Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
For those struggling to pull through, just remember that it is always darkest before the dawn, and only the truly wise will survive, because they know that the light will always come. And there is always a silver lining, although it's sometimes hard to find. Just keep looking and hold on tight, and soon all you know will be alright
Monday, October 18, 2010
A Story Of Hope And Faith.... Follow The Leader
TO WRITE LOVE ON HER ARMS.
by jamie tworkowski
Pedro the Lion is loud in the speakers, and the city waits just outside our open windows. She sits and sings, legs crossed in the passenger seat, her pretty voice hiding in the volume. Music is a safe place and Pedro is her favorite. It hits me that she won't see this skyline for several weeks, and we will be without her. I lean forward, knowing this will be written, and I ask what she'd say if her story had an audience. She smiles. "Tell them to look up. Tell them to remember the stars."
I would rather write her a song, because songs don't wait to resolve, and because songs mean so much to her. Stories wait for endings, but songs are brave things bold enough to sing when all they know is darkness. These words, like most words, will be written next to midnight, between hurricane and harbor, as both claim to save her.
Renee is 19. When I meet her, cocaine is fresh in her system. She hasn't slept in 36 hours and she won't for another 24. It is a familiar blur of coke, pot, pills and alcohol. She has agreed to meet us, to listen and to let us pray. We ask Renee to come with us, to leave this broken night. She says she'll go to rehab tomorrow, but she isn't ready now. It is too great a change. We pray and say goodbye and it is hard to leave without her.
She has known such great pain; haunted dreams as a child, the near-constant presence of evil ever since. She has felt the touch of awful naked men, battled depression and addiction, and attempted suicide. Her arms remember razor blades, fifty scars that speak of self-inflicted wounds. Six hours after I meet her, she is feeling trapped, two groups of "friends" offering opposite ideas. Everyone is asleep. The sun is rising. She drinks long from a bottle of liquor, takes a razor blade from the table and locks herself in the bathroom. She cuts herself, using the blade to write "FUCK UP" large across her left forearm.
The nurse at the treatment center finds the wound several hours later. The center has no detox, names her too great a risk, and does not accept her. For the next five days, she is ours to love. We become her hospital and the possibility of healing fills our living room with life. It is unspoken and there are only a few of us, but we will be her church, the body of Christ coming alive to meet her needs, to write love on her arms.
She is full of contrast, more alive and closer to death than anyone I've known, like a Johnny Cash song or some theatre star. She owns attitude and humor beyond her 19 years, and when she tells me her story, she is humble and quiet and kind, shaped by the pain of a hundred lifetimes. I sit privileged but breaking as she shares. Her life has been so dark yet there is some soft hope in her words, and on consecutive evenings, I watch the prettiest girls in the room tell her that she's beautiful. I think it's God reminding her.
I've never walked this road, but I decide that if we're going to run a five-day rehab, it is going to be the coolest in the country. It is going to be rock and roll. We start with the basics; lots of fun, too much Starbucks and way too many cigarettes.
Thursday night she is in the balcony for Band Marino, Orlando's finest. They are indie-folk-fabulous, a movement disguised as a circus. She loves them and she smiles when I point out the A&R man from Atlantic Europe, in town from London just to catch this show.
She is in good seats when the Magic beat the Sonics the next night, screaming like a lifelong fan with every Dwight Howard dunk. On the way home, we stop for more coffee and books, Blue Like Jazz and (Anne Lamott's) Travelling Mercies.
On Saturday, the Taste of Chaos tour is in town and I'm not even sure we can get in, but doors do open and minutes after parking, we are on stage for Thrice, one of her favorite bands. She stands ten feet from the drummer, smiling constantly. It is a bright moment there in the music, as light and rain collide above the stage. It feels like healing. It is certainly hope.
Sunday night is church and many gather after the service to pray for Renee, this her last night before entering rehab. Some are strangers but all are friends tonight. The prayers move from broken to bold, all encouraging. We're talking to God but I think as much, we're talking to her, telling her she's loved, saying she does not go alone. One among us knows her best. Ryan sits in the corner strumming an acoustic guitar, singing songs she's inspired.
After church our house fills with friends, there for a few more moments before goodbye. Everyone has some gift for her, some note or hug or piece of encouragement. She pulls me aside and tells me she would like to give me something. I smile surprised, wondering what it could be. We walk through the crowded living room, to the garage and her stuff.
