I’m questioning every word i’ve said, thought, and written in the past two days. Did I make a mistake? Did I let myself come off weak again? You’re going to the other side of the world and for some odd reason, I can’t let go. I don’t want to let go, nor did I ever thought that I would need to on that cold, fall morning. I just can’t find that reassurance that my thoughts need. I’m scared to trust you, I can’t let myself be put into a situation where I’ll be set up for failure. I question my self respect. What will I do with all these emotions? Find only the darkest wood-stains, pastels, and acrylics. I’ll take them and let them mix together showing only scrapes of the natural wood. Let it soak, sand some of it off, and repeat with a lighter stain. This is all for a purpose, to reflect my self respect. Its dark, low, and only has lighter parts that I have to sand in for myself. Hopefully, those stains will reach a more lighter, tranquil tone within time. For now, they stay dark, mixing together.
thanks!! :) i just started it so its nothing special yet! i love yours too:)
You’ll know the feeling. How you feel insane and time passes so slowly when you’re not with them. How they dominate your mind and you can almost feel their warm touch against you. How you can’t help but smile when you know they’re thinking about you. How when things aren’t going well it drives you crazy, and you can’t seem to think straight. How when they’re not yours, you miss them so much, and you feel that dull emptiness in the pit of your chest. Most of all, you’ll know how they’re literally everything to you, and nothing can change that.
Oh, the comfort - the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person - having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all right out, just as they are, chaff and grain together; certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and then with the breath of kindness blow the rest away.
When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares. ~Henri Nouwen