Did you know that I wrote a book? I did the whole deal: first draft, second draft...tenth draft. I had a published author, a creative writing professor from an Ivy League college, and my beloved English teachers as mentors. It evolved for three years, and I happily watched it grow and transform into something I was very proud of. I self-published it, then looked into "real" publishing. I wrote a quarry letter to an agent, drafted it and drafted it, and sent it off. I expectantly got shot down; who gets an agent on their first manuscript, on their first quarry, when they are in high school? I wasn't that pretentious.
But by that time I had read this story maybe a million times, been working on it for three years, I was done with my shallow immature story I wrote as an 8/9th grader. So I stopped, and haven't revisited it, or even tried to write another novel since.
I've been brought back to this from a classmate of mine, who now two years later, brought to my attention that our freshman English teacher gave her my book, she went home and read the whole thing in one sitting. I don't know what I did to deserve to that, I look back at my book now and see a sophomoric and cliche story of a teen girl trying to save her friend from ruining his own life.
I've grown so much as a writer since, I've had so many new experiences, I'm more well read, and I'm pretty sure I can do a better job now. I've been inspired to write again. With a strong female lead, who doesn't need saving, and isn't worrying about boys. She will be a role-model and will the kind of character I would want my daughter to read about.
A smart lady told me that if you don't like today's movies, make a better one. If you can't find a good book, write it. If modern music isn't doing it for you anymore, compose it.
Thank you for these gifts of inspiration, I'm enjoying my lollipops ;)
And lastly a word from Kurt Vonnegut: 8 short story tips
"1. Use the time of a total stranger in such a way that he or she will not feel the time was wasted.
2. Give the reader at least one character he or she can root for.
3. Every character should want something, even if it is only a glass of water.
4. Every sentence must do one of two things — reveal character or advance the action.
5. Start as close to the end as possible.
6. Be a sadist. No matter how sweet or innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them, in order that the reader may see what they are made of.
7. Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia.
8. Give your readers as much informations as possible, as soon as possible. To heck with suspense. Readers should have such complete understand of what is going on where and why, that they could finish the story themselves, should cockroaches eat the last few pages."
~Kat
Friday, March 22, 2013
Monday, March 18, 2013
Family time
One of the things I value the most is family, this is not unique nor unusual, but I'm discovering it's not universal. Some people have given up on family. Some families are broken, scattered from sea to sea. Others meet at the dinner table every night, but are divided by invisible fault lines. A silent, silverware-scraping dinner table is a sad one.
I've been graced with a wonderful family: two loving parents, a wacky older sister who gives me hell sometimes, but I can always find heaven in the countless smiles that she has painted onto my face. We always sit down together for dinner, even through the worst of times. I've sat through those silverware-scraping meals, but somehow someone always breaks the ice. My family talks, a lot, and we don't detour around the uncomfortable. We face it head on and work through it. But all these things can't be true all the time, we are far from a perfect family, but at least we try.
But what about those families that have lost hope? That don't talk to each other, feel like they can't? What about the families that have been accepted as broken, to have an "Out of Order" sign taped on its front door for the rest of their lives? Even if that's how its been for two years or two decades, could they still be fixed? Should they? Is family still a prominent enough figure in every human heart that it is worth the effort?
I can't imagine that anyone would be able to honestly answer no to the last one. No matter what your family's been through, I think everyone still has that longing to have "the perfect family" or at the very least a family that could stand to be in the same room as one another. Nobody wants to stay broken.
So why do we stop trying?
Do we assume the rest of our family wants to stay apart?
Do we think our family doesn't want us? Are we so scared to ask to be taken back, that we just stay quiet. Shrink into our separate rooms. Don't say how much I desperately miss the way things used to be, and I hope your doing well, because I don't even know you anymore.
Why should we be afraid to say this, when our brother or sister, mother or father, is probably going to bed after those silent dinners thinking the same thing.
Thinking about you.