She hands me her last razor blade, tells me it is the one she used to cut her arm and her last lines of cocaine five nights before. She's had it with her ever since, shares that tonight will be the hardest night and she shouldn't have it. I hold it carefully, thank her and know instantly that this moment, this gift, will stay with me. It hits me to wonder if this great feeling is what Christ knows when we surrender our broken hearts, when we trade death for life.
As we arrive at the treatment center, she finishes: "The stars are always there but we miss them in the dirt and clouds. We miss them in the storms. Tell them to remember hope. We have hope."
I have watched life come back to her, and it has been a privilege. When our time with her began, someone suggested shifts but that is the language of business. Love is something better. I have been challenged and changed, reminded that love is that simple answer to so many of our hardest questions. Don Miller says we're called to hold our hands against the wounds of a broken world, to stop the bleeding. I agree so greatly.
We often ask God to show up. We pray prayers of rescue. Perhaps God would ask us to be that rescue, to be His body, to move for things that matter. He is not invisible when we come alive. I might be simple but more and more, I believe God works in love, speaks in love, is revealed in our love. I have seen that this week and honestly, it has been simple: Take a broken girl, treat her like a famous princess, give her the best seats in the house. Buy her coffee and cigarettes for the coming down, books and bathroom things for the days ahead. Tell her something true when all she's known are lies. Tell her God loves her. Tell her about forgiveness, the possibility of freedom, tell her she was made to dance in white dresses. All these things are true.
We are only asked to love, to offer hope to the many hopeless. We don't get to choose all the endings, but we are asked to play the rescuers. We won't solve all mysteries and our hearts will certainly break in such a vulnerable life, but it is the best way. We were made to be lovers bold in broken places, pouring ourselves out again and again until we're called home.
I have learned so much in one week with one brave girl. She is alive now, in the patience and safety of rehab, covered in marks of madness but choosing to believe that God makes things new, that He meant hope and healing in the stars. She would ask you to remember.
by jamie tworkowski
Pedro the Lion is loud in the speakers, and the city waits just outside our open windows. She sits and sings, legs crossed in the passenger seat, her pretty voice hiding in the volume. Music is a safe place and Pedro is her favorite. It hits me that she won't see this skyline for several weeks, and we will be without her. I lean forward, knowing this will be written, and I ask what she'd say if her story had an audience. She smiles. "Tell them to look up. Tell them to remember the stars."
I would rather write her a song, because songs don't wait to resolve, and because songs mean so much to her. Stories wait for endings, but songs are brave things bold enough to sing when all they know is darkness. These words, like most words, will be written next to midnight, between hurricane and harbor, as both claim to save her.
Renee is 19. When I meet her, cocaine is fresh in her system. She hasn't slept in 36 hours and she won't for another 24. It is a familiar blur of coke, pot, pills and alcohol. She has agreed to meet us, to listen and to let us pray. We ask Renee to come with us, to leave this broken night. She says she'll go to rehab tomorrow, but she isn't ready now. It is too great a change. We pray and say goodbye and it is hard to leave without her.
She has known such great pain; haunted dreams as a child, the near-constant presence of evil ever since. She has felt the touch of awful naked men, battled depression and addiction, and attempted suicide. Her arms remember razor blades, fifty scars that speak of self-inflicted wounds. Six hours after I meet her, she is feeling trapped, two groups of "friends" offering opposite ideas. Everyone is asleep. The sun is rising. She drinks long from a bottle of liquor, takes a razor blade from the table and locks herself in the bathroom. She cuts herself, using the blade to write "FUCK UP" large across her left forearm.
The nurse at the treatment center finds the wound several hours later. The center has no detox, names her too great a risk, and does not accept her. For the next five days, she is ours to love. We become her hospital and the possibility of healing fills our living room with life. It is unspoken and there are only a few of us, but we will be her church, the body of Christ coming alive to meet her needs, to write love on her arms.
She is full of contrast, more alive and closer to death than anyone I've known, like a Johnny Cash song or some theatre star. She owns attitude and humor beyond her 19 years, and when she tells me her story, she is humble and quiet and kind, shaped by the pain of a hundred lifetimes. I sit privileged but breaking as she shares. Her life has been so dark yet there is some soft hope in her words, and on consecutive evenings, I watch the prettiest girls in the room tell her that she's beautiful. I think it's God reminding her.
I've never walked this road, but I decide that if we're going to run a five-day rehab, it is going to be the coolest in the country. It is going to be rock and roll. We start with the basics; lots of fun, too much Starbucks and way too many cigarettes.
