I have not written, well typed in the longest time. I have written though. On paper. I have gone back to writing the way I used to know it. Maybe its because of this job that requires I jot down just about everything. There are post-it notes around me. Two work notebooks. Two fill-my-bags-all-the-time personal ones. Filled with to-do lists, bucket lists, blogs to read, books to buy...and then the real words. Phrases that drift by during hour-long briefings. Sentences that come through while I try to re-word pages-long work files. Paragraphs that I sneak in during the first 20 minutes of the lunch break.
There are scattered and incoherent lines all over my notebooks.
I am writing the way I used to write in high school and at university. I wrote on the covers, mid-pages of my class work books.On my palms. That used to infuriate my mother.
Now I buy my own clothes, so I take more care.
Words are the only constant in my life. Even when I behave in a way that makes Blair Wolforf seem pretty tame, they never leave. They are not like my sleep patterns which are highly unpredictable. Nowhere to be found all night, all over my face at 10am.
Also, I have the world's bestest bestie.
She sent me a link to some of the most beautiful writings I have come across. Not the heady-in-your-face kind, no. The...flutter-by, settle-upon and touch-the-most-core-parts-of-you sort.
So I read a poem. I read it and just sat there...staring. Re-reading. Wondering. How someone else could capture so clearly, so simply and yet so honestly, your entire mesh of fears, insecurities, worries and lonely thoughts. How another woman on another continent probably sat down to write about herself and ended up writing about me and several other women. How another woman put pen to paper and brought to life all the aches, all the self-doubting questions, all the years of masking, of trying to be..."normal"...just so someone (usually, some man), could love you. Could accept you.
Could stop to try changing the chaotic mind and not-willing-to-be changed spirit that is you.
There are women who are born..."normal". They're pretty.
And soft.
They play keep-house. They like dolls(urrrghhh). They don't question. They are quiet. They dance without barely moving a limb.
Then, there are the women who always grabbed at the pens in their father's shirt-pockets. They played scrabble. They could not understand dolls. They understood books. A LOT. They found peace in their solitude because it was easier. Easier to lock yourself in your cousin's room at her birthday party and read a good book, because the other girls are playing house and dear Lord, that ish was just so common, so dull, so exhausting, so un-original. Francine Pascal was your best friend. And Elizabeth Wakefield was the character you felt closest to.
And when you started to dance....
Some women are born to have it easy.
God gives them the traits that make it easy to love them.
Lucky, lucky women.
Some women burst onto the planet with so much energy, searing passion and the inability to master the art of slowing down.
Fast walking. Fast reading. Fast writing of class work so they could go back to Enid Blyton.
Wonder how I got the scar under my left eye.
Then the world asks them to stop. When they don't listen, it punishes them and says it will hurt them some more if they do NOT stop.
Bruises. Scars. Permanent sadness. Constant failure to settle in. Majority of your friends are boys. They don't try to make you giggly.
Until they start to bring on the pain.
The worst sort.
You fight and damn near defeat the demons that nearly snuffed the life outta your spirit, only for the people you think will help fan them to full brightness to walk in and stamp out the small, delicate embers you'd began to light.
You shut out anyone with the makings of a light dimmer, you let in people who you believe get you.
And then, you hurt them. Badly.
Your entire world is falling apart and you hurt the one person you probably need around the most.
For the first time in over four years, you break down and cry. And the only person you tell this is the one who walks away. The one person whose hug you need the most will not give you their shoulder.
But you hurt them. So why would they want to make your day a bit brighter?
Because you would never walk away at the time when they most need you.
Because you tried.
Because you were in pain.
Because you opened yourself up at your most vulnerable and told them you were d.y.i.n.g.
Because you're styupeed.
Because walking should NOT be that easy.
Because you're searching for the pain that you thought would consume you and its not there.
Because you met a stranger, a woman who called you beautiful.
She said you deserved deep, committed, will-last-through-the-ugly-days sort of love.
