Direktlänk till inlägg 17 februari 2010

Reminiscing My First Love

Av Stacey Brown - 17 februari 2010 08:54

I do not know how this madness started; all I know is that I want her back, badly.

My mother was very angry at me this morning. I did not clean the garage and washed her plus size gowns this week as scheduled.  She keeps talking to me as if I am a child needing an advice.  What she didn’t notice is that my girlfriend and I already broke up a week ago.  I don’t want to tell her; she loves Annie, and has always wanted her for me. So, I kept my silence.  I was really heartbroken.  

Last night, I was alone in my room listening to the radio while strumming my old guitar.  I can’t sleep; her face kept haunting me that forlorn evening.  I went to the terrace to breathe some fresh air and relax my mind.  As the swift air dampens my skin, it’s like she hugged me tightly and I instantly felt her warmth.  The moon and stars were silent that they seemed to know the unbearable pain in my heart.  

It was past 2:00 in the morning, still I was awake.  The village was still and calm.  I looked down at the pool, the moon light reflects on it and my face as well.  Suddenly, tears fell.  I silently cried letting the tears drown my sorrow knowing that I am wounded deep within that no one can cure.  I opened a beer and got myself drunk.  It was 10:00 in the morning when I woke up.  I didn’t notice that I feel as sleep; all I remembered was I cried that night longing for her.

 

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Av Stacey Brown - 17 februari 2010 09:04

My early days in high school were never good.   I’m always the loser in our class; they even branded me a name, “Fat ass Stacey”.  Whenever the name calling gets too much, I just sit in the corner of our toilet and cry.  Whenever I ...

Av Stacey Brown - 17 februari 2010 08:52

“I demand freedom to those who condemn me.”They have no right to judge me. Whenever I go to mass, people always stare at me like I have leprosy or something. Even though I can’t see what is on their mind, I can feel the hate and hid...

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