~Kat
I've been graced with a wonderful family: two loving parents, a wacky older sister who gives me hell sometimes, but I can always find heaven in the countless smiles that she has painted onto my face. We always sit down together for dinner, even through the worst of times. I've sat through those silverware-scraping meals, but somehow someone always breaks the ice. My family talks, a lot, and we don't detour around the uncomfortable. We face it head on and work through it. But all these things can't be true all the time, we are far from a perfect family, but at least we try.
But what about those families that have lost hope? That don't talk to each other, feel like they can't? What about the families that have been accepted as broken, to have an "Out of Order" sign taped on its front door for the rest of their lives? Even if that's how its been for two years or two decades, could they still be fixed? Should they? Is family still a prominent enough figure in every human heart that it is worth the effort?
I can't imagine that anyone would be able to honestly answer no to the last one. No matter what your family's been through, I think everyone still has that longing to have "the perfect family" or at the very least a family that could stand to be in the same room as one another. Nobody wants to stay broken.
So why do we stop trying?
Do we assume the rest of our family wants to stay apart?
Do we think our family doesn't want us? Are we so scared to ask to be taken back, that we just stay quiet. Shrink into our separate rooms. Don't say how much I desperately miss the way things used to be, and I hope your doing well, because I don't even know you anymore.
Why should we be afraid to say this, when our brother or sister, mother or father, is probably going to bed after those silent dinners thinking the same thing.
Thinking about you.
~Kat
Friday, March 8, 2013
Dejected, Maddened, and Vexed
Put the first letters of that title together and what do you get? The DMV.
I show up at 3:15 with my mother to get my permit, which is two years too late. It's Friday afternoon, right when everyone is getting off of work and school. It had a striking resemblance to a can of sardines. Let's see if we squeeze in two more moaning motorists. We are ushered into the slough to stand single file between black ropes.
Line #1: Approximately 30 people long and at a stand still. Ten minutes later, we moved up two spots, "Shoot, my registration information is in the car." Bye, Mom, sure I'll wait here. And as soon as she walks out of the building the line starts moving like the well-lubricated machine the DMV should be a century after its introduction. I reach the front of the line in 5 minutes, and she's not back. I start waving people to go ahead of me, 3 people pass me by. One man jokes, "So your just the pretty greeter?" At that point I was really hoping my mom would be back soon, although I was flattered. She returns, we are called up, "Oh no you don't need that [the registration]," the man says and gives us a number.
Line#2: Who knows how many people were ahead of us. We find blue plastic chairs to sit in around the perimeter of the room. 20 more minutes and it's our turn. Sign a few forms, staple staple, "Good luck, wait over there for your picture."
Line#3: About 30 people long again, another 20 minutes, thumbprint, stand over there, 3, 2, 1, click. Printing receipt, staple staple. "Now you'll take your written exam over there." By this time I had forgotten about the test, and couldn't believe they made you do all of this stuff first, and you don't even know if you passed yet. Boy it would suck if I didn't and wasted all this time.
Line #4: Now I'm getting anxoius. The line is 20 people long, I'm waiting 5 minutes, "Do you need a test?" Me: "Um, yes." DMV lady: "Oh, you don't need to be waiting there, here." Hands me a test, sends me over to stand in a stall and squirm, marking little Xs next to the choice I think is the least idiotic. I go to the desk when I finish, "What do you want?"..."I'm done?" "Wait over there."
Line#5: I follow a winding line that goes all the way back to where the picture guy is, maybe 40-50 people wrong. This was the same line I thought I had to wait in to get my test, but it seemed to have multiplied. 20 minutes go by, I'm toward the front, and I realize they are scoring the tests by hand and there are only two ladies doing it. You have got to be kidding me. Even my malfunctioning public school has Scan-trons. Half an hour and I'm at the front, the scrawny boy next to me fist pumps, he passed his permit test with 3 wrong, you can get 8 wrong at most. My lady is still grading, I'm getting nervous.
