<br />
Maybe, in a few years, we'll love each other again.<br />
And maybe my first love will turn out to be my true love.<br />
As for right now, I think I need to live in the moment and not worry about the future of the boy I loved.<br />
The boy who not only broke my heart, but still has my heart.iamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00999015496203401926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7856807039938933687.post-87827602267938579442012-01-10T16:17:00.000-08:002012-01-10T16:33:59.193-08:00By NowHe's hurt me. Not physically, but emotionally.<br />
By now, we should be in love, not avoiding each other. <br />
"How many times have you used that line before?"<br />
His words are still ringing in my ears. I see him, walking to class.<br />
He looks up and I catch his eye. He nods. I shoot him a half-smile, while my heart breaks apart.<br />
Why is it that whenever you're trying to get over someone they get cuter every time you see them?<br />
By now, I should be throwing my arms around him, not getting over him.<br />
I look back at him, at his beautiful face, now walking away. <br />
He's hurt me, but have I hurt him?<br />
He turns back. I see his eyes, piercing through mine.<br />
I want to run to him, hug him, kiss him like we used to.<br />
But I don't. <br />
I turn back and keep walking, leaving a part of me behind.iamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00999015496203401926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7856807039938933687.post-61363111332618396602011-11-20T16:53:00.000-08:002011-11-20T16:53:20.945-08:00When I'm Not LookingHe is everything that I want when we're together. <br />
His language is clean.<br />
His morals are innocent. <br />
His hands stay to himself. <br />
He has no prejudices.<br />
He is everything that my parents want as well.<br />
But who is he when I'm not looking?<br />
I see him sonetimes, with others. <br />
He doesn't know I'm there. <br />
He can't see me.<br />
But I can see him. <br />
He is different. <br />
He swears.<br />
He jokes about dirty things.<br />
He's so touchy feely.<br />
He cracks racist one-liners.<br />
He isn't what my parents want at all.<br />
He finally sees me, as I watch his true self.<br />
He pauses.<br />
I turn away.<br />
I feel my heart rip in half. <br />
I wonder how he feels.<br />
Why is he so different when I'm not looking?iamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00999015496203401926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7856807039938933687.post-49461087154280041532011-11-10T10:38:00.000-08:002011-11-10T10:38:38.445-08:00I Told You SoI brace myself for that one phrase.<br />
The rejection.<br />
The end.<br />
I know it's coming. Everyone does.<br />
He's nervous. Even I can tell, though he tries to hide it.<br />
He thinks I dont' know, but I do. <br />
He runs his fingers through his brown hair. The same movement he does when hes about to make a move. <br />
But not this time. <br />
The truth comes out. <br />
It's worse than I thought.<br />
I wasn't enough for him. I never was and never will be. That much is obvious.<br />
He's stopped talking, waiting for my response.<br />
I don't say anything.<br />
Instead, I pretend, that I'm in my room, safe under my blankets, away from heartbreak.<br />
He finally turns away.<br />
I make a noise.<br />
Four words.<br />
"I. Told. You. So."<br />
His face is priceless. He remembers.<br />
He opens his mouth but nothing comes out. <br />
I flash back to our moments, some good, some bad, all meaningless to him.<br />
How can one be so heartless?<br />
Even I don't know.<br />
I mentally make a checklist of things I need to do once this is over: delete all our emails, burn the pictures, shred the letters.<br />
Start all over again.<br />
I am burnt out.<br />
I calmly turn and walk out of the room.<br />
He calls after me, yells, taunts empty and broken promises.<br />
I don't turn around. <br />
I leave it all behind.<br />
I don' care anymore.<br />
I walk away and don't look back.<br />
"I told you so," still ringing in both of our ears.<br />
<em>I've always told you so.</em>iamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00999015496203401926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7856807039938933687.post-26835502687544918362011-11-08T16:41:00.000-08:002011-11-10T10:39:05.608-08:00Beach Heartbreak<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I wait for him. I sit at the water's edge and wait. He knows I'm waiting. I saw him, looking at me through the kitchen window. But he doesn't care. I still wait.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The sun moves to the west; I know it will be dark soon. But I still wait. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">He finally emerges from the place that he hides in, day after day, scared to face me. He has to speak to me. I know it; he knows it. Tomorrow we both leave for home. Tomorrow, it all ends.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">He sits beside me, not talking. I can feel his fear. His fear of the unspoken, of what I might say, of the truth I could speak. He is a coward.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I am patient. He hates me for it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I desperately try to get over him. I can't. There's something about your first love that keeps him coming back, even though you hate it. No matter how hard you try to get him out of your head. He's always there.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Finally, he speaks.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I listen.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">He tries to deny all the wrong he has done against me. I try not to laugh. Instead, I smile and nod, barely hearing the words coming from his lips. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I pretend the words he's saying are the ones he said when we were in love: "You're beautiful" "I trust you" "I'm here for you" "I love you".</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">If I pretend, it doesn't hurt as bad. I fake another smile, suddenly wanting to go. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">He stands up and brushes the sand off his pants. He's ready to leave. He wants to end this last conversation that we will probably ever have. He's still scared of me. It's all too obvious.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I stand too. I tell him that he needs to grow up, that I'm tired of his shenanigans, and that I never want to see him again.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">But I don't mean it. I pretend I do, but I don't. I don't think he knows I still love him and that he will always be in my heart. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">He doesn't know what to do. He turns and walks away, back to his hiding spot.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I imagine him running back to me, scooping me up in his arms and giving me the protection and comfort that he used to. And he'd whisper those three word in my ear, "I love you," and my world would be perfect. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">But he doesn't. He doesn't even look back.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I stare at the sand, trying but failing to keep the tears from sliding down my cheeks. The tears that have been there for years that have never been able to come out. Those tears from all the hurt and pain that he's caused me. For all the embarrassment and anger he's made me endure.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">But one tear is for the boy who is walking away, with every step, putting miles between us, leaving me here, mourning for the boy who has now disappeared.</span></div>iamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00999015496203401926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7856807039938933687.post-13968833749841126562011-11-08T16:05:00.000-08:002011-11-10T09:24:40.640-08:00The Point<span style="font-family: inherit;">The whole point of this blog is to get my feelings out. I don't typically share anything to anyone ever. But I write a lot. A public blog is a big step for me, but I think that through my writings, perhaps others can learn from mistakes I've made or triumphs I've had. In each story, there is a specific person in mind. I won't use names, but if you're the character in the story, you'll know. Not all the words spoken are accurate. Some might not even be real, just what I thought. But it doesn't matter. Because I think that everyone can learn from someone else. </span>iamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00999015496203401926noreply@blogger.com0