Thursday night she is in the balcony for Band Marino, Orlando's finest. They are indie-folk-fabulous, a movement disguised as a circus. She loves them and she smiles when I point out the A&R man from Atlantic Europe, in town from London just to catch this show.
She is in good seats when the Magic beat the Sonics the next night, screaming like a lifelong fan with every Dwight Howard dunk. On the way home, we stop for more coffee and books, Blue Like Jazz and (Anne Lamott's) Travelling Mercies.
On Saturday, the Taste of Chaos tour is in town and I'm not even sure we can get in, but doors do open and minutes after parking, we are on stage for Thrice, one of her favorite bands. She stands ten feet from the drummer, smiling constantly. It is a bright moment there in the music, as light and rain collide above the stage. It feels like healing. It is certainly hope.
Sunday night is church and many gather after the service to pray for Renee, this her last night before entering rehab. Some are strangers but all are friends tonight. The prayers move from broken to bold, all encouraging. We're talking to God but I think as much, we're talking to her, telling her she's loved, saying she does not go alone. One among us knows her best. Ryan sits in the corner strumming an acoustic guitar, singing songs she's inspired.
After church our house fills with friends, there for a few more moments before goodbye. Everyone has some gift for her, some note or hug or piece of encouragement. She pulls me aside and tells me she would like to give me something. I smile surprised, wondering what it could be. We walk through the crowded living room, to the garage and her stuff.
She hands me her last razor blade, tells me it is the one she used to cut her arm and her last lines of cocaine five nights before. She's had it with her ever since, shares that tonight will be the hardest night and she shouldn't have it. I hold it carefully, thank her and know instantly that this moment, this gift, will stay with me. It hits me to wonder if this great feeling is what Christ knows when we surrender our broken hearts, when we trade death for life.
As we arrive at the treatment center, she finishes: "The stars are always there but we miss them in the dirt and clouds. We miss them in the storms. Tell them to remember hope. We have hope."
I have watched life come back to her, and it has been a privilege. When our time with her began, someone suggested shifts but that is the language of business. Love is something better. I have been challenged and changed, reminded that love is that simple answer to so many of our hardest questions. Don Miller says we're called to hold our hands against the wounds of a broken world, to stop the bleeding. I agree so greatly.
We often ask God to show up. We pray prayers of rescue. Perhaps God would ask us to be that rescue, to be His body, to move for things that matter. He is not invisible when we come alive. I might be simple but more and more, I believe God works in love, speaks in love, is revealed in our love. I have seen that this week and honestly, it has been simple: Take a broken girl, treat her like a famous princess, give her the best seats in the house. Buy her coffee and cigarettes for the coming down, books and bathroom things for the days ahead. Tell her something true when all she's known are lies. Tell her God loves her. Tell her about forgiveness, the possibility of freedom, tell her she was made to dance in white dresses. All these things are true.
We are only asked to love, to offer hope to the many hopeless. We don't get to choose all the endings, but we are asked to play the rescuers. We won't solve all mysteries and our hearts will certainly break in such a vulnerable life, but it is the best way. We were made to be lovers bold in broken places, pouring ourselves out again and again until we're called home.
I have learned so much in one week with one brave girl. She is alive now, in the patience and safety of rehab, covered in marks of madness but choosing to believe that God makes things new, that He meant hope and healing in the stars. She would ask you to remember.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Dear Love,
I am grateful for being lucky enough to have you. You treat me well, you're always there. You give me company when I am lonely, you lift me up when I am down. You don't have any idea what you mean to me, how special that you are. I don't beleive that I deserve you, yet you feel the same about me, you give me self worth, you love me for who I am. I can be me around you, you accept me, flaws and all. I have no secrets from you, you have allowed me to trust you. In the end all I can do to show you how I appreciate you is to continue loving you. All I can say is that I do. I love you. I love you more than you will ever know, more than words will ever be able to say...
Your Love,
Katerain
I am grateful for being lucky enough to have you. You treat me well, you're always there. You give me company when I am lonely, you lift me up when I am down. You don't have any idea what you mean to me, how special that you are. I don't beleive that I deserve you, yet you feel the same about me, you give me self worth, you love me for who I am. I can be me around you, you accept me, flaws and all. I have no secrets from you, you have allowed me to trust you. In the end all I can do to show you how I appreciate you is to continue loving you. All I can say is that I do. I love you. I love you more than you will ever know, more than words will ever be able to say...
