#saviorself

Your dimples put dents in my spine. I loved you from the moment we met. Whatever heart I had intact from a butchered childhood was left for you. I even polished the silver platter I would serve it to you on. You left it in the back of your freezer saran wrapped. Ready whenever you were. There was no preparing for October, we were young, you had called me a week before the world fell out from under me. Before your 20th birthday, before, before I got to tell you, you are and always will be the only one. Before I got a chance to wear that white dress for you, before the kids, the house keys, the suv’s in the driveway. We almost had it. The happy ending, the storybook romance, that love that hurts to look at. There will not be a day that passes in my life where I stop loving you and everything you were. It will always feel like something is missing, my heart.

Who do you want to be - the citric in the stands or the man in the arena? How have you been living recently? Is something holding you back? It’s not the citric who counts; not the man who points out how a strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could’ve done them better, The credit goes to the man in the arena, who’s face is marred by the blood, sweat and tears; as he strives valiantly... knowing great enthusiasms and great devotions, who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of a high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails at least fails while daring greatly, so that his soul shall never pass with those cold and timid souls who have never known neither victory nor defeat.