Archive for February, 2012
“Going to bed with cold feet is something you’ve never liked because it’s uncomfortable, and no matter how small you shrink a bed it still gets lonesome. My feet are always cold and I never have any help warming them because I’m always alone. After I shrunk the bed to a twin size I thought I could keep my feet from freezing because of its smaller capacity, but I was wrong. Every night I prayed for warmer feet, but I never got it. I learned to sleep closely to the wall and stare at it glumly until my eyes got heavy; I leaned to ignore my feet staying cold at night. Maybe I should have called for company, or may my ‘company’ wouldn’t have understood. It gets tiring always having cold feet at night; it hurts trying to get accustomed to being left alone again.”
The purpose for ventilation is to release things, yes?
Apparently when venting needs to be done people want to get all…”concerned”, yet you can’t read between the lines any other time? Get out of my face, please. I beg you kindly.
“As we age there are definite signs that show how old we are. For example; our hands, our forearms, our hips. A man’s hands grow wise and veiny, his movements go from rough to precise and graceful. His fingers move much slower and much more careful than what they did when he was in his prime. Wise hands. It’s strange; as we grow older our bodies take on a much deeper definition. We progress from being naive and grow into our wisdom, we internally know how to define what love feels like–what heartache feels like. We begin to appreciate what we once had and accept to love what’s in front of us now. I used to not ever think about I would find her; the smallest things such as her kind of hair texture, her, hair colour, lips, skin, nails–she has a different kind of body. She has narrow hips, small round shoulders, a mile long set of legs to match her extended abdomen, a round innocent face with a familiar dimple, and her limbs are proportionate to her body. I’ve dreamed of this woman since I was in my thirties; she’s the right kind of exotic and the perfect kind of amazing. Every time she sleeps I like to write about her so I can place my love into words exactly how grateful I am I have finally found her. My now wise hands are cautious and careful when I’m around her because I want to show her how much I care for her. I never forget to kiss that indented little mark in her cheek any less than twice per day–once in the morning, once in the evening. I know I love her– my brain remembers how love once felt to my heart and soul; and with that love soon came heartache, the bitter and heart-wrenching feeling. I always get nauseous when I think about it. I know my body is getting older while hers is just now in blossom; at times I wish we could be the same physical age, and other times it feels like I am younger than she. She’s very wise for a woman of the age of twenty. I think I may try to tell her about my soul today. It’s always so complicated to explain because usually women don’t understand me. Sometimes I don’t understand her either, she doesn’t tell me much. ”
All good things come to those who wait