“Knowing that he wouldn’t be there for her wedding, a terminally ill father walked his 11-year-old down the ‘aisle’ years early with the pastor sweetly pronouncing them ‘daddy and daughter’.
Jim Zetz, 62, from Murrieta, California, who has stage 4 pancreatic cancer, proudly held his daughter, Josie’s hand during their backyard ceremony on March 14 and placed a sparkling ring on her index finger.”
am i the only one who rehearses things i might say in advance? and I don’t mean like my theoretical oscars acceptance speech i mean like what i’ll say to the pizza guy when I answer the door in my pjs
I actually write it down and read it while I talk on the phone just so I don’t screw up
My problem is that it never comes out like I practiced even if I’m readying it
I get it if you don’t want to be with me. I really do. Because, I am a problem with no solution;
a map full of seas so wide but no transport to guide you from here to there, and you’ll try to swim, you will, but instead you’ll drown, and you’ll wish you had listened to me when I screamed at you not to go in the deep end, because I knew I’d pull you under.
I am a book with blank pages, and you’ll try to read me, you will, but you’ll come back to my story day after day, only to find that I am still empty, and you’ll wish you had left when I became so silent that I couldn’t even tell you I loved you, in case those were the words that broke you in the end.
I am a clock with no hands, and you’ll try to find out what time zone I am in, you will, but you’ll realise that I live in a head with thoughts so scattered that there is no way for me to keep track, and you won’t wait to find out if I ever manage to slow down enough to create a sunrise, and a sunset inside my own head.
I am someone who struggles at times to simply be. And so you will leave. I know you will. I know it without a doubt. They always leave.