We sit at this table with our hands in our laps and we have a few drinks and we share a few laughs, but now those days have passed and they're not coming back. It's a shame, 'cause that's all that I had.
Nothing occurs based merely on coincidence. Incidents do not unfold because of luck or perchance or by draw. Although I trust we have the ability to control our destiny to a certain extent, I don’t believe "fate" is ever a factor. Events take place because people make them happen. Customers take for granted the fresh milk made available to them daily at the local grocery store, but it’s a rare occasion that someone stops to consider the employee wearing thick gloves and an even thicker sweatshirt smack-dab in the middle of July shelving the milk. Situations don’t just happen; they happen because people make them happen.
Seeking God's will for your life doesn't mean a thing in the world if you don't follow it. Stick to His plan! Similar to protagonist Beverly Donofrio in Riding in Cars with Boys, I "did everything wrong, but got everything right." I don't deserve God's mercy, yet it extends itself further and further every day to cover my multiple, irresponsible shortcomings.
That morning felt like a rollercoaster ride in slow motion. It was too early for my eyes to be open, but that wasn't substantial. Nothing could have ceased the heated argument growing louder every second in the next room. The scene wouldn't have been complete if he hadn't slammed the front door on his way out, naturally, which I took as my cue to relocate myself from the couch to curled up next to you in your Eeyore-infested bed where he should have been. I couldn't understand how the blue-eyed baby slept through the storm. He came back later. My moderate nature causes me to run away from hostility inwardly, so I tried my unskilled hand at mediating. I sat down boldly next to him on the couch, watched him roll another one and inquired about his plans. What kind of activities do you have arranged for today? "Nothing. Fight with my wife all day." The term "wife" still sounded new. Too fast. Too young. I paused and considered my subsequent statement. "But," I began, "the good times are worth the bad ones, right?" His faraway stare and zipped lips told me everything I needed to know. I sat back, bewildered and speechless.
I swear that every word I say, I mean until my dying day. It’s a shame. When I wake, I can’t recall a thing.
This is it. This is your life. Letting men older than your grandfather watch you dance provocatively to pay for the apartment you can’t seem to keep holes out of and basking in the (de)light of your most recent mistake. Life. You gave it away. (You threw your life away.) You’re wasting your life. You’re wasting your life. I love you more than the air that I breathe, but you’re wasting your life.
Fast forward seven days. I sat uncomfortably in a house which previously felt like home, surrounded by colorful, adjective-inscribed balloons and making small talk with a stranger who previously felt like family. You crawled into bed, noticed the tension and tried to undertake damage control, but it was too late. You were too late. "I can't complete with this. I can't compete with her." The damage was done. It's revolting, how much one person can change within the brief time period of three obscure weeks. I was finally eighteen, an adult by most standards. (http://jequalscrack.blogspot.com/2009/01/it-rains-when-youre-here-and-it-rains.html)
Am I at fault for walking away, or should the fingers remain pointed at you for not coming after me? Are we equally wrong? Do you care? Does it matter? I hurt people before they have the chance to leave an imprint on my heart. It’s an ugly inclination. I cause others to fall for me and then I walk away unintentionally because I loved someone once and he walked away. And everyone I’ve ever cared about followed him—literally. I abandon love because love abandoned me. Am I chasing the ghost of a good thing, or is this the real deal? I can't tell the difference anymore. Am I too late? Rather than being stuck between a rock and a hard place, I find myself cushioned amid friends who view me as nothing more significant than a back-up plan and others who would rather wake up next to an empty bottle than me.
Maybe someday I’ll accept my fair share of the blame, but if I’m honest with myself, it probably won’t happen tonight.
I’ve got some problems, but we've got ten dollars. (That’s enough to get us wasted before the night is over.) These past five days I’ve been completely sober, but tonight I’m getting ripped wide open.
P.S. If love really is the bottom line, we’ve all been cheated and fooled.
Nothing occurs based merely on coincidence. Incidents do not unfold because of luck or perchance or by draw. Although I trust we have the ability to control our destiny to a certain extent, I don’t believe "fate" is ever a factor. Events take place because people make them happen. Customers take for granted the fresh milk made available to them daily at the local grocery store, but it’s a rare occasion that someone stops to consider the employee wearing thick gloves and an even thicker sweatshirt smack-dab in the middle of July shelving the milk. Situations don’t just happen; they happen because people make them happen.
Seeking God's will for your life doesn't mean a thing in the world if you don't follow it. Stick to His plan! Similar to protagonist Beverly Donofrio in Riding in Cars with Boys, I "did everything wrong, but got everything right." I don't deserve God's mercy, yet it extends itself further and further every day to cover my multiple, irresponsible shortcomings.
That morning felt like a rollercoaster ride in slow motion. It was too early for my eyes to be open, but that wasn't substantial. Nothing could have ceased the heated argument growing louder every second in the next room. The scene wouldn't have been complete if he hadn't slammed the front door on his way out, naturally, which I took as my cue to relocate myself from the couch to curled up next to you in your Eeyore-infested bed where he should have been. I couldn't understand how the blue-eyed baby slept through the storm. He came back later. My moderate nature causes me to run away from hostility inwardly, so I tried my unskilled hand at mediating. I sat down boldly next to him on the couch, watched him roll another one and inquired about his plans. What kind of activities do you have arranged for today? "Nothing. Fight with my wife all day." The term "wife" still sounded new. Too fast. Too young. I paused and considered my subsequent statement. "But," I began, "the good times are worth the bad ones, right?" His faraway stare and zipped lips told me everything I needed to know. I sat back, bewildered and speechless.
I swear that every word I say, I mean until my dying day. It’s a shame. When I wake, I can’t recall a thing.
This is it. This is your life. Letting men older than your grandfather watch you dance provocatively to pay for the apartment you can’t seem to keep holes out of and basking in the (de)light of your most recent mistake. Life. You gave it away. (You threw your life away.) You’re wasting your life. You’re wasting your life. I love you more than the air that I breathe, but you’re wasting your life.
Fast forward seven days. I sat uncomfortably in a house which previously felt like home, surrounded by colorful, adjective-inscribed balloons and making small talk with a stranger who previously felt like family. You crawled into bed, noticed the tension and tried to undertake damage control, but it was too late. You were too late. "I can't complete with this. I can't compete with her." The damage was done. It's revolting, how much one person can change within the brief time period of three obscure weeks. I was finally eighteen, an adult by most standards. (http://jequalscrack.blogspot.com/2009/01/it-rains-when-youre-here-and-it-rains.html)
Am I at fault for walking away, or should the fingers remain pointed at you for not coming after me? Are we equally wrong? Do you care? Does it matter? I hurt people before they have the chance to leave an imprint on my heart. It’s an ugly inclination. I cause others to fall for me and then I walk away unintentionally because I loved someone once and he walked away. And everyone I’ve ever cared about followed him—literally. I abandon love because love abandoned me. Am I chasing the ghost of a good thing, or is this the real deal? I can't tell the difference anymore. Am I too late? Rather than being stuck between a rock and a hard place, I find myself cushioned amid friends who view me as nothing more significant than a back-up plan and others who would rather wake up next to an empty bottle than me.
Maybe someday I’ll accept my fair share of the blame, but if I’m honest with myself, it probably won’t happen tonight.
I’ve got some problems, but we've got ten dollars. (That’s enough to get us wasted before the night is over.) These past five days I’ve been completely sober, but tonight I’m getting ripped wide open.
P.S. If love really is the bottom line, we’ve all been cheated and fooled.
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