Something I wrote during a break up, been hiding on my computer for a long time. Figured what the hell.
Every little teeny tiny strand of hair, the gentle softness of your skin, the look of wonder and amazement in your eyes, your child like smiles, the sparkle of future hopes and dreams of your imagination, and the endless amounts of support that you have with in, use to be enough. Enough to keep me, enough to keep me going, enough to keep me sane, keep me level, keep me at peace with my self; with everyone else, with my demons, and with that something that I can't even explain that lurks inside me. I would cower to you like a child that runs to his parent's bedroom late at night because of a bad dream longing to be held, resting my head on your heart so that I knew you were near, like a wolf cub howling out for its mother, lost and cold on a winters night deep in the forest. You were my Sheppard, my savior. my inner spirit. Raising me, nurturing me, pushing me along the way with a loving nudge. I would take a few scared steppes forward, turn around and see you smiling behind me, notioning me forward. You are the spirit that children lose before they grow old, go to school, and move away. The spirit that believes in Santa Clause, and the Tooth Fairy. That wish on shooting stars. You were every thing good that evil could not touch. But you have withered, and changed. You no longer pick me up and carry me. I have to fend for myself, and I only get a glance from you every now and then, and the light that use to hold me up is a distant memory, almost forgotten. What happened to chicken noodle soup and grilled cheese sandwiches when I was sick. What happened to ten second hugs that lasted forever? What happened to the love that could cure every thing? When did holding hands while walking just turn into walking? When did waking up become a snooze button? When did laughing become work? When did dreams become fiction? When did happily ever after only end in books? Remember when a rose use to be just that. A rose. It didn't consist of a stem, petals, or thorns. It was just a rose. When did simple become complex, and just when did our guardian angel stop giving a fuck? And for that matter "WHY"
Every little teeny tiny strand of hair, the gentle softness of your skin, the look of wonder and amazement in your eyes, your child like smiles, the sparkle of future hopes and dreams of your imagination, and the endless amounts of support that you have with in, use to be enough. Enough to keep me, enough to keep me going, enough to keep me sane, keep me level, keep me at peace with my self; with everyone else, with my demons, and with that something that I can't even explain that lurks inside me. I would cower to you like a child that runs to his parent's bedroom late at night because of a bad dream longing to be held, resting my head on your heart so that I knew you were near, like a wolf cub howling out for its mother, lost and cold on a winters night deep in the forest. You were my Sheppard, my savior. my inner spirit. Raising me, nurturing me, pushing me along the way with a loving nudge. I would take a few scared steppes forward, turn around and see you smiling behind me, notioning me forward. You are the spirit that children lose before they grow old, go to school, and move away. The spirit that believes in Santa Clause, and the Tooth Fairy. That wish on shooting stars. You were every thing good that evil could not touch. But you have withered, and changed. You no longer pick me up and carry me. I have to fend for myself, and I only get a glance from you every now and then, and the light that use to hold me up is a distant memory, almost forgotten. What happened to chicken noodle soup and grilled cheese sandwiches when I was sick. What happened to ten second hugs that lasted forever? What happened to the love that could cure every thing? When did holding hands while walking just turn into walking? When did waking up become a snooze button? When did laughing become work? When did dreams become fiction? When did happily ever after only end in books? Remember when a rose use to be just that. A rose. It didn't consist of a stem, petals, or thorns. It was just a rose. When did simple become complex, and just when did our guardian angel stop giving a fuck? And for that matter "WHY"
rydell:
nice but sad at the same time hun