We lay in bed, still. The morning light creeps through the gap between the blinds and the window, falls on the bedsheets that covers us.

Her arm lies across my chest and mine cradles the curve of her neck, drawing her near. Her breath gently tickles my skin while the soft subtle features of her face frames her dreams.

I kiss her forehead and she murmurs. She looks up with the eyes of an infant opening them for the first time. She smiles. Good morning.

Those were the happy days.

this past february my mom, my aunt and i drove my grandfather down to florida to see his sister. he's 82 and she is 85. they hadnt seen each other in over 30 years. i hadnt spent much time with my grandfather in the past ten years since he moved farther away. the image i had in my head was from a ten year old child's point of view. he was grandpa. quiet and a little gruff but i knew that he was strong and would always be there to make things better.
when we got to my great-aunt's house they were talking and she was asking him about the family and about his late wife. my grandmother died before i was born. he never remarried or found anyone else. it was evident all through my childhood how much he loved her. when my great-aunt asked about how she died my grandfather made up some vague story about how she suddenly got sick. he said the doctors didnt know what it was and after she was in the hospital for a few days she died.
my mom, my aunt and i all looked at each other confused but didnt say anything.
my grandmother died of lung cancer. there was nothing sudden about it. she was in and out of the hospital for months.
it suddenly became clear why the entire 20 hour drive there my grandfather had been repeating the same stories. he couldnt remember anything else. or even the fact that he had already told us.

she was the love of his life and his memories of her are fading.

I don't own, I rent. I have had eight different bedrooms in the past ten years. I have shared them with strangers, friends, and people who fall into neither of those categories. I have also shared them with people who fall into both, now that I think about it. I see the spotless, tastefully decorated bedrooms in magazines and I honestly cannot understand who would ever choose to live like that. Nothing in my room matches, but I have a sneaking suspicion that somehow that makes everything go together. I have a television set in my bedroom but thankfully I do not remember the last time it was turned on. I read here, I think here, I come here to run away from my roommate when I fear that I might actually strangle him if one more word comes out of his mouth. I love the way it looks when every article of clothing is off the floor, each book in its place, and the bed made. I hardly ever love the way it looks. I love the way it feels when the jeans I wore to the bar last night are in a pile on the floor next to the flip flop whose match I can't seem to find and the flannel sheets I washed and was supposed to fold and pack away for the summer are still in a laundry basket in the corner. It feels like home. I realize that I am a packrat but I also realize that there is something very comforting in being surrounded by your own stuff. Magazine, candles, pictures, clothes, a million shoes, and a million books. All of it mine. All of it here after a shitty day of working a shitty job. Here the same after a lovely night out with friends. The furniture arrangement changes slightly with each new apartment and I get new things occasionally. The changes are small enough that I keep coming home regardless of how many times I move.

the first weekend i came home from college my bedroom depressed me so much. everything that had been familiar and comforting as i grew up now felt strange after a few weeks away. there were empty spots on the walls where i had taken some of my pictures and posters to college and some of my furniture was at my dorm . even my bed wasnt familiar anymore. i felt like a guest in my own room.

In the bedroom is where all my dirty socks lies on the floor.

my high school economics teacher!

At the age of 2 my love for the TV set was incontrollable. It was then where I decided to express my gratefulness by climbing and hugging the TV. Unfortunately, this TV had its mine of its own and decided to fall forward as I was wrapped around it. I was rushed to the hospital with only a bleeding nose. But I will never forget this incident that crushed me the most!

I first noticed her in high school and unfortunately she never really noticed me. She only remembered me as the annoying brat. During our senior year, we started to crush on each other but at the wrong time. She had a crush on me but not when I had a crush on her and vice versa. This went in circles and each time was the wrong time. Finally, I could not wait for the right "time" to come and had decided I would ask her out. She gave me all the right signals that a guy should ask for a confident answer. Not once, not twice but three times I've asked her out and each time was not the right time.

She's crushed me three times. The rule is three strikes and you're out; and with so much limbo in our chase for each other, I've had to move on as we went our separate ways. We remain to be best friends today but I still wish that the right time would have came.

Every time I put documents in alphabetical order I have to sing the ABC song.

we met when i started working at the department store in town. he was the guy i went to with all my questions, and he teased me endlessly. he invited me to a party at his house one weekend. late into the night, after everyone else had passed out we stayed up talking. as the sun started to come up he kissed me. as much as i wanted to i couldnt kiss back. i was dating someone else. he appologized and said he understood, then asked why i stayed with someone who everyone knew treated me horribly. i couldnt explain that i didnt know how to get out of it.
the next day i dumped the boyfriend and asked him out.
we spent everyday together after that.
after about eight months we decided to move in together.
five months after that he asked me to marry him.
three months later he told me he didnt love me anymore.