Spending a month in a hospital teaches you a lot about people. The doctor that told me to shave my head or she wouldn't treat me, The nurses that spent forever chatting to me And giving me supportive advice about how my illness doesn't define me. The woman who was given a terminal cancer sentence And chose not to pay attention to it and defied it anyway. How she sat next to me on my bed, Told me that all suffering is valid, And just because I'm not dying, doesn't mean I don't get to complain. How she complains more about her skin problems Than she ever complained about her cancer, And that's OK, because pain rarely follows rules. I never even learned her name, But she gave me the words I hold most closely to me On those days when I want to fall asleep and never wake up. I'm allowed to scream and shout and rage against the pain And the unfairness of it happening to me. I just have to make sure I know where the line is Between giving my darkness a voice and pitying myself.
The longest walk, down the road not taken, with the most beautiful girl, unless I'm mistaken, in the hot summer sun, that you always outshine, oh what a perfect dream, in which you are mine.
For tears that fall On hollow cheeks When the weeks feel like years And the years feel like weeks.
And you sit by a grave Where the roses grow But the rose that you seek Is buried below.
You have my heart Heavy with sorrow For the velvet rose With no tomorrow.
Absolutely over the moon (if a little shocked) to see that this piece made the daily. Thank you all so much for your comments - I promise to reply to you all individually at some point soon. It was an extremely emotional, difficult, but ultimately cathartic write. Dedicated to our wee Shane, who we will never forget ***
I dont want to seek it out But if opportunity ever knocks on my door Just know that I will take him up on his offer And when I do Know that you will simultaneously be royally *******
I've been scribbling words about you, I haven't looked at the clock til now - it's 17 minutes past 7. I may be late for work.
I have written several nonsense letters, wondering if I already wasted more ink than I should, thinking how many of these words have you already heard, and doubting if they would mean something more once you read them.
These words, these are the things I want you to know but would never tell you.
But these words, they don't really matter, do they? These words can't make you stay, or flinch even.
Because the things you told me that matter, they didn't. And even if they did, we won't do anything about it.