To Love And To Be Loved.

I am so fucking proud of you

It's because you're always doing those damn ann bibs

I wish you knew how much I love you.

I can feel it getting duller, drawing it's last breaths. It's okay; it's natural. It's absolutely bittersweet.

I miss you, my dear. I miss how you made me feel. I hope you know that I will always love you. And I am so, so proud of you.

I know what you did.

You give me one of those terribly awkward side-hugs. You comment on my town, and how you'll have to come visit sometime. You are not welcome in my home. I smile and reply politely.

But our eyes don't lie. In yours I can see pity. "What ever happened to her?" "It's s shame, really. She used to be so sweet." Perhaps a hint of fear. You know that I know. You know that I remember.

In my gaze hangs only hatred.

Love is the family business.

For what is to come. For what has passed.

That what I have can remain forever and never change.

To love my dear ones, and to be loved in return.

To stay forever. To run away and never return.

To make a name for myself. To never be known.

The voice of the people (me in my chemistry lecture) has been silenced (my professor didn’t see my raised hand)

strawbebbie

Wait. You mean to tell me they named a animal "pee cock?" 🤨

Hear me when I say, there will be peace in my valley.