View Thinker #fb0000's profile thought 11 years, 4 weeks ago...

Remember when you said you’d marry me? Remember when you said we had forever? Remember how you looked at me? Like I was the only girl you’d ever love. Remember when you held me? Called me pet names, and stroked my hair? Remember when you said I was beautiful? I was everything you ever wanted. Remember when you said you loved me? Do you remember when you lied?

View Thinker #6b1237's profile thought 13 years, 7 months ago...

You do little things sometimes that remind me with overwhelming force of how dearly I love you. Then I let myself look through old photos... of you and of us... of that damn ornery smirk you have when you're doing something that the adult part of you knows is bad, but the child part of you is giggling at... of our fingers tangled together.

Damnit, I miss you. Or at least the layers of you that I forfeit rights to. It kind of hurts me to indulge like this and let myself remember. It's a specific kind of hurt, though... kind of like massaging a sore muscle.

View Thinker #277dd3's profile thought 15 years, 7 months ago...

...that day where we got drunk, ate pizza, and fucked? The more I think about it, that was a really great day. I mean it basically had everything.

View Thinker #97172b's profile thought 16 years, 6 months ago...

remember remember the fifth of november the gunpwder treason and plot i see no reason why the gunpowder treason should ever be forgot


View Thinker #4d689f's profile

It's funny how so many Americans think Guy Fawkes Day had anything to do with political revolutions and overthrowing fascist governments and all that bollocks. It was a religious dispute, people! Nothing to do with fascism; Fawkes was a disgruntled Catholic trying to blow up the Proddie head of government!

I mean, V for Vendetta is a great movie/comic, but it's still just a work of fiction.

View Thinker #97172b's profile

the point remains, though, that if something is important to you, it's worth fighting for.

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remember this with me

i flew. i was late, you were at the wrong terminal, but when you saw me you ran into me and we went to the ground. after some hectic train and subway rides we pulled into northern ontario at night, to be taken by car and donuts further away. i think it was orbit.

i couldn't see anything, but he knew where he was going and you knew where we were too. through the trees we went, and on the other side, down the dirt road and past a small variety of trailers, to the cottage your ancestor built by hand, jutting out into the lake.

there was vodka, weed, strongbow apple cider; a fire, a seesaw, and a town with broken sidewalks and one store. radiohead, swimming in the rain, an attic blessed. there was a bed, windows showing nothing but water, rocks no man has climbed, shoes lost, tans gained, and bats flying between our heads as we loved our way straight through that last night and walked hand in hand to the return.

we were together after that for a while a few times

what happened? and why am i crying when i'm supposed to be over you?


View Thinker #000000's profile thought 16 years, 11 months ago...

I'll follow Purple's lead with the painful mother-memories.

I followed along quietly behind her as she pushed the cart along the aisles of the grocery store. I was just a little kid, but still my little frame was shaking with more depression than I could handle until years later when I... sort of grew into it. I gave short answers to her questions and couldn't really keep up a conversation. I spent most of the time looking at my feet and just trying to hold it together. She leaned in to me and snarled, "Stop looking like that, people are going to think that I beat you."

"I'm sorry." She kept glaring at me. "But you do."

She didn't say anything back. She asked me if I wanted this or that on occasion and I said I didn't. I just wanted to be alone, and I couldn't be.

View Thinker #77406d's profile

I don't know if your house has stairs or not. If not, I'll give you my account info, if you like, ten bucks to read one thread is pricey.

View Thinker #000000's profile

My house does, in fact, have stairs. Pak chooie unf, beetches.

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View Thinker #77406d's profile thought 16 years, 11 months ago...

Something I remembered today.

Being five. Coming out of church. My dad is in the parking lot. I run to him. My mom comes over and screams at both of us. He can't get a word in edgewise. She screamed for ten minutes.

Turned out I'd left my ear infection medicine at his house, and he didn't want mom, stepdad and I to have to make the drive. Yes, he wanted to see me again, as well, I'm sure.

Another: Before that, I'm with my mom and we pull into a gas station. I see that dad is at another pump. I get out to go see him. I have to pass by her side of the car. She grabs me and throws me to the ground, and continues pumping gas. She didn't comfort me, tell me to get in the car, or pay attention when dad came over. She knew she couldn't stop me from seeing him, hugging him, loving him, and it fucking tore her up.

She, in turn, sometimes tore me up. Not usually physically. But I still have scars.

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