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What is the relationship between love and friendship
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A sensation of astounding warmth enshrouded my mind and body as I blankly stared out on to the choppy lake. I realized that the blinding sun was sure to burn me by the end of the day. I was completely clueless as to where the day would take me. At first I was a little apprehensive about climbing into the small rowboat and heading out there for the entire day. What if I didn't make it back? I had never been fishing alone. All I craved was to catch the perfect fish. It didn't have to be big or fat, just perfect for me. So I mustered up the courage and took a chance. The last time I had taken a chance I had paid for it dearly.
Sarina was the perfect girl, and I was determined to let her know how I felt about her. She didn't make me happy. Happiness was not exactly the emotion she brought out in me. Her presence brought out something within me that was much deeper and more sincere. She was the foundation of my utopia. She had a special quality about her. Most people I know walk around with their souls being held prisoner by their bodies. She was one of those unique people whose body was held captive by her soul. Thirty seconds out of every minute I thought about her. I always made sure she had everything. It took me six months before I could even tell her how I felt. When I finally told her how I felt she took the news really well, but I knew she wasn't interested. After telling me that our friendship was too close for us to get involved romantically, I swept up the pieces of my shattered heart, put them in my pocket and walked away. I had her snagged on my hook but she threw it. I used kindness, and patience, and she used me. I gave her everything she asked of me. She took the bait and ran. She avoided ...
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...tch!" The only thing that went through my mind was that she wasn't worth the trouble. I tried and failed. My conscience was clear and it was time for me to move on.
I realized that I wasn't in love. One can't be in love unless someone returns the same fervor. The adoration has to be exchanged both ways; in other words, solitary reverence translates into a simple fancy. I had taken the chance to take the friendship one step further, not knowing how it would turn out. The serene feeling turned into annoyance and frustration.
I chased the majestic fish all day only to snare the wrong one. The catch of the day suckered me twice for bait. Eventually the fetish for the fish was deemed useless. It was too cunning of a creature to be lured by my old fashioned tactics. It got what it needed from me and lost interest. I put my pole away, and rowed back to shore.
As a consequence of the narrator cutting the fishing line, he feels a "sick, nauseous feeling in [his] stomach" as he understood the grave mistake he has done. He can't comprehend that he had made the absurd decision to cut the line that released the fish he wanted to hook greatly. He treasures fishing significantly but his desire for Sheila took command. Throughout the rest of the date, he retained that tainted sensation in his stomach as that lost fish stays in his thought. As a result, after a month had relinquished "the spell [Sheila] cast over [him] was gone" due to it denoting superficial love and not true passion, but what adhered to him was his true love, the lost bass that haunted him all server and "haunts [him] still." The narrator discovers that the affection for Sheila was not authentic but what is genuine is his passion for fishing. He comes to terms with his disastrous error and grasps that judgments formulated on the premise of superficial values lead to sorrow and anguish. Ultimately, the narrator learns through Sheila that the judgment he made because of his shallow desire provokes pain and
“Two roads diverged in a wood and I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.” At some point in life one is faced with a decision which will define the future, but only time will tell whether or not the choice was right or wrong. The Boat by Alistair MacLeod demonstrates that an individual should make their own decisions in life, be open to new experiences and changes, and that there is no way to obtain something, without sacrificing something else.
As I read, “On A Rainy River”, I became fascinated that fishing, in a sense, assisted O’ Brien with making a difficult choice. According to Tim O’Brien, the owner of the Tip Top Lodge, Elroy Berdahl saved his life. Elroy Berdahl took O’Brien fishing on the Rainy River. Elroy hoped that taking O’Brien fishing would coerce O’Brien to make a decision. Tim O’Brien’s choices included: O’Brien could go to war, and he could have a chance to see his family again, or he could go to Canada, and he would, probably, never see his family again. Tim O’Brien cleared his mind, and he thought about his past, his life now, and his future while he was sitting on the boat that floated along the river. In the end, O’Brien decided to go to war. As I read about Tim O’ Brien pondering upon his life, I realized that Tim O’Brie...