She finishes.
"You got 10 wrong, you have to wait another week to retake it."
After a frustrating car ride home, my mom knocking me in the head, mumbling about waiting 2 hours and I didn't pass, you should have studied more, I have to pay another $32. As if the train of insults in my head weren't enough.
I am now listening to Blink-182 Pandora Radio. Loud. Electric guitars drowning out the "shoulda-coulda-wouldas."
Dejected, Maddened, and Vexed, so glad the DMV and I started off on the right foot.
~Kat.
I show up at 3:15 with my mother to get my permit, which is two years too late. It's Friday afternoon, right when everyone is getting off of work and school. It had a striking resemblance to a can of sardines. Let's see if we squeeze in two more moaning motorists. We are ushered into the slough to stand single file between black ropes.
Line #1: Approximately 30 people long and at a stand still. Ten minutes later, we moved up two spots, "Shoot, my registration information is in the car." Bye, Mom, sure I'll wait here. And as soon as she walks out of the building the line starts moving like the well-lubricated machine the DMV should be a century after its introduction. I reach the front of the line in 5 minutes, and she's not back. I start waving people to go ahead of me, 3 people pass me by. One man jokes, "So your just the pretty greeter?" At that point I was really hoping my mom would be back soon, although I was flattered. She returns, we are called up, "Oh no you don't need that [the registration]," the man says and gives us a number.
Line#2: Who knows how many people were ahead of us. We find blue plastic chairs to sit in around the perimeter of the room. 20 more minutes and it's our turn. Sign a few forms, staple staple, "Good luck, wait over there for your picture."
Line#3: About 30 people long again, another 20 minutes, thumbprint, stand over there, 3, 2, 1, click. Printing receipt, staple staple. "Now you'll take your written exam over there." By this time I had forgotten about the test, and couldn't believe they made you do all of this stuff first, and you don't even know if you passed yet. Boy it would suck if I didn't and wasted all this time.
Line #4: Now I'm getting anxoius. The line is 20 people long, I'm waiting 5 minutes, "Do you need a test?" Me: "Um, yes." DMV lady: "Oh, you don't need to be waiting there, here." Hands me a test, sends me over to stand in a stall and squirm, marking little Xs next to the choice I think is the least idiotic. I go to the desk when I finish, "What do you want?"..."I'm done?" "Wait over there."
Line#5: I follow a winding line that goes all the way back to where the picture guy is, maybe 40-50 people wrong. This was the same line I thought I had to wait in to get my test, but it seemed to have multiplied. 20 minutes go by, I'm toward the front, and I realize they are scoring the tests by hand and there are only two ladies doing it. You have got to be kidding me. Even my malfunctioning public school has Scan-trons. Half an hour and I'm at the front, the scrawny boy next to me fist pumps, he passed his permit test with 3 wrong, you can get 8 wrong at most. My lady is still grading, I'm getting nervous.
She finishes.
"You got 10 wrong, you have to wait another week to retake it."
After a frustrating car ride home, my mom knocking me in the head, mumbling about waiting 2 hours and I didn't pass, you should have studied more, I have to pay another $32. As if the train of insults in my head weren't enough.
I am now listening to Blink-182 Pandora Radio. Loud. Electric guitars drowning out the "shoulda-coulda-wouldas."
Dejected, Maddened, and Vexed, so glad the DMV and I started off on the right foot.
~Kat.
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Unknown.
Hello world, I have a gift for you. I can't give it to you now, nor will it be something new. I have it already, it's somewhere, okay, I don't know exactly where it is right now. Or what it is for that matter. But it was given to me, and I know it's something only I can give to you. It might be something great, something a lot of people can enjoy, or maybe just a few.
It's my gift. Whatever it may be. Whether that be music, writing, teaching, medicine, or sometimes even poetry. I'm still young, so I don't know yet what it is I have to offer the world, but I think it's starting to be narrowed down for me. The extraneous branches are dying and being removed. The ones that will flower are being pruned. And all the while I'm making sure that my connection to the Vine is strong and healthy.