She told you to wipe the pain from your eyes. To let the hurt go. She said you needed to forgive yourself.
She reminded you that you deserved to be happy.
Good, bad, perfectly put together, t-shirt and sweats, hair perfectly coiffured, messy tousles, you deserved to be loved and cared for and worried over.
No half measures.
And you believed her :-) Really, you did.
Then your bestie sent you the link and you thank God for the constants. For the friends that never go away.
You make each day easier, prettier, smile-ier and I am a lucky woman.
Difficult to love on some days. Easy on others.
Deserving love on all.
"For women who are "difficult" to love"- Warsan Shire( Look for the poem. Its the "For colored girls" of 2012.)
Moe.
With love.
Showing posts with label Mama. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mama. Show all posts
Friday, January 6, 2012
Monday, October 3, 2011
Dear October (Wake Me Up When September Ends)
"Wake me up when September ends." Title of a song by Green Day. A rock band I sort of like. Good music.
That song, was my mantra towards the end of the A-level part of my high school. It is just so...sad. Nothing particularly gut-wrenching sad in the lyrics, but sad. That sad that creeps up on you, finds a comfortable corner in the centre of your already-bruised heart and curls it's lukewarm self in there. The sort of sad which doesn't have you doubling over in inexplicable pain. No.
The sort of sad Meredith faces when she asks McDreamy to choose her over Allison. And he doesn't.
The sad that does not prod or pinch, this sad is maddeningly polite. It just settles over you in a manner so complete and total...and subtle but entirely felt...it clouds and doesn't bring forth tears.
But sighs, yes. Deep, inner sighs that take the life in you and....make it one huge, burden of a sigh. This sadness doesn't present in form of wails, no. It has the ability to hide behind a good number of cocktails or a good book.
Then the morning comes. And the movie ends. And the book runs out of words.
September was bad. September was slow. Tediously slow. September was horrible. September brought no creativity, zilch inspiration and plenty melancholy. September was cold, and rainy. And awesomely ass-holey.
I fought dread. Yes, most of the past 30 days were filled with dread. Of the unknown. The horrible fear that doom and gloom were in the neighbourhood. I prayed.
Dear Lord, I prayed. And prayed. And run to Melanie. And Sara. And we prayed. But doom and gloom were just happy keeping around me.
So, in that manner of easy vulgarity I had mastered in my O-Level, I flipped them off. I flipped gloom, doom, despair, writer's block, inability to read any of the several amazing books that stood by my bed side.
I flipped them all, called their fucking bluff and told them I would be just fine.
At the right time. The fight to be gleeful and joyous...do you get the irony in that phrase? "The fight to be gleeful and joyous...?" We are NOT meant to fight for joy. We fight to recover our waspy waist lines after child birth. We DO NOT FIGHT FOR JOY.
Screw Eve and her lack of self-control. A fruit? Come on.
Screw death. Death that went and took the mommy of 6 beautiful, intelligent babies.
Death that took away the mommy of my insanely gifted friend.
Fuck death that attempted to break the spirit of a vibrant, spiritual and God-loving man.
Screw death that made us sit in that church and try especially hard not to curse the God that is supposedly harboured in it.
Fuck death for reminding us all of our immortality. Our fragility. Our short spanned life times.
Fucking screw death for the unwanted, unnecessary and uncalled for reminder that, we are on borrowed time.
You gotta give it to death. We plan. And dream. And hope.
While the arse snickers. And then grabs. Steals. Tears apart.
We, the word bearers, we the writers, the grammatically and lyrically gifted. We who somehow manage to convey any message with a couple of well articulated paragraphs. We who always have the sharpest responses to the queries, errors and ineptitude of others. We...who make our living from stringing words together.
We were helpless. And speechless.
I sat with some of the most gifted writers in this town and all we could do was hold hands. And lean on shoulders. And cry. Silent, endless streams of tears as we watched the hearts of our friend and her family get ripped out.