Your Love,
Katerain
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Friday, September 10, 2010
Monday, August 9, 2010
Ok, Anberlin is AMAZING! How else do you explain lyrics like "I want to be your last first kiss" and "Old enough to know but too young to care" ?!? Not to mention how catchy ALL of their songs are. I randomly catch myself singing Haight Street, and Godspeed, and Breaking, just to name a few. They're very good, and I'm hoping my band might live up to theirs some day. I really do.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
First Chapter Of My Greatest Book Yet!!!!!
Ok, I know it's random on here, and I know this sounds like a last chapter, but this is the first chapter to my most recent book, the third in a trilogy that is nearly done and ready to publish. I hope you like!!!!!!!
THE FINALE chapter one
I frowned at myself. Forty years old, and I din't look a day past twenty-two. I studied myself carefully, taking in every detail. Even after all these years, it was still rather hard to beleive.
I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. As I turned back to myself, Stephen wrapped his arms around me. He still looked barely older than I did, at nearly fifty-one, a rather large difference, he still looked young. His hair fell into his eyes and he smiled at me.
I smiled back. Despite the fact that we looked like a new couple, we had been together for twenty years. And in those twenty years we had been through so much. We had fought side by side in countless battles, and won. We got married in secret, and we had six kids of our own.
At the thought of the kids, I choked up. Holding back the tears, I let Stephen pull me away from the mirror. He pulled me over to the bed and sat down. I slowly sat down beside him and looked up at his face. Just looking at him, I knew he knew about what I was thinking. He had seen, and he was wondering the same thing.
I chewed my lip and he took my hand. The silence was heavy, but neither of us dared to speak. We both just wanted to know when they were coming home.
In their absence of nearly six years, Stephen and I had sat and hoped, day after day, that the war would end so that they could come back. We could vaguely remember watching them grow up, but that wasn't enough to satisfy us.
Our oldest would be twenty within the next week, and for all we knew, they had children. We already knew that Raine and Cassandra did, but they were only one of ours. I missed them all, and it broke my heart to be without them for so long. especially because some of them were so young when they left.
Delilah and Adalade were only four when they were sent, but we had to keep them safe, so we let them go. One by one, and in some cases, two by two, we watched them leave, all the while wishing with all of our hearts that they didn't have to go...
Stephen broke into my thoughts. I looked up and across the room and saw a teenage girl. She had wings as black as night, long brown hair, and the bluest eyes. And in her right hand, she clutched a well worn teddy bear, that I remembered quite clearly...
The tears in my eyes became one, and the tears rolled down my cheeks. The girl looked at us together, then one at a time. She dropped the bear, without realizing it, and she made no effort to pick it up as the emotion built on her face.
"Daddy!" She exclaimed, as if she were seven once again. In one huge leaping bound, she ran across the room and pushed herself as close in between us as she could. She whispered, as quietly as she had appeared, "I love you guys..."
The tears began to flow freely. I couldn't contain them anymore. The girl that was sitting here, wedged in between us, was Sophia. She was raised all her life by Aaron, and she thought that we hated her. And she hated us for that.
But in truth we loved her more than words could express, and that's why Aaron raised her. We would have rather her be raised by a freind than to have gotten hurt or worse out on the battlefield.
But sitting there, she knew. She knew how much we had cared from the very beginning. How hard it was for us to let her go, and how hard it was to have her dislike us so. She knew, and in the few seconds that had elapsed, she had apologized for her mistakes, and forgiven us for ours, just by being there.
So I cried, knowing that she loved us, and knowing that our other kids would be back soon, and we would all be together for truly the first time ever.
THE FINALE chapter one
I frowned at myself. Forty years old, and I din't look a day past twenty-two. I studied myself carefully, taking in every detail. Even after all these years, it was still rather hard to beleive.
I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. As I turned back to myself, Stephen wrapped his arms around me. He still looked barely older than I did, at nearly fifty-one, a rather large difference, he still looked young. His hair fell into his eyes and he smiled at me.
I smiled back. Despite the fact that we looked like a new couple, we had been together for twenty years. And in those twenty years we had been through so much. We had fought side by side in countless battles, and won. We got married in secret, and we had six kids of our own.
At the thought of the kids, I choked up. Holding back the tears, I let Stephen pull me away from the mirror. He pulled me over to the bed and sat down. I slowly sat down beside him and looked up at his face. Just looking at him, I knew he knew about what I was thinking. He had seen, and he was wondering the same thing.
