When life takes you by storm. When your ice cold heart begins to warm. The dream is alive again. When that feeling comes. And the fear fades. The dream is alive again. When your stomach flutters. And you heart races. The dream is alive again. When life throws a curve. And you find yourself ready. …
Depends on if you’re drinking it or pouring it. 🙂
I’m that glass argued about,
And what’s within or without.
My contents seem to cause a stir,
With every single him and her.
Do I appear as half empty,
Only half my contents you see?
Or am I half full of contents,
Only half of it has been spent?
If it’s empty that you witness,
Then pessimism you possess.
Through a dark prism do you see,
And you lack positivity.
But if half full you ascertain,
Then optimism you’ve obtained.
You must live with a constant smile,
Living and laughing all the while.
Yet I say that neither is true,
And that nothing is at issue.
No view of the contents I had,
Prove neither thoughts of good nor bad.
Instead if fullness you don’t see,
Why not take the time to fill me?
Half full or empty – neither is worse,
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he thought of her every day
happy thoughts, memories
every single moment they
had ever shared together
none was ever forgotten
he thought of her hair –
dark brown, almost black
he thought of her eyes –
blue-gray, flaked with
ranging from coal ash,
to white the colors burned
into his memory
he thought of her laugh
the tilt of her head,
the crooked smile, the
in that feminine chuckle
he thought of her often
long after it was over,
she was gone, and his
time with her had ended
he thought of her no matter
the day, every day there
was time spent remembering
right up to the end
Faded, jaded, lost in the ocean tide. Unwanted, unloved, tossed aside. Alone. Floating, sinking, rising, falling. Crash. Found, discovered, polished, uncovered. Beautiful, treasured soul. Loved. Originally written June 2, 2012 K.R.
The things we keep inside. The pain we always hide. The raw wounds of yesterday's pain. The burning not extinguished by the rain. Of our tears. All the years. Intensify the longing of a lonely broken heart. Each look from a stranger that was once something more. Every memory of that smile as they walked …
How long can one heart break? How much time is this supposed to take? To forget his eyes? To stop craving his kiss? Why is he the one I miss? Why can't I just move on? I know our past is over and gone. Why does he still haunt my dreams? Why do I long …
I wanted to reblog this because it touched me so deeply. I do not know the writer… Just found this blog entry on fb and went through all kinds of hoops just to find her page. I applaud her and every single parent doing the dirty work while others get to sit back and reep the benefits. This was me 10 years ago and I wish I could say it gets easier… It doesn’t. But I can say that my “little” girl sees all that I have done for her and in my heart I know that one day I will be rewarded for my efforts as her mommy. Hang in there honey! Keep on loving your daughter with everything you have!
It’s hard growing up without a father but it’s easier when you have a fantastic mother playing both roles. –unknown
Most days I love my crazy life but I’m human and some days I wonder. Being a mother is suppose to complete you but when you’re doing it by yourself sometimes you feel alone. Being a mom is the hardest thing I’ll ever do but it’s the most rewarding title I’ll ever have.
I have a three-year old daughter. She has the most life I’ve ever seen from anyone. Her heart is pure, her mind is fresh, her life is blissful. My baby has no idea what it is to hate and what it is to love. Sadly, I do.
Some days I hate you more than others. How is it that one man can have so much responsibility but not actually tend to it? How come you get to…
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Will you love me when the beauty fades, and mother nature takes her toll? When father time peppers my hair and leaves lines across my face? Will you love me just the same, when the years pass and I forget my own name? When the sun has kissed my face more times than enough? When …
The simple joy as a child would feel, when chasing fireflies, so surreal. The freedom of driving down a winding road, like 16 and wild, ready to explode. Like a thousand volcanoes erupting in my chest. This fiery splendor refuses to rest. Your kiss is my joy, my freedom, my fire. Nothing matches this magnificent …