While((myYearsLeft.size())!=0){
        byYourSide=true;
        myLove++;
        }

I am not a great poet or writer.
I am a simple girl and my soul is sick.

I see the picture everyday. It hangs by the television. Sometimes when I watch TV my eyes drift to the picture and my mind drifts back to that day.  His golden hair shines from the photographers light. I think he was seven, maybe eight, he had all of his front teeth again. His eyes laughing, his body relaxed and peaceful, so happy. I smile back at the picture; good memories. Then my mind is drawn back to the TV and the images of parents standing, waiting, hoping and praying, that they will see their child again.
                                      STANDING, WAITING, HOPING, PRAYING
Then my eyes go back to the picture. My son is now twenty-seven, doing well in his chosen trade. Trying to make ends meet from week to week like everyone else.  What an angelic face, so pure, so innocent.....so innocent.  My mind snaps back to the TV.  They say twenty-eight are dead, twenty are children they say. I fall to the floor and sob.  Tears run down my face and land on the carpet to be absorbed, for my heart can not....I don't want to live in this world anymore.....and I'm the lucky one. I raised my child. I had all those days that these parents would never have. These parents...STANDING AND WAITING AND HOPING AND PRAYING.....standing,waiting, hoping, praying.....standing, waiting, hoping, praying.   Did I use them well, my days? Did I hug him enough? Did I kiss him enough?  Did I listen enough? Did I love him enough........ I look back at the TV, at all those parents, standing, and waiting, and hoping, and praying, and I know, for their sake, I will love him more.

The shivers descends down my spine
The coldness creeps up one you
Before you know it
The liquid nitrogen fills you
It courses through your veins
Your lungs start to feel heavy
Coldness Caresses you heart
CRACK! You're shattered
Millions of pieces
Never to be put together again
-Jenneil Lewin