I chewed my lip and he took my hand. The silence was heavy, but neither of us dared to speak. We both just wanted to know when they were coming home.
In their absence of nearly six years, Stephen and I had sat and hoped, day after day, that the war would end so that they could come back. We could vaguely remember watching them grow up, but that wasn't enough to satisfy us.
Our oldest would be twenty within the next week, and for all we knew, they had children. We already knew that Raine and Cassandra did, but they were only one of ours. I missed them all, and it broke my heart to be without them for so long. especially because some of them were so young when they left.
Delilah and Adalade were only four when they were sent, but we had to keep them safe, so we let them go. One by one, and in some cases, two by two, we watched them leave, all the while wishing with all of our hearts that they didn't have to go...
Stephen broke into my thoughts. I looked up and across the room and saw a teenage girl. She had wings as black as night, long brown hair, and the bluest eyes. And in her right hand, she clutched a well worn teddy bear, that I remembered quite clearly...
The tears in my eyes became one, and the tears rolled down my cheeks. The girl looked at us together, then one at a time. She dropped the bear, without realizing it, and she made no effort to pick it up as the emotion built on her face.
"Daddy!" She exclaimed, as if she were seven once again. In one huge leaping bound, she ran across the room and pushed herself as close in between us as she could. She whispered, as quietly as she had appeared, "I love you guys..."
The tears began to flow freely. I couldn't contain them anymore. The girl that was sitting here, wedged in between us, was Sophia. She was raised all her life by Aaron, and she thought that we hated her. And she hated us for that.
But in truth we loved her more than words could express, and that's why Aaron raised her. We would have rather her be raised by a freind than to have gotten hurt or worse out on the battlefield.
But sitting there, she knew. She knew how much we had cared from the very beginning. How hard it was for us to let her go, and how hard it was to have her dislike us so. She knew, and in the few seconds that had elapsed, she had apologized for her mistakes, and forgiven us for ours, just by being there.
So I cried, knowing that she loved us, and knowing that our other kids would be back soon, and we would all be together for truly the first time ever.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Sometimes when you say goodbye, it seems like you're being left behind. It seems like they left you in the dust, after they swore that they would stay. We've all been there, but we all need to realize that in life, the things that we love come and go, with almost no exceptions...
Saying goodbye is never easy, yet people come and go, some stay forever, and some just don't. Some stab you in the heart, yet you love them anyway, and then you chase behind, when they finally go away. But to say goodbye it takes some courage, some strength of heart and mind. To try and hold the tears back, as you get left behind. The road is long and lonely, but on your journey you will find, though life's not always easy, you're never truly far behind...
Saying goodbye is never easy, yet people come and go, some stay forever, and some just don't. Some stab you in the heart, yet you love them anyway, and then you chase behind, when they finally go away. But to say goodbye it takes some courage, some strength of heart and mind. To try and hold the tears back, as you get left behind. The road is long and lonely, but on your journey you will find, though life's not always easy, you're never truly far behind...
Friday, June 25, 2010
Seeing a butterfly on the ground with it's wings crumpled today, I began to cry. I thought of how fragile life is, seeing as last night, a very close friend of mine died. After suffering for almost his entire life, he took his last breath, and his life by his own hand. So young, with so much life before him.
That butterfly reminded me of him, in pain and nearly dead, but not able to fly away. I wished with all my heart that it would get back up and be ok, but of course that didn't happen. So I went back inside and sat at my computer, thinking of how to word what I was feeling. I stared at it for awhile, with nothing coming to my mind. Then a thought crossed my mind. What if I could use this bad experience and use it to help others?
So I started looking up different statistics, thinking maybe if I were to inform people, they might be more skeptical. I also thought I would give them someone to talk to if they needed it, so I created a place for them to do just that on my site http://www.strengthandpassion.webs.com/ so that they can be reassured that life IS worth it. If anyone needs someone to help them through a tough time, I'd be happy to.
Teen Suicide Statistics And Facts:
Suicide is one of the leading causes of death in teens.
About 10 in 100,000 teens kill themselves
Girls are more likely to commit suicide
Every hour and forty-five minutes one young person kills themselves
For every true suicide, there are 50 to 100 more attempts
Between 26% and 33% of adolescent teens that commited suicide had attempted it before.
Suicide is a VERY serious issue. And it is an issue that is very close to me, because of my friend. So PLEASE, PLEASE be wise and don't even THINK that you want to die...