Let me tell you about grief. The words to describe it have not been invented yet. You pray, and hope that you are dreaming. Or, night-maring. That you will wake up. That you will hug your broken friend and drain the hurt from her soul.
That she will stop crying, because you are getting bloody teary-eyed and she doesn't need you crying.
You want to hold her head on your laps and try to soothe away the pain you know without a doubt, will never really go away.
Our mommies are supposed to be with us forever. Oh, we scream at them, and yell, and bang doors in their faces and try to explain our excessive love of alcohol to them, but our mommies are not supposed to die.
Because our mommies are the rocks, the walls, the cooks, the doctors, the cleaners, the huggers, the embarrassing ululaters when our names are called out on graduation.
Our mommies are the grandmothers of our unborn babies. Our mommies should see us first dance with our husbands on our wedding days. They are supposed to tell you why your colour schemes are "too much" or why you do not need a wedding planner, "you lazy children of these days" and guilt you into inviting all their friends to the wedding.
And then break into sobs as she watches her gorgeous girl redefine bridal dazzle(ness.)
My mommy is supposed to walk me down the aisle. Because while she has broken my heart in various and callous ways, she is my mommy.
Mommies are our angels. They are not meant to have a shelf-life.
Dear October.
Today is my brother's birthday. Arnold is my favourite man. He is growing into the man that will make God change His mind about annihilating all male species.
Dear October, come laden with blessings. And joy. And inspiration. And friends. And love.
September took the life out of us.
I came close to self-destruction.
I do not know how my usually perceptive friends were not able to see it.
The alcohol I was drowning in wasn't meant for recreational purposes at all.
The intention was to forget. But I couldn't. You cannot forget the despair that resides in the depths of your soul.
I lost alot of me to September. Creativity. Love-that came a tad too late, joy, passion, hope, sleep.
I lost the will to be alive. September. You hit me hard.
October...
I am a recovering life -and-it's stupid happenings-patient.
Be gentle.
On us all.
Rest In Perfect Peace, Mildred's mama.
"Wake Me Up When September Ends"
Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last
wake me up when September ends
like my father's come to pass
seven years has gone so fast
wake me up when September ends
here comes the rain again
falling from the stars
drenched in my pain again
becoming who we are
as my memory rests
but never forgets what I lost
wake me up when September ends
summer has come and passed
the innocent can never last
wake me up when September ends
ring out the bells again
like we did when spring began
wake me up when September ends
here comes the rain again
falling from the stars
drenched in my pain again
becoming who we are
as my memory rests
but never forgets what I lost
wake me up when September ends
Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last
wake me up when September ends
like my father's come to pass
twenty years has gone so fast
wake me up when September ends
wake me up when September ends
wake me up when September ends
Green Day.
That song, was my mantra towards the end of the A-level part of my high school. It is just so...sad. Nothing particularly gut-wrenching sad in the lyrics, but sad. That sad that creeps up on you, finds a comfortable corner in the centre of your already-bruised heart and curls it's lukewarm self in there. The sort of sad which doesn't have you doubling over in inexplicable pain. No.
The sort of sad Meredith faces when she asks McDreamy to choose her over Allison. And he doesn't.
The sad that does not prod or pinch, this sad is maddeningly polite. It just settles over you in a manner so complete and total...and subtle but entirely felt...it clouds and doesn't bring forth tears.
But sighs, yes. Deep, inner sighs that take the life in you and....make it one huge, burden of a sigh. This sadness doesn't present in form of wails, no. It has the ability to hide behind a good number of cocktails or a good book.
Then the morning comes. And the movie ends. And the book runs out of words.
September was bad. September was slow. Tediously slow. September was horrible. September brought no creativity, zilch inspiration and plenty melancholy. September was cold, and rainy. And awesomely ass-holey.
I fought dread. Yes, most of the past 30 days were filled with dread. Of the unknown. The horrible fear that doom and gloom were in the neighbourhood. I prayed.
Dear Lord, I prayed. And prayed. And run to Melanie. And Sara. And we prayed. But doom and gloom were just happy keeping around me.
