Pixel Imperfect

It is too big, what I'm feeling. I have to keep moving. I still... what is it? Love him? Is that it? Need him? Want him?...... I miss him; I love how he looks, how he dresses how he smells. It was enough for me... the way we lived. Maybe that was wrong; maybe I should have wanted more. but I didn't. I knew things were far from perfect, but I was conent sitting out side with my coffee and admiring the daffodils. --Open House by E. Berg

It's been a couple weeks since I wrote in this...I've been going through a lot.... but I'm getting better. I feel a lot stronger, you know... I think I have a few good friends out there... I'm working on it... anyway This weekend, I went out a bunch with friends who are home for the week. After Good Friday service, I went to Fazoli's with Mike Kirk, Brent, and Jason. That night I went to the Way of the Cross and I sat with the Reynolds. Saturday I went to the soup kitchen. Jimmy and his family, Patrick, Jason, Alexander "Spence", Justin, Stevo, were also at the soup kitchen. And then we all went to Ruby Tuesday's ('cept Spence and Justin) with Brent, Christine and Anna Banana... It was cool. I went home and spent a few quality hours with the Word, I met up with Patrick, Chad, Patricia, Megan, Tiffy and Gideon and we went to the Easter Vigil. Afterwards, we all went to IHOP, plus Reynard, Brent, and Jason. Patrick and I realized that we s

Okay I know I don't need them in my life right now, but I just miss having arms around me. So, dream on, dream on... Starting right now... I've been sick for a week. Yuck yuck yuck....

I really really want... and rather, need someone to talk to, but I'm not allowed to talk about this. How cruel!?!?! I cannot believe this is happening. One bad thing after another. It causes me to ponder the question: Did I ask for this to happen? Probably not, but maybe. It is a difficult situation to be in, when you come home from work at 11 pm, and your mother comes into your room and you spend the next 30 minutes talking and then consoling your crying mother. Wait a minute, isn't that backwards? I am the child, who needs to be held and consoled. Now, all backwards. All because some stupid.... I cannot say... sorry. But I dread the coming months. I'm sorry, Mary. I don't want to live here anymore. I want to go home. I want to go far away. Is it wrong to be ashamed of him? No, it's okay. It's not wrong. I'm so sorry. I don't feel like doing anything anymore. You know how much I love working and everything. I don't want to anymore. I don