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The memory sat repressed, lodged into the back of her mind. Occasionally something would come up and she could feel it wiggle loose, hanging on the thread of her subconscious. She always shoved it back in place. It did not deserve free reign.
How many things in life are exact? I don't exactly know. One or two, or quite a few, but it's hard to know for sure. To be exact is a taxing practice, and oftentimes I see no point to it.
We are all damaged. This is a universal truth. No one is without fault. Without damage of any kind. However, this does not mean we are unworthy. We are still deserving of love, of kindness. Our damage does not define us. It united us.
Hush little baby, don't you cry, Daddy's gonna sing you a lullaby. And if that lullaby plays slow, then little baby don't you know. Daddy's gonna try for all his worth, but sometimes life just gets worse. Hush little baby, don't make a sound, sunny days will soon come 'round.
The rocker sat on the front porch. The old chair hadn't seen any use in ages, but no one had the heart to get rid of it. The couple that lived in that house had been so nice, and they had always sat on their rockers together. Now they just sat there, collecting dust and rotting, and holding a lifetime of memories.
I'm bleeding. I don't really know why I'm surprised, the bullet went right through me. I guess I just wasn't expecting to bleed quite this much.
It's quiet. Good. I don't think I could've handled it if it wasn't.
I lay here dying, staring up at the stars. And I'm thinking, this isn't how I wanted to go. I wanted to touch those stars some day. I guess fate isn't always on my side.
I promise to stand by you, through thick and thin. I promise to stand for you, if you ever fall again. I promise to stand with you, through whatever you may face. And I promise to walk with you, through life's unending race.
The Lord of Time sat on his box, and pondered all creation. Nothing was spared from his thoughts, or his fascination. He found a girl and took her hand, so they could have great fun. And when danger struck he'd stand by her side, in her ear he'd whisper "Run."
The sunlight beats down on us, it feels like it's cooking us to our cores. The heat glistens off the pavement, creating the illusion of water. Giving us hope that isn't really there. We keep walking. All roads end somewhere.
So much is dysfunctional. Dysfunctional families, relationships, homes, workplaces. It's sad, really, to think that there's so much in the world that just doesn't work.
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writing since 2011 · 100 entries · 99 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Faith showed up.
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