� at twelve � 2003-09-28 � 7:01 p.m. �

---

I read somewhere how at twelve love hurt... and maybe I was older than twelve when it hurt the same way... but it didn't hurt less I know.

The sensation of being the only one is blinding... I thought surely then, I was the only one... and I know now a million people stand in the fate I have... the many fates I have and think the that way too.

I suppose tomorrow I will still believe it. I will still be sucked into the notion that I am the only girl who stands wronged in a world of done-rights.

Foolish... almost selfish.

I agreed to accept it.... accept and I learn from it with every waking breath...

Adversity is the clay that shapes us... ruin is the water that smooths us... angst is the sun that dries us... and in the end we take the form we choose.

~It was his hand, it was not my own... and in the end, what matters?~

---

� previous � next � comments � diaryland � old �