"The Fish" by Elizabeth Bishop is saturated with vivid imagery and abundant description, which help the reader visualize the action. Bishop's use of imagery, narration, and tone allow the reader to visualize the fish and create a bond with him, a bond in which the reader has a great deal of admiration for the fish's plight. The mental pictures created are, in fact, so brilliant that the reader believes incident actually happened to a real person, thus building respect from the reader to the fish.
I wasn’t even outside but I could feel the warm glow the sun was projecting all across the campsite. It seemed as if the first three days were gloomy and dreary, but when the sun on the fourth day arose, it washed away the heartache I had felt. I headed out of the trailer and went straight to the river. I walked to the edge, where my feet barely touched the icy water, and I felt a sense of tranquility emanate from the river. I felt as if the whole place had transformed and was back to being the place I loved the most. That day, when we went out on the boat, I went wakeboarding for the first time without my grandma. While I was up on the board and cutting through the wake of the boat, it didn’t feel like the boat was the one pulling and guiding me, it felt like the river was pushing and leading me. It was always nice to receive the reassurance from my grandma after wakeboarding, but this time I received it from my surroundings. The trees that were already three times the size of me, seemed to stand even taller as I glided past them on the river. The sun encouraged me with its brightness and warmth, and the River revitalized me with its powerful currents. The next three days passed by with ease, I no longer needed to reminisce of what my trips used to be like. Instead, I could be present in the moment, surrounded by the beautiful natural
“The Fish” by Elizabeth Bishop is an excellent poem that goes beyond its straightforward subject. She vividly describes the act of catching a fish while also utilizing the thematic elements of figurative language, imagery and tone to bring many more ideas into the picture. Overall “The Fish” is a poem that champions the beauty of nature while also putting forth a negative connotation on all things artificial through a simple topic.
The smell of the restaurants faded and the new, refreshing aroma of the sea salt in the air took over. The sun’s warmth on my skin and the constant breeze was a familiar feeling that I loved every single time we came to the beach. I remember the first time we came to the beach. I was only nine years old. The white sand amazed me because it looked like a wavy blanket of snow, but was misleading because it was scorching hot. The water shone green like an emerald, it was content. By this I mean that the waves were weak enough to stand through as they rushed over me. There was no sense of fear of being drug out to sea like a shipwrecked sailor. Knowing all this now I knew exactly how to approach the beach. Wear my sandals as long as I could and lay spread out my towel without hesitation. Then I’d jump in the water to coat myself in a moist protective layer before returning to my now slightly less hot towel. In the water it was a completely different world. While trying to avoid the occasional passing jellyfish, it was an experience of
The fish withholds a great part in this book. The Old Man and the Sea is a book that’s about a small town where the residents revolve their lives around fishing. The fish is a symbol of beauty and it is a greatly admired creature to these people. An example from the book is on page 49. Santiago has been fishing for 84 days and decides not to return home without a fish on the 85th day. On the 85th day, alone in the boat, he manages to hook an enormous marlin, the biggest fish he's ever seen in all his life. The fish is larger and stronger than Santiago. Santiago's experienced fishing skills and his will to catch and survive push him to pursue the fish for many days and many miles out to sea.
