When I realize that she is gone, perhaps gone forever, a great void opens up and I feel that I am falling, falling, falling into deep, black space. And this is worse than tears, deeper than regret or pain or sorrow, it is the abyss into which Satan was plunged. There is no climbing back, no ray of light, no sound of human voice or human touch of hand.
Wow. It's been so long that I'm not even sure how to use source codes anymore. I've hopped on this site maybe once before this in the past three years, and it really just hit me that I'm on an account I've been using since I was twelve years old. I joined this website in 2011, and now I'm 19 about to turn 20. It's so fascinating to me to see how much this website has changed, I remember when some quotes used to get up to 10k hearts. I even remember the bit of time when this site wasn't that regulated (lol). I think about this site a lot and how it had an integral part of me growing up and getting through middle school, learning and talking to new people and my best friends. I'll never forget laughing at some posts on here, and crying at some posts on here. I'll miss you all and I think it's time for a proper goodbye. Thanks, Steve. It's been real. Love, Corinne
Canadian Babe❤ 3:52 PM (Name) i love you and i think about you every second of the day waiting for the moments i get to talk to you i get anxious for the time i know you'll be back or when you'll be able to talk. I can't fill a void in my heart especially if its you thats in my heart. Those 5 days were rough and hard to deal with because i didnt know what i did wrong and i just wanted closure that i never got so i got mad and annoyed which led me to saying "im used to it" which i wasnt. These 5 days i wanted to tell you everything and was waiting for the times i was able to talk to you and unfortunately that was 15min before i had to give my phone in which sucked even more because all i wanted to do was talk to my girlfriend and tell her how everything is going even tho she doesn't understand anything i say when it's about hockey
When you walked out that door a piece of me died, told you I wanted more, that’s not what I had in mind. I just want it like before, we were dancin’ all night, then they took you away, stole you out of my life.
“ Dreaming of you is like listening to the song inside of a seashell, you can’t see the waves or smell the salt, but its call can make you feel like you’re right there by the ocean. I know you’re not really here, but when you miss a thing this badly, even the illusion is enough. —b.t., SEA SHELL SONGS.
“ I don't know how to tell you what I feel. I live in perpetual expectancy. You come and the time slips away in a dream. It is only when you go that I realize completely your presence. And then it is too late. You numb me. This is a little drunken... I am saying to myself here is the first woman with whom I can be absolutely sincere. I remember your saying – you could fool me, I wouldn't know it – when I walk along the boulevards and think of that. I can't fool you – and yet I would like to. I mean that I can never be absolutely loyal – it's not in me. I love women, or life, too much – which it is, I don't know. But laugh, I love to hear you laugh. You are the only woman who has a sense of gaiety, a wise tolerance – no more, you seem to urge me to betray you. I love you for that. I don't know what to expect of you, but it is something in the way of a miracle. I am going to demand everything of you – even the impossible, because you encourage it. You are really strong. I even like your deceit, your treachery. It seems aristocratic to me. ”
My grandmother's been dead for a year and two months, and my mom just found one of those fill-in memoir books in her closet that my grandmother had started writing in and had dedicated to me, her first grandchild. In it is facts and details about her childhood and adolescence, and upon looking through it one tidbit that made me emotional was her writing that when my mom was born, my great-grandpa brought my grandma a dozen red roses at the hospital and she said that to that day, years later as she was writing that down, no one had ever brought her a dozen red roses again. I desperately wish she had mentioned that to me at some point while she was alive. I would have happily brought her some on our last Mother's Day together, or when I came to visit her while she was sick and dying. Now all I can do is bring twelve red roses to her grave, and that is what I plan to do on her birthday this year.
the memory of making love and they moan and cry all loud but it comes through the window like a whistle or a whisper under the bed and little children think it's a monster i'm soaked in my own blood when i die where i'll be declared brain dead and heart dead in the vatican .