So, in that manner of easy vulgarity I had mastered in my O-Level, I flipped them off. I flipped gloom, doom, despair, writer's block, inability to read any of the several amazing books that stood by my bed side.
I flipped them all, called their fucking bluff and told them I would be just fine.
At the right time. The fight to be gleeful and joyous...do you get the irony in that phrase? "The fight to be gleeful and joyous...?" We are NOT meant to fight for joy. We fight to recover our waspy waist lines after child birth. We DO NOT FIGHT FOR JOY.
Screw Eve and her lack of self-control. A fruit? Come on.
Screw death. Death that went and took the mommy of 6 beautiful, intelligent babies.
Death that took away the mommy of my insanely gifted friend.
Fuck death that attempted to break the spirit of a vibrant, spiritual and God-loving man.
Screw death that made us sit in that church and try especially hard not to curse the God that is supposedly harboured in it.
Fuck death for reminding us all of our immortality. Our fragility. Our short spanned life times.
Fucking screw death for the unwanted, unnecessary and uncalled for reminder that, we are on borrowed time.
You gotta give it to death. We plan. And dream. And hope.
While the arse snickers. And then grabs. Steals. Tears apart.
We, the word bearers, we the writers, the grammatically and lyrically gifted. We who somehow manage to convey any message with a couple of well articulated paragraphs. We who always have the sharpest responses to the queries, errors and ineptitude of others. We...who make our living from stringing words together.
We were helpless. And speechless.
I sat with some of the most gifted writers in this town and all we could do was hold hands. And lean on shoulders. And cry. Silent, endless streams of tears as we watched the hearts of our friend and her family get ripped out.
Let me tell you about grief. The words to describe it have not been invented yet. You pray, and hope that you are dreaming. Or, night-maring. That you will wake up. That you will hug your broken friend and drain the hurt from her soul.
That she will stop crying, because you are getting bloody teary-eyed and she doesn't need you crying.
You want to hold her head on your laps and try to soothe away the pain you know without a doubt, will never really go away.
Our mommies are supposed to be with us forever. Oh, we scream at them, and yell, and bang doors in their faces and try to explain our excessive love of alcohol to them, but our mommies are not supposed to die.
Because our mommies are the rocks, the walls, the cooks, the doctors, the cleaners, the huggers, the embarrassing ululaters when our names are called out on graduation.
Our mommies are the grandmothers of our unborn babies. Our mommies should see us first dance with our husbands on our wedding days. They are supposed to tell you why your colour schemes are "too much" or why you do not need a wedding planner, "you lazy children of these days" and guilt you into inviting all their friends to the wedding.
And then break into sobs as she watches her gorgeous girl redefine bridal dazzle(ness.)
My mommy is supposed to walk me down the aisle. Because while she has broken my heart in various and callous ways, she is my mommy.
Mommies are our angels. They are not meant to have a shelf-life.
Dear October.
Today is my brother's birthday. Arnold is my favourite man. He is growing into the man that will make God change His mind about annihilating all male species.
Dear October, come laden with blessings. And joy. And inspiration. And friends. And love.
September took the life out of us.
I came close to self-destruction.
I do not know how my usually perceptive friends were not able to see it.
The alcohol I was drowning in wasn't meant for recreational purposes at all.
The intention was to forget. But I couldn't. You cannot forget the despair that resides in the depths of your soul.
I lost alot of me to September. Creativity. Love-that came a tad too late, joy, passion, hope, sleep.
I lost the will to be alive. September. You hit me hard.
October...
I am a recovering life -and-it's stupid happenings-patient.
Be gentle.
On us all.
Rest In Perfect Peace, Mildred's mama.
