sometimes i realize there are so many things i won’t remember in 50 years like the way the sky looked this morning and all the dogs i saw today and my mom’s voice and i get so sad i never want to forget
Asphalt-stained roadkill lying on blood-stained asphalt.
Arms spread in a final plea for life.
or haunches tucked in tight, head bowed down, seeking a final moment of comfort
The raccoons and squirrels and occasional cat with its entrails dragged into the gravel and broken grass make me think of you. There is no dignity in dying.
Rules: In a text post, list ten books that have stayed with you in some way. Don’t take but a few minutes, and don’t think too hard — they don’t have to be the “right” or “great” works, just the ones that have touched you. Tag ten (or more) friends, including me, so I’ll see…
- Watership Down
- Out of Africa
- Catcher in the Rye
- Bartleby the Scrivener
- All I Really Need to Know I learned in Kindergarten
- Their Eyes Were Watching God
- Things Fall Apart
- Into the Wild
- Her Fearful Symmetry
shaunwthompson but I’m not tagging anyone to do it! If you want to, go ahead.
Father’s Day, three months ago today, was the last day I heard your voice. The last day I watched you inhale without the help of a respirator. The last day you looked at me with eyes filled with love instead of fear.
You told me to stay for dinner, that having burgers for two of my three meals for the day would be alright. You hugged me as I made my way for the door saying, “I love you. See you Sunday.” Sunday, a day you didn’t make it to, when I had promised you a peach cobbler and a game of golf in the morning—a barbecue in the afternoon.
I still miss you everyday and today, as the smell of wood smoke puffed from homes and a chill crept into the air, I hoped that you were somewhere smelling it, too. That when you closed your eyes you imagined your kids donning work boots, trekking to the side yard, and stacking wood; preparing for the cooler nights to come.
am I sick from anxiety or am I actually physically ill? a memoir by me
am i lazy or horribly depressed: the sequel
does everyone hate me or am I just very insecure: the completion of the trilogy
my life in a series of books.
" I cry a lot because I miss people. I cry a lot because they die and I can’t stop them. They leave me and I love them more."
-Maurice Sendak, source