Because love, love is never finished. It circles and circles, the memories out of order and not always complete.
Okay, then, what was he like? Just give me something to go on so that I have a shot at him!''A shot at him? Are you on an elk hunt?
Forgetting isn't enough. You can paddle away from the memories and think they are gone. But they will keep floating back, again and again and agian. They circle you, like sharks. Until, unless, something, someone? Can do more than just cover the wound.
Is that the destiny of all friendships, no matter how good they are? To die out or fade away? To end?
And I don't just mean that they change you. A lot of people can change you—the first kid who called you a name, the first teacher who said you were smart, the first person who crowned you best friend. It's the change you remember, the firsts and what they meant, not really the people.
We'd walk home together in the foggy summer night and I'd tell her about sex; the good stuff, like how it could be warm and exciting--it took you away--and the not-so-good things, like how once you showed someone that part of yourself, you had to trust them one thousand percent and anything could happen. Someone you thought you knew could change and suddenly not want you, suddenly decide you made a better story than a girlfriend. Or how sometimes you might think you wanted to do it and then halfway through or afterward realize no, you just wanted the company, really; you wanted someone to choose you, and the sex part itself was like a trade-off, something you felt like you had to give to get the other part. I'd tell her that and help her decide. I'd be a friend.
*Story of a Girl By:Sara Zarr*Lexile:760 SRC:12 pts.*Personal Issues*Choice of getting a job to move out*Major Choice*In Process of making it happen*It effects her bother his girlfriend and their baby, because they will move out with her too.*Sometimes we need to take choices that will make your life easier and also others.
No one measures a life in weeks and days. You measure life in years and by the things that happen to you.
That's how you know you really trust someone, I think; when you don't have to talk all the time to make sure they still like you or prove that you have interesting stuff to say.
It's as if once you hit high school, you're programmed, like a robot, to be an asshole to your parents.
the past only had whatever power you gave it; life was what you made it and if you wanted something different from what you had, it was up to you to make it happen.
I had them all fooled into believing I was normal and well-adjusted, a rock of sensibility who could always be counted on to have a positive attitude.
Katy skipped over, her low-rise jeans threatening to fall off her skinny hips. With some girls, that was a sexy look. With Katy, it made you nervous.
We write in ways that, we generally hope, reflect real life, or at least look familiar to humans. And in life, recurring themes are a recurring theme. We never quite conquer a pet vice or a relationship pattern or a communication habit. We're haunted by our particular demons.