"Wake Me Up When September Ends"
Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last
wake me up when September ends
like my father's come to pass
seven years has gone so fast
wake me up when September ends
here comes the rain again
falling from the stars
drenched in my pain again
becoming who we are
as my memory rests
but never forgets what I lost
wake me up when September ends
summer has come and passed
the innocent can never last
wake me up when September ends
ring out the bells again
like we did when spring began
wake me up when September ends
here comes the rain again
falling from the stars
drenched in my pain again
becoming who we are
as my memory rests
but never forgets what I lost
wake me up when September ends
Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last
wake me up when September ends
like my father's come to pass
twenty years has gone so fast
wake me up when September ends
wake me up when September ends
wake me up when September ends
Green Day.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
All My Women; The Other Half.
The Sisters From Other Mothers.
To label these women friends is becoming increasingly difficult. We are at that point where we have been through all the drama that entails sisterhood, survived it, taken life's shocks and blows, fallen away from one another but somehow managed to find one another once the dust is settled. Let me introduce you to the girls that are my sisters, in every sense of the word.
Yasmin.
aka Maureen. My name sake, semi-enemy turned bosom friend turned sister. We have survived high school drama, University madness and pre-real-life issues. Aside being a mother to the happiest boy on this planet, she happens to be one of the few people on this planet that totally understand me but will still call my bluff. Aside telling me to my face that running from people will only ensure I keep running forever, she is responsible for the highest number of panic calls that I have received my entire adult life. I truly think you are one of the most virtuous women that walk this earth. Mwaaah.
Ritah.
The prettiest Mutooro I know. Okay, next to her mother. I can honestly say that this is one of the people that gets me best. She is also one of the few people that know quite how much I love my Lord. Friends from 1993, we have carried each others burdens, shared secrets that we'd kill to keep from the world...and then spent hours telling one another we were not the worst beings alive. And now she has found happiness. And I can honestly say no one deserves it more.
Lucie.
My ruuuuvvv...my height mate, my shoe-size-mate...and one of the women that saw me through some of the toughest two years of my life. I Love you truly. Because you know things about me that I would scarcely admit to myself but you never judge me. You are horrible at keeping in touch but amazing at hugs and wiping away tears when they do come. I wish I could be as organized as you are but I know you love me either way. Now, go be the lawyer we both always wanted to be. When I summon the courage one very near day, I shall join you, and reclaim my dream.
The BFFs And The Soul Mates.
Pieces of me. The people that were separated from me when the creator made me. Then sent to me to make my life a little brighter. There's a lot of things I do not have faith in. But I believe in soul mates. Not the romantic sort. The girl-friend sort. And here they are.
Celia.
Thank you for being by me through the suckiest years of high school and looking beyond the facade that was me. Thank you for praying with me through so many nights of despair and anger, and staying my friend when it was a great risk simply to associate with me. Thank you for loving me, even and especially when you do not understand why I do the things I do. You have seen me at my weakest, you have seen me broken and you have seen me rise to the top. You know my sins better than almost anyone but you also know my greatest weaknesses. And some how you do not judge me. I know for sure that no one else has seen me cry as much as you have. You understand my pride but still know how to get through to the heartest of me. I know I tell you all the time but I do love you. For being one of the purest souls I know but still loving some one like me. Diva-ish or not, I still am one of the sinners. I am blessed to know you.
Els.
My dearest cherub. I love you babe. I know quite well that one sentence is enough. You understand just how deep this goes, even without words. And that is the best part. That words are not very necessary with us. Coke is, and so is meat, and so is deep music. And even deeper books. But I have a bestie to whom I do not have to say much to in way of explanations is one of the biggest pluses in my life. Thank you for letting me into your tres cool family, thank you for letting me steal novels from you when you're half way done, thank you for knowing me enough to see when am in pain. Thank you for being mad at men who do not think am super hot. You are the reason I got my writing on track once again, you're the reason I force myself to type when the writer's block pays me a visit. Thank you for bungee jumping with me, for walking with me when our faith was gone. I do not think I'd have made it this far without you. We are two lazy bums but we shall soon have our car& walking shall be no more. Then we'll take all our money and go to an Island where we'll live on coke and beautiful lyrics forever. You can come with him. Leave the kiities at home though.
