Monday, August 30, 2010
Monday, August 23, 2010
She sits on a cold, dirty linoleum floor sobbing for her lost loved one. Tears stain her cheeks and shirt. Feeling so out of control she waits for the feeling to subside, but it does not. In walks one angel, wearing a black shirt and jeans, she sits down beside her and gently strokes her hair, comforting her, silently saying everything will be alright. In walks two more angels, their eyes full of sympathy and understanding. Both kneel down to her, one sitting next to her, patting her arm, the other at her feet. After an hour of tears and corny jokes, laughter and songs, the girl realizes that even when she is broken in a million little pieces that every tear falls for a reason, and that there is beauty in the breaking a young heart.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
My puppy, Mac. Got him when I was two and had to let him go when I was eighteen. Today, while driving home I starting thinking about him and the last day I saw him alive. Both of his back legs were broken, yet he lay in the laundry basket silent and unmoving. The strangest thing was he wasn't wimpering - only when he moved - or shaking, or freaking out at all. He was peaceful while I stroked him crying and telling him everything would be okay.