That connection is getting stronger, quickly, with nutrients running through its vascular tissues like Seabiscuit. I know now I can't live without the Vine; it's my source for everything.
But climbing out of my metaphor, this is what's happening to me: My world is being rocked. I think my "gift" will end up being something I never imagined for myself: something for the Church. And however that may excite and humble me, for it would be my honor to give back to the Church that's given me so much, it scares me worse than the idea of standing in the middle of the Quad naked. I would have to be just as vulnerable; but it would be what I do the rest of my life, not just a moment of mortification.
It also brings a lot of challenges. Convincing my parents would be at the top of the list, they aren't exactly thrilled with my choice of lifestyle. Paying for the private Catholic college I'm now feeling so strongly pulled towards would be a close second. But I know if this is where my gift lies, I'm going to find it, harvest it, and give it back, no matter how many hours of work I need to spend plowing and sewing the seeds. Because I know that whatever my gift is, it's what I was born to do, what will bring me the most joy, and give the world absolutely everything that could possibly come from all five feet, two inches, and ninety-five petite pounds of me.
I am Kat. Hear me roar.
It's my gift. Whatever it may be. Whether that be music, writing, teaching, medicine, or sometimes even poetry. I'm still young, so I don't know yet what it is I have to offer the world, but I think it's starting to be narrowed down for me. The extraneous branches are dying and being removed. The ones that will flower are being pruned. And all the while I'm making sure that my connection to the Vine is strong and healthy.
That connection is getting stronger, quickly, with nutrients running through its vascular tissues like Seabiscuit. I know now I can't live without the Vine; it's my source for everything.
But climbing out of my metaphor, this is what's happening to me: My world is being rocked. I think my "gift" will end up being something I never imagined for myself: something for the Church. And however that may excite and humble me, for it would be my honor to give back to the Church that's given me so much, it scares me worse than the idea of standing in the middle of the Quad naked. I would have to be just as vulnerable; but it would be what I do the rest of my life, not just a moment of mortification.
It also brings a lot of challenges. Convincing my parents would be at the top of the list, they aren't exactly thrilled with my choice of lifestyle. Paying for the private Catholic college I'm now feeling so strongly pulled towards would be a close second. But I know if this is where my gift lies, I'm going to find it, harvest it, and give it back, no matter how many hours of work I need to spend plowing and sewing the seeds. Because I know that whatever my gift is, it's what I was born to do, what will bring me the most joy, and give the world absolutely everything that could possibly come from all five feet, two inches, and ninety-five petite pounds of me.
I am Kat. Hear me roar.
Friday, February 15, 2013
The Perks of Being a ________.
You are crazy. So am I, and everyone else in this world. I've come to know that everyone has "something". Everyone is "crazy." And I love that.
40 years ago, nobody knew about Autism. Those kids were just a little different. Nobody had ADD, they were just hyper. The kid who stayed home on the weekends did not have clinical depression; the girl sitting next to you in class with two perfect braids and a #2 pencil exactly perpendicular to the edge of the desk and parallel to her pristine white college-ruled paper did not have to take meds for her OCD. The partier was not Bipolar, he was just fun. And the world went on.
Toady, there is an explanation, text book label, and prescribed "cure" for all of these people. So they can feel better. Get back on their feet. Be free to live a normal life. Get out of bed each morning. Eat breakfast. Participate in rush hour traffic. Do your job and earn a good living. Go home. Kiss your kids. Kiss your husband. Pat your dog. Good dog. Eat dinner. Read the paper. Go to bed. Rinse and repeat. Freedom.
40 years from now, there will probably be a text book label for me, too. Doctors will observe me, take notes. Stares at blank walls for 20 minutes at a time. Goes into a room with a purpose, spots something that captivates the subject, doesn't resume her purpose for an hour or so, if at all. Bobs her head and sings with no music on. Her feet are always cold: bad circulation. They will see this as straying from the norm, the poor thing, but don't worry we can get you back on track. And some socks for your feet. They will give me a label, a little orange bottle, and send me on my way with a smile, because they fixed me.