I heart you immensely. Bisou. Bisou. Bisou.
Mama.
My first best friend, the kindest woman I know, the one I love the most. Also,the one who broke my heart the hardest. The one that enrages me like no other but who understands me above all else, and believes in me, even when my wild dreams do not make any sense to you. If I was wiser, I'd wish to be as kind as you are. But I'm not very wise and I have seen that kindness can be a downfall. And I fear to fall, I am scared of pain. You have nursed me through countless migraines, you have questioned my love of reading and music, and sleeping, and I have broken your heart in so many ways, mostly as a defense mechanism but no else loves me like you do. This I know for sure.
When I'm rich, I will make up for all the hurt you have had to live with, I will buy the world so you can have some sort of real joy, and I will forgive you. Even if I have to force myself to do so.
Most importantly, I will make you proud. I have God by my side. I will conquer the world, then make you queen. I promise.
The Departed.
Stella and Faith. I miss you so much. My soul mate and my friend. My sweetie and my seat mate of four years. That you are not hear today still manages to shock me. You were meant to be here. For ever.
Stella, the plan was to be crazy wild, do what we loved the most and then find love. With you by my side. Now all I have are memories from a school that taught us some of the hardest lessons life had to offer. I miss your art, I miss your beautiful voice. I miss sharing naughty secrets with you. I pray every day, that you are at peace my sweet. I shall see you soon. Real soon. And then we'll catch up on all that's been happening.
P.S- I Miss You.
Faith.
F.... to this day, I do not understand what happened. Some times I'm still in shock that you're not here. Four years of sitting together in class and now...nada, nothing. Oh, I know you are perfectly okay. I know you are happy, but still...I came across one of the notes you wrote me, accompanied by a Plus One Song..You were always on my side. Always. Silently at times, but I knew you had my back. And that got me through the hell hole that school had turned into. I wish we'd had more time to make the friendship deeper. But I had you for 4years. And that made all the difference. Thank You. But, how can you really be gone?
God bless you luv.
I will turn to music and once again, borrow a line. From "Butterfly Kisses";
"In all that I have done wrong, I must have done something right....." Because I truly have& have had the world's greatest women for friends. If I never say this again, you are God's bestest gift to me.
I Love You.
To label these women friends is becoming increasingly difficult. We are at that point where we have been through all the drama that entails sisterhood, survived it, taken life's shocks and blows, fallen away from one another but somehow managed to find one another once the dust is settled. Let me introduce you to the girls that are my sisters, in every sense of the word.
 |
| Yasmin- the bride. |
aka Maureen. My name sake, semi-enemy turned bosom friend turned sister. We have survived high school drama, University madness and pre-real-life issues. Aside being a mother to the happiest boy on this planet, she happens to be one of the few people on this planet that totally understand me but will still call my bluff. Aside telling me to my face that running from people will only ensure I keep running forever, she is responsible for the highest number of panic calls that I have received my entire adult life. I truly think you are one of the most virtuous women that walk this earth. Mwaaah.
 |
| KaRita. |
The prettiest Mutooro I know. Okay, next to her mother. I can honestly say that this is one of the people that gets me best. She is also one of the few people that know quite how much I love my Lord. Friends from 1993, we have carried each others burdens, shared secrets that we'd kill to keep from the world...and then spent hours telling one another we were not the worst beings alive. And now she has found happiness. And I can honestly say no one deserves it more.
Lucie.
My ruuuuvvv...my height mate, my shoe-size-mate...and one of the women that saw me through some of the toughest two years of my life. I Love you truly. Because you know things about me that I would scarcely admit to myself but you never judge me. You are horrible at keeping in touch but amazing at hugs and wiping away tears when they do come. I wish I could be as organized as you are but I know you love me either way. Now, go be the lawyer we both always wanted to be. When I summon the courage one very near day, I shall join you, and reclaim my dream.
The BFFs And The Soul Mates.