That butterfly reminded me of him, in pain and nearly dead, but not able to fly away. I wished with all my heart that it would get back up and be ok, but of course that didn't happen. So I went back inside and sat at my computer, thinking of how to word what I was feeling. I stared at it for awhile, with nothing coming to my mind. Then a thought crossed my mind. What if I could use this bad experience and use it to help others?
So I started looking up different statistics, thinking maybe if I were to inform people, they might be more skeptical. I also thought I would give them someone to talk to if they needed it, so I created a place for them to do just that on my site http://www.strengthandpassion.webs.com/ so that they can be reassured that life IS worth it. If anyone needs someone to help them through a tough time, I'd be happy to.
Teen Suicide Statistics And Facts:
Suicide is one of the leading causes of death in teens.
About 10 in 100,000 teens kill themselves
Girls are more likely to commit suicide
Every hour and forty-five minutes one young person kills themselves
For every true suicide, there are 50 to 100 more attempts
Between 26% and 33% of adolescent teens that commited suicide had attempted it before.
Suicide is a VERY serious issue. And it is an issue that is very close to me, because of my friend. So PLEASE, PLEASE be wise and don't even THINK that you want to die...
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Do each and every one of us have our own wonderland?
A place that we can disappear to when times are tough. A place to make us smile when the tears fall and laugh when we want to scream. A landwilled with magic, where our wildest dreams come true. A place where no matter how hard we think life is, we can do the impossible. Stare certain disaster in the face and overcome it. Any burden we carry is lifted, all the weight of the stress is dropped. Where our thoughts can wander and no one seems to mind. The sky is the limit. Imagination is the key. Take that key and unlock the door. We visit often, when we need to smile and when our world comes crashing down. There are friends and there are foes, and laughter conqers all.
So let's be brave and take the journey, we'll travel far and near, today's the day let's fly away, and soon we'll know no fear.
A place that we can disappear to when times are tough. A place to make us smile when the tears fall and laugh when we want to scream. A landwilled with magic, where our wildest dreams come true. A place where no matter how hard we think life is, we can do the impossible. Stare certain disaster in the face and overcome it. Any burden we carry is lifted, all the weight of the stress is dropped. Where our thoughts can wander and no one seems to mind. The sky is the limit. Imagination is the key. Take that key and unlock the door. We visit often, when we need to smile and when our world comes crashing down. There are friends and there are foes, and laughter conqers all.
So let's be brave and take the journey, we'll travel far and near, today's the day let's fly away, and soon we'll know no fear.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
I was thinking earlier, and when I think, I tend to write... So while I was thinking, I was writing it down in a more pleasing form. The poetry style writing that I am about to share with you is brought to you by the thought that we all seem to grow up too fast...
Welcome to neverland. Go forth and veiw the world as you once did, through the eyes of a child. Run and jump and play in your newly rediscovered forgotten memories of your youth. Because growing up doesn't mean you have to grow up.So don't forget the days spent, as you look back upon your past. Embrace the times you were as free as the wind, hold fast the times you cannot have again. Reenact those days, replay them in your mind. The good times and the bad times and others you will find. And to those who doubt you, prove to them today, that in all those moments gone away, you were the best that you could be, and through the eyes of a child is the best way to see.
So, since you've read this, you're remembering the past. Grab ahold of those memories and don't let them slip away. The past is who you are and if you let that go you let part of yourself go. Forget and you lose yourself... So remember and embrace seeing the world through the eyes of a child, where there is no wrong and stress and hatred is an unknown factor. Love seeing the world as one, as a wonderful place. Cherish that world, and protect it in your memories...
Welcome to neverland. Go forth and veiw the world as you once did, through the eyes of a child. Run and jump and play in your newly rediscovered forgotten memories of your youth. Because growing up doesn't mean you have to grow up.So don't forget the days spent, as you look back upon your past. Embrace the times you were as free as the wind, hold fast the times you cannot have again. Reenact those days, replay them in your mind. The good times and the bad times and others you will find. And to those who doubt you, prove to them today, that in all those moments gone away, you were the best that you could be, and through the eyes of a child is the best way to see.
So, since you've read this, you're remembering the past. Grab ahold of those memories and don't let them slip away. The past is who you are and if you let that go you let part of yourself go. Forget and you lose yourself... So remember and embrace seeing the world through the eyes of a child, where there is no wrong and stress and hatred is an unknown factor. Love seeing the world as one, as a wonderful place. Cherish that world, and protect it in your memories...
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