There are a lot more good things to say about modern medicine than bad things, and I can't be sure if this is a bad thing or not. We won't know for many more generations from now, when we can look back on this Age of the Medicated. We are the guinea pigs. But I can't help but feel that this isn't how it's supposed to be. These "disorders" are a part of each and every one of us. They make us who we are, and that's nothing that I think should be "cured."
I've never had to deal with any of the diseases listed above, and I suspect that in extreme cases, medicine was the ticket to their freedom. But I just fear that this obsession with being diagnosed and medicated will escalate as we discover more about psychology, and we will think everyone is mad. When really, we are just starting to understand what makes each of us unique and perfect. And what a beautiful variety of crazies there are.
~Kat
40 years ago, nobody knew about Autism. Those kids were just a little different. Nobody had ADD, they were just hyper. The kid who stayed home on the weekends did not have clinical depression; the girl sitting next to you in class with two perfect braids and a #2 pencil exactly perpendicular to the edge of the desk and parallel to her pristine white college-ruled paper did not have to take meds for her OCD. The partier was not Bipolar, he was just fun. And the world went on.
Toady, there is an explanation, text book label, and prescribed "cure" for all of these people. So they can feel better. Get back on their feet. Be free to live a normal life. Get out of bed each morning. Eat breakfast. Participate in rush hour traffic. Do your job and earn a good living. Go home. Kiss your kids. Kiss your husband. Pat your dog. Good dog. Eat dinner. Read the paper. Go to bed. Rinse and repeat. Freedom.
40 years from now, there will probably be a text book label for me, too. Doctors will observe me, take notes. Stares at blank walls for 20 minutes at a time. Goes into a room with a purpose, spots something that captivates the subject, doesn't resume her purpose for an hour or so, if at all. Bobs her head and sings with no music on. Her feet are always cold: bad circulation. They will see this as straying from the norm, the poor thing, but don't worry we can get you back on track. And some socks for your feet. They will give me a label, a little orange bottle, and send me on my way with a smile, because they fixed me.
There are a lot more good things to say about modern medicine than bad things, and I can't be sure if this is a bad thing or not. We won't know for many more generations from now, when we can look back on this Age of the Medicated. We are the guinea pigs. But I can't help but feel that this isn't how it's supposed to be. These "disorders" are a part of each and every one of us. They make us who we are, and that's nothing that I think should be "cured."
I've never had to deal with any of the diseases listed above, and I suspect that in extreme cases, medicine was the ticket to their freedom. But I just fear that this obsession with being diagnosed and medicated will escalate as we discover more about psychology, and we will think everyone is mad. When really, we are just starting to understand what makes each of us unique and perfect. And what a beautiful variety of crazies there are.
~Kat
Thursday, February 7, 2013
Nocturne of Coughs in E Minor
Coughin' and Chopin, these are two words to describe February thus far. My month's been conducted in E minor as I work through Chopin's two easiest pieces, and probably the two gloomiest as well. It's only fitting that they would become the soundtrack of my life as I work on them. It's not that my life is gloomy right now, it's beautiful, like Chopin's pieces. It's just, well, minor. It's no waltz. It has a lulling pull and tug to it that weighs down on my soul.I'm dragging it around with me, and laboriously lifting it to keep my spirits up. But somehow I still manage to carry it with me. I'm lifting it up everyday I go to school, pack it on in to my 15 lb backpack, sling it over my shoulder, and trudge on.
