Saturday, May 14, 2011

Do you ever wonder?

Do you ever wonder when is the precisely moment, the exactly time when someone stop believing in you? When someone doesn’t care about you….because I have. I think about it all the time.  I think about it every day. Does it matter? Maybe it doesn’t, but I cannot stop asking myself when someone you love stop thinking about you, and begin to forget you.  Is that they lie so well and pretend they don’t care because, damn is a pretty good acting. We care, we try, we fail, and so what’s left? Disappointments and sadness and...... lot more things. 


  1. Hi Brigette, I saw your picture on google and really like it and the question. I also liked what you presented in your blog. I think forgiveness is what is left. Below is a poem about why. I hope you like it.

    Forgiveness: The starting in Over Again

    Because we spill not only milk
    Knocking it over with an elbow
    When we reach to wipe a small face
    But also spill seed on soil we thought was fertile but isn’t
    And also spill whole lives, and only later see in fading light
    How much is gone and we hadn’t intended it
    Because we tear not only cloth
    Thinking to find a true edge and instead making only a hole
    But also tear friendships when we grow
    And whole mountainsides because they are so many
    And we want to live right where black oaks lived,
    Once very quietly and still
    Because we forget not only what we are doing in the kitchen
    And have to go back to the room we were in before,
    Remember why it was we left
    But also forget entire lexicons of joy
    And how we lost ourselves for hours
    Yet all that time were clearly found and held
    And also forget the hungry not at our table
    Because we weep not only at jade plants caught in freeze
    And precious papers left in rain
    But also at legs that no longer walk
    Or never did, although from the outside they look like most others
    And also weep at words said once as though
    they might be rearranged but which
    Once loose, refuse to return and we are helpless
    Because we are imperfect and love so
    Deeply we will never have enough days,
    We need the gift of starting over, beginning
    Again: Just this constant good, this
    Saving hope.

    Paulette Jackson