blacknedwings
Straws. Straws in chocolate shakes. Straw hats. Last straw-it's the last straw. I don't have a particularly strong relationship with straws in hats, and I rarely say it is the last straw, because I'm always forgiving and giving people more chances than they very likely deserve. Or maybe they do deserve them. But, I do love straws in chocolate shakes. It brings back fond childhood memories.
Failed. Wow, this is just about right on target for today. I feel like I've failed a lot. I feel like I've failed at relationships. I feel like I've failed at love. I feel like school has failed me and at the same time I have failed the university system in some way. I feel like I have failed my friends sometimes, but often I feel my "friends" have failed me. I don't think my family has failed me in too many ways, but I would say we each have failed each other at some point.
Belief is such a strange thing. The way we believe in love. The way we believe in our friends. The way belief is so blind and requires so much trust. The way we need answers for everything, yet with belief it is so arbitrary and we must just let it be, no answers, no facts, or scientific motives. It's like the one calm spot or moment in our crazy hectic lives.
She waits at the railroad station, bag in hand. She glances up, scans the station, looking around one last time. It's all so foreign to her now. Tilting her hat away from the sun as the horn blew, she picked up her suitcase, and boarded the train.
I embraced her just then, standing in the rain. Her hair wet, her eyes pleading. I could tell she didn't want to see me leave-couldn't bare to see me leave. I held her tight, and whispered promises in her ear. We both knew I meant them, we both knew I'd likely break them. Pulling away, she glanced at me once more, her tears blending into the evening rain.
My beloved immortal. The first thing that comes to mind is this poem. It's such a nice word, so elegant. I feel that it can tell so many things, in such a short amount of time. The word itself is beautiful. Beloved. What a romantic notion. I can't help but believe in it.
Rise. What exactly does that mean even? Rise above? Rise against? Rise towards? Rise within? There are so many opportunities, so many different meanings for this one word. Maybe the way we automatically associate it, reveals some deep meaning about our subconscious, the way we think, the way we are. Maybe everything is just a matter of association.
The teacher stood in front of her class, tapping her pointer against the palm of her hand. This was it. She had been in front of this class for 8 months, the classroom itself had been hers for nearly 20 years. Never before had she felt so frustrated with her students. She pushed a strand of her hair, off to the side- the heat was sweltering.