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It's been two years since I've seen
your beautiful faces
So many birthdays passed,
so many milestones reached,
brother, I heard you brought
your first child into the world,
and brother, I hear she's
beautiful- the spitting image
of her mother.
You're the only person who
understands why I 
ran out the door that Christmas
and never came home, but brother,
I need you to promise me you'll
remind our sisters of all
the love we shared before things
went wrong.
I can no longer live knowing
they blame me for leaving
them behind.
I should have stayed to protect them,
I know that now, 
but brother, we both know it's far too late.
I hope someday they grow up
and realize that it was a decision I had
to make,
I hope they see that I have spent
everyday since dreaming of the day
when I can finally see them once again
and save them from the abuse I left
between the walls of
our small suburban home
And brother, I need you to promise me one thing.
Promise you won't let them forget me.
Please, don't let them forget me.
I need them, brother. 
I'll never let go.

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Write about a journal. Does it have an interesting look? Who does it belong to? Is it a mystery? Does it have a lock? What types of entries are inside? Are they personal thoughts, information, or random notes? Try writing them. 

(Prompt: GTD Index + Notebook + leather cover + antique key by Patrick Ng via get-scribbling)

I want to keep a record of the real you. Not before, not after, but who you ought to be.

I'm going to scratch on dry, browning paper all the perfect words that won't get any older, any wiser, any harder from the friction of the lives we've led. It'll just be wet ink on dry wood, treated with more care than we ever really managed. I'll leave the marks I always saw in you.


But this time, I'll be so much more inspired. I'll see you through me, past me, and over me. This time, I'll describe you. I'll go down every detail like little bites along your shoulder blades - I'll make it good, I promise, make it more about you than just myself. I'll rework every unsung song, revise every half-spoken conversation. I'll do you better. I'll be better. You'll be better than...

...You know. Before.

And when I'm done? You'll know. You'll see. I hope you cry, because you haven't for too long.

And when I'm done? I'll give it all to you: a leather-bound notebook, a key, and even matches.

(c) 2013 Lawerence Hawkins

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everything was going to change. at that specific moment in time.

the quick glance which blended into an eternity. disregard for the static & constant stimulus. the entire spectrum was shouting at us. trying to grab us back and gain our attention. we stuck it out just to grasp at this new, exciting feeling for a moment.

the teacher rattled on as my neck strained from tug of war between my heart & mind. look forward. look again. stop this. keep going.

you were everything that i’ve always wanted and everything that i didn’t need. you are everything that i knew i would want later. but not now.

things are as they should be. you can’t regret the past, they say. you can’t live in your history, they say.

we all know that it follows you everywhere you go. popping into every situation & shaping your every move.

let it come and let it be.

we pulled into the bluff & parked.

clutched together in the closest you can come to darkness. light from my stereo immersed your body in blue and danced across your face while our eyes anchored each other again.

the windows fogged up slightly, not due to the stereotype. heavy breathing. we were desperately holding on to every second. it is only when you become comfortable with your ecstasy, you let it slip through your fingers.

i traced every wrinkle on your neck with my fingers. gathering as much information as i could before having to find my own way again.