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Posts Tagged ‘sadness’

02

The wind is tossing the lilacs,
The new leaves laugh in the sun,
And the petals fall on the orchard wall,
But for me the spring is done.

Beneath the apple blossoms
I go a wintry way,
For love that smiled in April
Is false to me in May.

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01
Not once did I expect this to happen.
Never in my wildest dream that I’ve fallen,
To a boy who wasn’t my prince charming
Nor to someone who is my friend. It must been your sweetness that melt my heart
Or your gentle smile could be the start.
Whatever the reason for me to feel this way
One thing I know, this strange feeling grows stronger everyday

All this time I’ve been praying
For you to see and look at me as a lady
Every now and then I woke up dreaming
That I can be your girl, not just a friend

Then reality broke me into pieces
It wounded me bad as it came to my senses.
That you belong to someone else
And I’m left alone with all this heartaches

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He awoke each morning with the desire to do right, to be a good and meaningful person, to be, as simple as it sounded and as impossible as it actually was, happy. And during the course of each day his heart would descend from his chest into his stomach. By early afternoon he was overcome by the feeling that nothing was right, or nothing was right for him, and by the desire to be alone. By evening he was fulfilled: alone in the magnitude of his grief, alone in his aimless guilt, alone even in his loneliness. I am not sad, he would repeat to himself over and over, I am not sad. As if he might one day convince himself. Or fool himself. Or convince others–the only thing worse than being sad is for others to know that you are sad. I am not sad. I am not sad. Because his life had unlimited potential for happiness, insofar as it was an empty white room. He would fall asleep with his heart at the foot of his bed, like some domesticated animal that was no part of him at all. And each morning he would wake with it again in the cupboard of his rib cage, having become a little heavier, a little weaker, but still pumping. And by the midafternoon he was again overcome with the desire to be somewhere else, someone else, someone else somewhere else. I am not sad.

― Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything Is Illuminated

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I`ll name it later

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