How do you measure, measure a year?
In Truths That She Learned
Or In Times That
Five Hundred Twenty-Five Thousand
Six Hundred Minutes
Five Hundred Twenty-Five Thousand
Moments So Dear
Five Hundred Twenty-Five Thousand
Six Hundred Minutes
How Do You Measure, Measure A Year?
In Daylights, In Sunsets
In Midnights, In Cups Of Coffee
In Inches, In Miles
In Laughter, In Strife
In - Five Hundred Twenty-Five Thousand
Six Hundred Minutes
How Do You Measure
A Year In The Life
How About Love?
How About Love?
How About Love?
Measure In Love
Seasons Of Love
Seasons Of Love
SO... who is taking me to go see rent? I think Carla Kay. Oh, the frustration, I know, but someday we will get over it. Hopefully soon. Maybe. So, I have come to the sudden realization that hardly anyone reads my journal... Carla only comments anymore. I don't much care, I suppose. I did abandon most of you, but give me a break. I had a fall apart. I suppose that that isn't much your concern though... So, if I die of aids, will someone come to my funeral? Someone who doesn't cry at all when they walk up... Someone who looks longingly at my face, with a flower in hand, kneeling. Someone who will smile, touch my face, and then walk to the back of the room to cry. In a ball. In a mess. In a way that makes all the other mourners realize true mourning, and cause them to either break down or buck up? Someone? Who are you?
If I die, will I be missed for more than a year? More than a century? More than just my friends? Will enemies cry apologetically? Will people who ignore me question their beliefs? I wish I could break down. Unhopingly. Uncaringly. To the point where I am a blur. Where all life is a blur, where the dark corner I am in couldn't get colder. Sometimes I wish I could feel so much in one giant hit. Like the kind that makes you collapse into yourself.
fin.
In Bridges He Burned
Or The Way That She Died
Or In Times That
Five Hundred Twenty-Five Thousand
Six Hundred Minutes
Five Hundred Twenty-Five Thousand
Moments So Dear
Five Hundred Twenty-Five Thousand
Six Hundred Minutes
How Do You Measure, Measure A Year?
In Daylights, In Sunsets
In Midnights, In Cups Of Coffee
In Inches, In Miles
In Laughter, In Strife
In - Five Hundred Twenty-Five Thousand
Six Hundred Minutes
How Do You Measure
A Year In The Life
How About Love?
How About Love?
How About Love?
Measure In Love
Seasons Of Love
Seasons Of Love
SO... who is taking me to go see rent? I think Carla Kay. Oh, the frustration, I know, but someday we will get over it. Hopefully soon. Maybe. So, I have come to the sudden realization that hardly anyone reads my journal... Carla only comments anymore. I don't much care, I suppose. I did abandon most of you, but give me a break. I had a fall apart. I suppose that that isn't much your concern though... So, if I die of aids, will someone come to my funeral? Someone who doesn't cry at all when they walk up... Someone who looks longingly at my face, with a flower in hand, kneeling. Someone who will smile, touch my face, and then walk to the back of the room to cry. In a ball. In a mess. In a way that makes all the other mourners realize true mourning, and cause them to either break down or buck up? Someone? Who are you?
If I die, will I be missed for more than a year? More than a century? More than just my friends? Will enemies cry apologetically? Will people who ignore me question their beliefs? I wish I could break down. Unhopingly. Uncaringly. To the point where I am a blur. Where all life is a blur, where the dark corner I am in couldn't get colder. Sometimes I wish I could feel so much in one giant hit. Like the kind that makes you collapse into yourself.
fin.
In Bridges He Burned
Or The Way That She Died