but my darling, when did your arms grow so cold?
why didn't you tell me that love wasn't to be found?
what did you find in me that compelled you to run?
who are you anymore? i don't know who this man is who stands before me.
i get lost in the music, you get lost in the crowd
and i know you must wonder if i miss you even in the slightest.
i've been really good at putting on a smile,
but then again, you've always been able to see right through it.
you probably know how much it hurts me to be without you.
my heart is beating, but i'm all disconnected
my lungs are pumping and you still take my breath away
i can still feel you teasing my hair between your fingers, if even for a second
my body is moving, but my soul is limping and my heart is breaking
your presence lingers and trails me everywhere i go
i answer their questions blankly, feeling nothing yet knowing
the emptiness i feel is just me realizing the spot you occupied
nobody understands how much it hurts
how badly i want you back, and the worst part?
knowing that i can't change your mind.
i just have to live with the fact that you are gone
and we might never be ever again.
i hope you never see this
because i never want you to know how much i loved you.
museum
worthiness and beauty are very important when considering a piece of art.
worthy, worthy, worthy. is it worth something? will it contribute to my apartment in a greater way or will it not make even the slightest ripple in the way things are done? i'd like to think that i could buy a painting and when i look at it, i am inspired to create, to live, to become a better me. i'd like to think that the work of art i invest in will actually impact me in a way i won't soon forget.
beauty. even if it's worth the money, who would want an ugly painting? but that's quite self-explanatory, don't you think? i mean, nobody gets inspired by something they can hardly look at. and beauty truly is in the eye of the beholder. my trash/get-this-piece-of-wannabe-art-away-from-me is another man's treasured and cherished beautiful prize. so really, the beauty of it is quite subjective.
anyhow, the trick is in the appraiser's hands. they get to tell me how much the piece of art is worth. they can lie to me and tell me that it's worth nothing, or they can give it more value than it's actually worth because of the potential they see in it. sometimes, a piece of art doesn't really become beautiful until longer down the road, and that's why it's a good investment sometimes to just go ahead and set your heart to save up for the painting while it's not as costly. you just hope that it doesn't take all you have for absolutely no return. that appraiser can use his thorough knowledge of the work to tell me exactly what it's worth.
i guess i should just get to the question.
who is appraising my life?
it's most absolutely my choice. i'm the one who decides who i allow to give me my worth. am i going to give it to him, the one who broke my heart, or Him, the One who mends it and makes me whole once again? i have to decide who i will love more fiercely and whose voice i will allow to whisper sweet nothings in my ear. the applause of man is unreliable, but there is One whose love for me is thoroughly consistent. i'd much rather be given too much worth than not enough. say you didn't love me, but He did and that's what i'll hold tight to for the rest of my life.
...my brain is thriving on analogies.
worthy, worthy, worthy. is it worth something? will it contribute to my apartment in a greater way or will it not make even the slightest ripple in the way things are done? i'd like to think that i could buy a painting and when i look at it, i am inspired to create, to live, to become a better me. i'd like to think that the work of art i invest in will actually impact me in a way i won't soon forget.
beauty. even if it's worth the money, who would want an ugly painting? but that's quite self-explanatory, don't you think? i mean, nobody gets inspired by something they can hardly look at. and beauty truly is in the eye of the beholder. my trash/get-this-piece-of-wannabe-art-away-from-me is another man's treasured and cherished beautiful prize. so really, the beauty of it is quite subjective.
anyhow, the trick is in the appraiser's hands. they get to tell me how much the piece of art is worth. they can lie to me and tell me that it's worth nothing, or they can give it more value than it's actually worth because of the potential they see in it. sometimes, a piece of art doesn't really become beautiful until longer down the road, and that's why it's a good investment sometimes to just go ahead and set your heart to save up for the painting while it's not as costly. you just hope that it doesn't take all you have for absolutely no return. that appraiser can use his thorough knowledge of the work to tell me exactly what it's worth.
i guess i should just get to the question.
who is appraising my life?
it's most absolutely my choice. i'm the one who decides who i allow to give me my worth. am i going to give it to him, the one who broke my heart, or Him, the One who mends it and makes me whole once again? i have to decide who i will love more fiercely and whose voice i will allow to whisper sweet nothings in my ear. the applause of man is unreliable, but there is One whose love for me is thoroughly consistent. i'd much rather be given too much worth than not enough. say you didn't love me, but He did and that's what i'll hold tight to for the rest of my life.
...my brain is thriving on analogies.
nameless
no more games
it's only me, left alone with my fears
every certainty
has been stripped from me, and i'm losing ground
and yet it's in my weakness that You find me
and You sing a new song over me: (You say)
"I Am that I am
and My eyes will guide you;
I Am that I am
and your heart is safe in Mine"
one look inside,
i understand it's been me that's changing
the wind blows by
i'm wondering why i can't find peace of mind
and here it's in my sorrow that You find me
and You sing a new song over me: (You say)
"I Am that I am
and My eyes will guide you;
I Am that I am
and your heart is safe in Mine"
so i find myself in a sea of questions
and i'm lost inside the lies
and i hear you speaking to me
and i know You hear my cries.
yet it's here in my surrender that you find me
and you sing a new song over me: (You declare)
"I Am that I am
and My eyes will guide you;
I Am that I am
and your heart is safe in Mine"
it's only me, left alone with my fears
every certainty
has been stripped from me, and i'm losing ground
and yet it's in my weakness that You find me
and You sing a new song over me: (You say)
"I Am that I am
and My eyes will guide you;
I Am that I am
and your heart is safe in Mine"
one look inside,
i understand it's been me that's changing
the wind blows by
i'm wondering why i can't find peace of mind
and here it's in my sorrow that You find me
and You sing a new song over me: (You say)
"I Am that I am
and My eyes will guide you;
I Am that I am
and your heart is safe in Mine"
so i find myself in a sea of questions
and i'm lost inside the lies
and i hear you speaking to me
and i know You hear my cries.
yet it's here in my surrender that you find me
and you sing a new song over me: (You declare)
"I Am that I am
and My eyes will guide you;
I Am that I am
and your heart is safe in Mine"
i'm fine. really, i am.
sometimes, life throws you a curveball that knocks you square in the face and lands you on your backside in front of a crowd. and sometimes, life throws you a curveball that's a bit off course, but you manage to hit it and turn it into a homerun.
i'm just wondering which kind of pitch this is.
i'm just wondering which kind of pitch this is.
consumer's choice
a salesman can pitch a product all day long, and make it sound larger than life, but at the end of the day it's the consumer who decides to take it or leave it. the salesman will either feel incredibly rejected or extremely successful at painting an accurate picture, and one can only hope that the buyer feels that their purchase was exceptional. and you can't bargain out of this one and take only half the product for half the price...it's all or nothing. there's no possible way you can wriggle out of it. what then?
...i never was a very good salesman.
...i never was a very good salesman.
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