For her privacy, I'll refer to her as Rin. I was happy for the first few months, but the relationship became suffocating later on. Rin wanted my undivided attention at all times of the day. In addition, Rin had severe anxiety. My love for Rin slowly died and obligation took its place. I felt obliged to stay with her. It's nauseating that I felt this way, but what else could I do? I thought that I had to stay with Rin to keep her safe from herself. As a result, I stayed with her, not as a lover, but a caretaker. One evening with friends, Rin demanded we leave, for Rin didn't like that she had to share me. I couldn't deal with her distancing me from friends anymore. I called Rin and cut all ties between us and our mutual friends. I gave her neither chance for dialogue nor reprisal, just like Paul Neruda. In hindsight, I didn't love her. Because I am a loser who has no chance in love, I was more in love with the idea of a girlfriend. As a result, I didn't love Rin, I loved my girlfriend. If I had truly had feelings for Rin, I would've resolved my problems through dialogue, not by running away like a
I loved her you know. I loved her, before, before she changed. Before everything went wrong. Before she killed herself. I’m pretty sure it was my fault too. If only I had been brave enough, like she was, but I guess that’s why people humiliated her. I guess that’s why she died; because I was a coward. I wish I hadn’t of been, she wouldn’t be in a grave if I had just had the courage. I loved her too. She didn’t know it, but I tried to hint at it. I guess she thought I was leading her on or something. I tried to tell her but every time I did attempt to, she would look up at me with those big brown eyes and I would melt and nothing would come out.
Sitting in the back seat between two towering piles of clothes and snacks we drive up the abandoned streets of Adell. I see vast open fields of corn and dense wooded forest filled with life, along with the occasional, towering grain house. We pull into a dry, dusty, driveway of rock and thriving, overgrown weeds. We come up to an aged log cabin with a massive crab apple tree with its sharp thorns like claws. The ancient weeping willow provides, with is huge sagging arms, shade from the intense rays of the sun. Near the back of the house there is a rotten, wobbly dock slowly rotting in the dark blue, cool water. Near that we store our old rusted canoes, to which the desperate frogs hop for shelter. When I venture out to the water I feel the thick gooey mud squish through my toes and the fish mindlessly try to escape but instead swim into my legs. On the lively river banks I see great blue herring and there attempt to catch a fish for their dinner. They gracefully fly with their beautiful wings arching in the sun to silvery points.
Fishing tests your patience; if you want to catch a fish, you’re going to have to wait. I dip my feet into the icy water of the river and wait, wait, wait. I feel relaxed, surrounded by nature, but the air around me is also buzzing with the excitement. Goats graze on the grass that grows atop the rocky cliff across from me, and a gentle breeze whispers through the ivy that drapes over it. My hands are gripped tightly around my rod, ready to reel up my first catch, ready for the weight of a monster fish, ready for anything. Out of nowhere, I feel the slightest tug on my line and see a flash of rainbow scales beneath the water. I see my fishing rod bending with weight, which could mean only one thing: FISH ON! I begin to reel it in, inch by inch. The trout flies out of the water, glistening as the setting sun reflects off of its scales. The sky is ablaze, full of different shades of magenta, orange, and scarlet. It was as if an artist had painted the sky with the skillful strokes of their paintbrush. I hear my parents gasp with awe behind me. The first
The grass was soft and green, reserved for those who wanted to lie down or sit. A sweet aroma of flowers overflowed near by like s shinning light, but was hidden by the untrimmed bushes and wildly growing trees. Up above me was the beautiful, high noon blue sky spotted with fluffy, white clouds and airplanes flying by. I emerged into the parking lot and stopped happily as a squirrel under a tree. Hesitating to proceed anywhere further I took a few minutes to treasure the moment of silence and peace. As my girlfriend and I got out of the car to get ready for the picnic, she happened to be distracted by the water; a rhythmic ongoing resemblance of rhythm in her heart. The water was clam and beautiful in every aspect. To me she was like a wave, never stooping to catch attention or go unnoticed. Before doing anything else, we began setting up the picnic. By the time we ware done, her temptation was unbearable and was finally unable to overcome it, consequently she eagerly ran towards the water pulling me right behind her. Each step was like an imprint in my heart, a fossil that would always remain the same and special inside me forever.
was the sole barrier between us, I said to myself ‘I’ll have her in my arms again!
I wonder what happened between the two of us? Did I not satisfy her? Did she become bored with me? Or worse yet, did I make her angry? Actually, upon reflection, I don’t think it was any of those things. I think she just grew up. As she got older, she would come to me less and less. She outgrew me and all that I could give her. ...