Sometimes I wish we could go back to how we used to be. Don't get me wrong, I like the person I've become and I like where my life is going. I think most of us are finally becoming the people that we want to be. But one of us got lost along the way and I don't know how to get it back. We used to be so innocent. We used to be so loving. Now the demons that plague our lives has reared its ugly head and has grabbed ahold of one of us. I pray that it will let go and we can all finally ban together and heal, but before that day comes we're being torn apart. Sometimes the love we all feel for each other gets pushed down by the fear and the anger. I wish this weren't so but it just is. I look at your face in this picture and I see this spark of innocence and wonder. You had your whole life ahead of you here, and believe it or not you still do. You could still have a long life ahead of you, but you have to find the strength to fight the evil that's holding you back. As much as we all want to, we can't do it for you--YOU have to be the one to save yourself. But if (I hesitate to say when because I just don't know) you make that decision, the rest of us are here to help and to love and to guide you to a better, happier path.
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Labels: Doctor Who
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Labels: Arrested Development, Doctor Who, Pretty Little Liars, television, True Blood
0 commentsLabels: awards, Mtv, Robert Pattinson, Twilight
0 commentsClair de Lune, written by Paul Verlaine
Votre âme est un paysage choisi
Que vont charmant masques et bergamasques
Jouant du luth et dansant et quasi
Tristes sous leurs déguisements fantasques.
Tout en chantant sur le mode mineur
L'amour vainqueur et la vie opportune,
Ils n'ont pas l'air de croire à leur bonheur
Et leur chanson se mêle au clair de lune,
Au calme clair de lune triste et beau,
Qui fait rêver les oiseaux dans les arbres
Et sangloter d'extase les jets d'eau,
Les grands jets d'eau sveltes parmi les marbres.
Your soul is like a landscape fantasy,
Where masks and Bergamasks, in charming wise,
Strum lutes and dance, just a bit sad to be
Hidden beneath their fanciful disguise.
Singing in minor mode of life's largesse
And all-victorious love, they yet seem quite
Reluctant to believe their happiness,
And their song mingles with the pale moonlight,
The calm, pale moonlight, whose sad beauty, beaming,
Sets the birds softly dreaming in the trees,
And makes the marbled fountains, gushing, streaming--
Slender jet-fountains--sob their ecstasies.
Labels: ramblings
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