Hurt

I wish our distance would disappear

You got to know

That I want you

And I need you here



I think of you when Im alone

I think of you when Im afraid

I think of you everyday



I think of you when Im awake

I think of you when Im with her

I think of you everyday



-The Chemistry





Help me, help you

They won't be there

Help me, help you

They won't see



It hurts when you need me

And I can't break your fall

And it hurts when you can't see

And it hurts



And it hurts when you're lonely

And I'm standing right beside you there

And it hurts when you told me

That you'll try this on your own



-Thousand Foot Krutch

Homegrown

I think that some people have decided that I have changed, which in all reality might be true. But I feel that I am still the same girl that likes to take long walks in the dark barefoot staring up at the moon, and engage in all sorts of hickish activities. I will always crave East Texas and all it represents. It is my comfort zone, and the place I feel happiest. Sure, one day I will move and start a life elsewhere, but I will always return. And that dreamy, stupid, utmost happy look on my face will always be present when I do.

Today, I helped my dad rake hay. Glamorous job - let me tell you. I honestly look like a Mexican, I am so dark right now. Unfortunately, the tan lines are less than to be desired but at least it is not a farmer's tan.

I really don't have much more to say right now. I will write more later.


~Abigail

Quotes of the Day:

Okay for some reason, I am in a Elizabeth Peters - I am really tall- what the heck- mood. So bear with me.

"This Time It Wasn't My Fault.
On several previous occasions I have found myself up to my neck in trouble (and that's pretty high up, because I am almost 6 feet tall), which might have been avoided if I had displayed a little ladylike discretion. This time, however, I was innocent of everything except stupidity. They say some people attract trouble, I attract people who attract trouble."

"A man can't understand why a women's handbag is such a sensitive object- almost an extension of her person. I don't fully understand it myself. Maybe it's because we keep so many private intimate possessions in our purses- love letters, cosmetics, jelly doughnuts... Maybe a purse is a symbol of the womb, or something equally Freudian. I can't explain it, but I know I hate the idea of a stranger's hands rummaging in my bag."

"What women in her right mind would want to be six feet tall? How can you look coyly up at a man from under your lashes when your eyes are the same level, or higher? How can you find skirts long enough to cover your knees? Put a pitchfork in my hand, and I look like a farmer; put a spear in my hand and I look like and undernourished Valkyrie. I'd much rather be cute and cuddly like Gerda- well maybe not quite that cuddly.

-Elizabeth Peters