It is the last day of a long summer. I'm still lying down on my bed staring outside my window at the same view that I've been watching for these past few years. Not long after, I see Henry and Sarah walking down the street with three brown bags. It must be Sunday again, they only come once a week to visit and refill my fridge.
Lisa gazed out over the Caribbean Sea, feeling the faint breeze against her face - eyes shut, the white sand warm between her bare toes. The place was beautiful beyond belief, but it was still unable to ease the grief she felt as she remembered the last time she had been here.
It was a normal Sophomore school day; wake up, get dress, eat breakfast, catch the bus and spend eight hours sitting on hard wooden chairs. Little did I know that something would happen to seer a memory in my brain forever.His name was Greg and he was my first boyfriend, my first kiss, and my first infatuation.
I woke up today and thought I fucking hated myself. Maybe I do. OK. Maybe sometimes I do.I do stupid things at times, for the sole purpose of releasing my thoughts. Not thinking of others. Sometimes I write. And when I read it back... Words are missing from my thoughts.
Sometimes people come into your life and you know right away that they were meant to be there, to serve some sort of purpose, teach you a lesson, or to help you figure out who you are or who you want to become.You never know who these people may be, your neighbor, your coworker, a long lost friend, or a complete stranger.
Back in the fifteenth century, in a tiny village near Nuremberg, lived a family with eighteen children. Eighteen! In order merely to keep food on the table for this mob, the father and head of the household, a goldsmith by profession, worked almost eighteen hours a day at his trade and any other paying chore he could find in the neighborhood.
There were a number of carved stone figures placed at intervals along the parapets of the old Cathedral; some of them represented angels, others kings and bishops, and nearly all were in attitudes of pious exaltation and composure. But one figure, low down on the cold north side of the building.
Robert and I met when our children started seeing each other.Robert's daughter married my son and we became acquainted through this union. In the beginning we both detested each other. He said I reminded him of his ex-wife and I said he reminded me of my ex-husband.
Boy: Baby, we need to talk. Girl: Ricardo, what do u mean? Boy: Something has come up... Girl: What? What's wrong? Is it bad? Boy: I don't want to hurt you, baby. Girl: *Thinks* Oh my God, I hope he doesnt break up with me... I love him so much.
"Speak now," the priest intoned, "or forever hold your peace."I scooted myself upright. Would someone speak? Certainly I had---all to avoid this very day. My first chance. And I'd blown it. "What?" Marcy, my fiancee had yelled upon my announcement. "You're kidding, right?"
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It is the last day of a long summer. I'm still lying down on my bed staring outside my window at the same view that I've been watching for these past few years. Not long after, I see Henry and Sarah walking down the street with three brown bags. It must be Sunday again, they only come once a week to visit and refill my fridge.
Lisa gazed out over the Caribbean Sea, feeling the faint breeze against her face - eyes shut, the white sand warm between her bare toes. The place was beautiful beyond belief, but it was still unable to ease the grief she felt as she remembered the last time she had been here.
It was a normal Sophomore school day; wake up, get dress, eat breakfast, catch the bus and spend eight hours sitting on hard wooden chairs. Little did I know that something would happen to seer a memory in my brain forever.His name was Greg and he was my first boyfriend, my first kiss, and my first infatuation. 
I woke up today and thought I fucking hated myself. Maybe I do. OK. Maybe sometimes I do.I do stupid things at times, for the sole purpose of releasing my thoughts. Not thinking of others. Sometimes I write. And when I read it back... Words are missing from my thoughts. 
Sometimes people come into your life and you know right away that they were meant to be there, to serve some sort of purpose, teach you a lesson, or to help you figure out who you are or who you want to become.You never know who these people may be, your neighbor, your coworker, a long lost friend, or a complete stranger. 
Back in the fifteenth century, in a tiny village near Nuremberg, lived a family with eighteen children. Eighteen! In order merely to keep food on the table for this mob, the father and head of the household, a goldsmith by profession, worked almost eighteen hours a day at his trade and any other paying chore he could find in the neighborhood. 
There were a number of carved stone figures placed at intervals along the parapets of the old Cathedral; some of them represented angels, others kings and bishops, and nearly all were in attitudes of pious exaltation and composure. But one figure, low down on the cold north side of the building.
Robert and I met when our children started seeing each other.Robert's daughter married my son and we became acquainted through this union. In the beginning we both detested each other. He said I reminded him of his ex-wife and I said he reminded me of my ex-husband. 
Boy: Baby, we need to talk.
"Speak now," the priest intoned, "or forever hold your peace."I scooted myself upright. Would someone speak? Certainly I had---all to avoid this very day. My first chance. And I'd blown it.
