It's been a little over a year since I made this journal. Wow!
Why do we tell the ones we love, the ones we know don’t love us back, how we feel? Do we think that by telling them they will change their minds, that if we give them a little part of us, they will realize they want the rest? The answer is yes, but the answer is No, I’m sorry, I don’t feel the same way.
Maybe we tell so later on we can think, well, at least I was brave enough to say something. And our broken hearts can take solace in the fact that at we didn’t go on forever, pining. At least we tried to make something happen.
It doesn’t help, I don’t think, but we’ll still continue to do it, to admit our folly heart’s desire for our best friend, or our ex from three years ago.
We are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams.
World-losers and world-forsakers,
Upon whom the pale moon gleams;
Yet we are the movers and shakers,
Of the world forever, it seems.
With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world's great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire's glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song's measure
Can trample an empire down.
We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world's worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.
-- Arthur William Edgar O'Shaughnessy (1844–1881)
In other news, today is my birthday!