We did an exercise in my youth group the other night. The theme of the talk was "Living for a Purpose," and it was about how we were all given distinct and unique gifts that we are to contribute to the world in a way only we can. Then at the end of the night we all had to tape pieces of paper on our backs and go around and write on our friends backs the gifts we see in them. At the end of the night we all took the papers off and saw what others see in us. I was surprised by some of the things people had written, "Inspiration in my faith", "I want my future daughter to be like you", "Great musician and shares openly", "strong in Spirit." All the while I'm trying to figure out if I can recognize the handwriting because it's all anonymous. I couldn't figure out any of them, so I don't know who to thank, but all those kind words really built me up. I'm glad I can be an inspiration to someone, I'm glad people aren't seeing all the faults that I see. Or at least they aren't mean enough to write them, so at least I have good friends. But the one that I keep in the front of my mind was scribbled in green felt pen: "Comes back from anything."
So I trudge on. In the rain, through heartbreak and disappointment, through days that just feel blah, through a hacking cough that has lasted two weeks now. Nothing has stopped me yet. I haven't been given a lot of grief, thank God, not yet. But I'm training for it. I pick up my 15 lb backpack daily, I lug around my soul, I tediously work through these Chopin pieces so I can finally be done with E minor. I power through, I gain endurance, I come back. I won't let that person down. I will come back from anything.
Empowered and invigorated,
~Kat
We did an exercise in my youth group the other night. The theme of the talk was "Living for a Purpose," and it was about how we were all given distinct and unique gifts that we are to contribute to the world in a way only we can. Then at the end of the night we all had to tape pieces of paper on our backs and go around and write on our friends backs the gifts we see in them. At the end of the night we all took the papers off and saw what others see in us. I was surprised by some of the things people had written, "Inspiration in my faith", "I want my future daughter to be like you", "Great musician and shares openly", "strong in Spirit." All the while I'm trying to figure out if I can recognize the handwriting because it's all anonymous. I couldn't figure out any of them, so I don't know who to thank, but all those kind words really built me up. I'm glad I can be an inspiration to someone, I'm glad people aren't seeing all the faults that I see. Or at least they aren't mean enough to write them, so at least I have good friends. But the one that I keep in the front of my mind was scribbled in green felt pen: "Comes back from anything."
So I trudge on. In the rain, through heartbreak and disappointment, through days that just feel blah, through a hacking cough that has lasted two weeks now. Nothing has stopped me yet. I haven't been given a lot of grief, thank God, not yet. But I'm training for it. I pick up my 15 lb backpack daily, I lug around my soul, I tediously work through these Chopin pieces so I can finally be done with E minor. I power through, I gain endurance, I come back. I won't let that person down. I will come back from anything.
Empowered and invigorated,
~Kat
Friday, February 1, 2013
Spread the Love
Ah! El mes de amor ha llegado! The month of love has arrived! So to kick off this month of x's and o's, I'm going to talk about love! I have yet to celebrate a Valentine's Day with a significant other, but I find that with each coming Valentine's Day, I know a little bit more about love than the last time I was there. Mostly, it's the realization that I still have no idea what "love" is. Then it actually makes me grateful that I'm alone on Valentine's Day, because I am obviously not ready for it yet.
But one of the things that I have come to know about love, is that it is vital. Like butter. Butter makes everything better. Sometimes it's a little unhealthy in some doses, but as long as your not eating it by the butter ball, you're okay in my book. Same thing with love. Love makes anything better. You could be taking the SAT, in your 4th hour of the test, one more essay to go, but if you are in love with the person in front you, even then I bet you would have a smile on your face. Because the back of his/her head is delicious. Like butter.
What I know this Valentine's Day that I didn't know last year, is that also like butter, love is always best when it is spread. Whether that be spread over wheat or rye, spread to a friend, family, or a lover, spreading the love is what it's all about. And it's so easy. Just tell them. Even if you think they already know, or you think you tell them enough, you never know. I wouldn't take the risk of going another day without telling them. It could mean the world.
Ask yourself this: what's the point of loving someone, if you keep that yourself? None at all. And there's so many ways to tell someone you love them: "I love you", "te quiero", "you're the butter to my biscuit." Or simply telling someone you're grateful for them. Think of where you are right now. Who helped you get there?