Pieces of me. The people that were separated from me when the creator made me. Then sent to me to make my life a little brighter. There's a lot of things I do not have faith in. But I believe in soul mates. Not the romantic sort. The girl-friend sort. And here they are.
Celia.
Thank you for being by me through the suckiest years of high school and looking beyond the facade that was me. Thank you for praying with me through so many nights of despair and anger, and staying my friend when it was a great risk simply to associate with me. Thank you for loving me, even and especially when you do not understand why I do the things I do. You have seen me at my weakest, you have seen me broken and you have seen me rise to the top. You know my sins better than almost anyone but you also know my greatest weaknesses. And some how you do not judge me. I know for sure that no one else has seen me cry as much as you have. You understand my pride but still know how to get through to the heartest of me. I know I tell you all the time but I do love you. For being one of the purest souls I know but still loving some one like me. Diva-ish or not, I still am one of the sinners. I am blessed to know you.
 |
| Els |
My dearest cherub. I love you babe. I know quite well that one sentence is enough. You understand just how deep this goes, even without words. And that is the best part. That words are not very necessary with us. Coke is, and so is meat, and so is deep music. And even deeper books. But I have a bestie to whom I do not have to say much to in way of explanations is one of the biggest pluses in my life. Thank you for letting me into your tres cool family, thank you for letting me steal novels from you when you're half way done, thank you for knowing me enough to see when am in pain. Thank you for being mad at men who do not think am super hot. You are the reason I got my writing on track once again, you're the reason I force myself to type when the writer's block pays me a visit. Thank you for bungee jumping with me, for walking with me when our faith was gone. I do not think I'd have made it this far without you. We are two lazy bums but we shall soon have our car& walking shall be no more. Then we'll take all our money and go to an Island where we'll live on coke and beautiful lyrics forever. You can come with him. Leave the kiities at home though.
I heart you immensely. Bisou. Bisou. Bisou.
Mama.
My first best friend, the kindest woman I know, the one I love the most. Also,the one who broke my heart the hardest. The one that enrages me like no other but who understands me above all else, and believes in me, even when my wild dreams do not make any sense to you. If I was wiser, I'd wish to be as kind as you are. But I'm not very wise and I have seen that kindness can be a downfall. And I fear to fall, I am scared of pain. You have nursed me through countless migraines, you have questioned my love of reading and music, and sleeping, and I have broken your heart in so many ways, mostly as a defense mechanism but no else loves me like you do. This I know for sure.
When I'm rich, I will make up for all the hurt you have had to live with, I will buy the world so you can have some sort of real joy, and I will forgive you. Even if I have to force myself to do so.
Most importantly, I will make you proud. I have God by my side. I will conquer the world, then make you queen. I promise.
The Departed.
Stella and Faith. I miss you so much. My soul mate and my friend. My sweetie and my seat mate of four years. That you are not hear today still manages to shock me. You were meant to be here. For ever.
Stella, the plan was to be crazy wild, do what we loved the most and then find love. With you by my side. Now all I have are memories from a school that taught us some of the hardest lessons life had to offer. I miss your art, I miss your beautiful voice. I miss sharing naughty secrets with you. I pray every day, that you are at peace my sweet. I shall see you soon. Real soon. And then we'll catch up on all that's been happening.
P.S- I Miss You.
Faith.
F.... to this day, I do not understand what happened. Some times I'm still in shock that you're not here. Four years of sitting together in class and now...nada, nothing. Oh, I know you are perfectly okay. I know you are happy, but still...I came across one of the notes you wrote me, accompanied by a Plus One Song..You were always on my side. Always. Silently at times, but I knew you had my back. And that got me through the hell hole that school had turned into. I wish we'd had more time to make the friendship deeper. But I had you for 4years. And that made all the difference. Thank You. But, how can you really be gone?
God bless you luv.
I will turn to music and once again, borrow a line. From "Butterfly Kisses";
"In all that I have done wrong, I must have done something right....." Because I truly have& have had the world's greatest women for friends. If I never say this again, you are God's bestest gift to me.
I Love You.
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