And the tears come streaming down your face/ when you lose something you can’t replace/ when you love someone but it goes to waste/ could it be worse?
I’m not broke/ but you can see the cracks/ you can make me perfect again.
Nobody said it was easy/ it’s such a shame for us to part/ nobody said it would be so hard/ I’ll take you back to the stars.
I am you/ and you are mine/ love makes so sense/ of space and time
And the strangest thing/was waiting for/that bell to ring/that was the strangest part.
Ok, filling everyone in who still gives about my life, even though I know you DON’T. I am now into tennis. And when I mean into, I mean BIG TIME. No more pointless updates. Let’s do something.
U.S. Open continues tomorrow, with the fourth round coverage of the men’s seeds and quarterfinal coverage, the two big stories obviously being Melanie Oudin and Kim Clijsters. I’ll try to watch those matches, see what I can see.
Oh yeah, I made it to the semis my first challenger tournament. Proud moment for me :).
Dreading the result of my latin test…this is a poem I wrote for my grandfather, who’s suffering from an addiction and has cancer.
Clouds
A grandfather
Strong as a bull
Yet weak as a mouse
Temptations claimed him
Smoke and delusion cloud
His mind in fantasy
Thinking everything will be alright
A acrid scent
When he lets out
Every whispering breath
I ask, How do you know?
When he lies in bed,
His prison
With his kin
But alone
Without a friend
He does not know
When he will fall
Into darkness
Alone
In suffering.
My first poem: Ode to Rafa
Ode to Rafa
Sing to me of the man, Muse, the man of racquet brilliance
An emblem of true majesty, once he had conquered
The ranking of Federer.
Many trophies he hefted, above those dragon-red courts
He bit them all, one after one, a symbol of greatness
All of them fools, they strove to break his heart
The heart of a true champion
But he would not let them even break his serve
While he demolished their every move
His well-strung racquet squealed with glee
As his follow-through left no doubt of the winner
Forehands here, Backhand there, flying balls of fury
And he hoisted the big trophy at last, above the cool grass court.
Launch out on his story, Muse, the story of grand Rafa
Start from where you will. And sing for our time too.
Got my coldplay albums in the mail! yes alec, i will let u rip them. Just don’t screw them up. PLS???