I have a lot of wonderful friends that helped me get to where I am now, and a lot of them are of the male gender. This one is for them. For all the nice guys:
This is for all the nice guys out there
Being used as a life size teddy bear
Because you can't help but care
For her, you're just a friend.
When you know there could be more there
But she won't bother to look
Because that might mean the end
Of a friendship that took years to cook
And once it's eaten, there's nothing to mend.
But how is that fair?
We've heard it time and time again
"I think we should just stay friends"
And for what?
To comment on your hair?
This is for all the nice guys out there
Who will sit through a chick flick til the end
Tell us we're pretty
Even thought they know we're just fishing for a compliment.
Listen to all our crap about our boyfriend
Who you can't stand
But you'll support us anyway
Because unlike him, you're a man.
Who will wait for us
While we try on clothes
And tell us we're beautiful
Without dressing like hoes.
This is for all the nice guys out there
Stumbling around in a world
Where nice guys too often finish last.
This is for all the nice guys out there
Who need to hear
That without you
We would be going downhill, fast.
And we need you
Because we are scared of falling on our ass
And to please stick around
Until we realize
That as long as we're falling with you
And we are love bound
There will never be any chance
Of you letting us hit the ground.
Alex, Jon, Philip, Kaleb, Austyn, Aaron, Toby, Eddy, and for who I originally wrote it for, Christian, thank you, you're all great, and I love you guys.
~Kat
But one of the things that I have come to know about love, is that it is vital. Like butter. Butter makes everything better. Sometimes it's a little unhealthy in some doses, but as long as your not eating it by the butter ball, you're okay in my book. Same thing with love. Love makes anything better. You could be taking the SAT, in your 4th hour of the test, one more essay to go, but if you are in love with the person in front you, even then I bet you would have a smile on your face. Because the back of his/her head is delicious. Like butter.
What I know this Valentine's Day that I didn't know last year, is that also like butter, love is always best when it is spread. Whether that be spread over wheat or rye, spread to a friend, family, or a lover, spreading the love is what it's all about. And it's so easy. Just tell them. Even if you think they already know, or you think you tell them enough, you never know. I wouldn't take the risk of going another day without telling them. It could mean the world.
Ask yourself this: what's the point of loving someone, if you keep that yourself? None at all. And there's so many ways to tell someone you love them: "I love you", "te quiero", "you're the butter to my biscuit." Or simply telling someone you're grateful for them. Think of where you are right now. Who helped you get there?
I have a lot of wonderful friends that helped me get to where I am now, and a lot of them are of the male gender. This one is for them. For all the nice guys:
This is for all the nice guys out there
Being used as a life size teddy bear
Because you can't help but care
For her, you're just a friend.
When you know there could be more there
But she won't bother to look
Because that might mean the end
Of a friendship that took years to cook
And once it's eaten, there's nothing to mend.
But how is that fair?
We've heard it time and time again
"I think we should just stay friends"
And for what?
To comment on your hair?
This is for all the nice guys out there
Who will sit through a chick flick til the end
Tell us we're pretty
Even thought they know we're just fishing for a compliment.
Listen to all our crap about our boyfriend
Who you can't stand
But you'll support us anyway
Because unlike him, you're a man.
Who will wait for us
While we try on clothes
And tell us we're beautiful
Without dressing like hoes.
This is for all the nice guys out there
Stumbling around in a world
Where nice guys too often finish last.
This is for all the nice guys out there
Who need to hear
That without you
We would be going downhill, fast.
And we need you
Because we are scared of falling on our ass
And to please stick around
Until we realize
That as long as we're falling with you
And we are love bound
There will never be any chance
Of you letting us hit the ground.
Alex, Jon, Philip, Kaleb, Austyn, Aaron, Toby, Eddy, and for who I originally wrote it for, Christian, thank you, you're all great, and I love you guys.
~Kat
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