I sat in front of my house on the dry patchy lawn, wondering about you, and all your how’s, if’s and why’s, all the unanswered questions and all the unclear motives. The excuses you fit into the holey back pocket of your Levis conveniently came out when you performed your great disappearing act as a makeshift Houdini. If only I knew the magic words to bring you back to the stage. And this: it always came down to me sitting and waiting, waiting for the pools of black coffee that are your eyes to be lukewarm enough to … read. Ironically, you were about as flaky as a pastry as well, and I was stuck in a bad coffee shop. Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if I hadn't chased you for two years, hoping you would be as fascinated with me as I was with you; how I ripped the edges of myself to fit with you, but only ending up with a jagged ego. The sunshine pours through the leaves like a picturesque scene, yet a lump builds in my throat. No number of animated cheerful bluebirds could've made this any better. “Hey, are you busy? We should hang out. Talk and stuff,” your voices emanates from my end of the receiver. Great. Anyone with half a brain could figure out where this was going. No matter where this was going to lead, I'd figured we would never be the same. I eye the street, eager for your gold truck; that noble golden truck that my friends swore was an indication of something. “Come on, how many guys drive GOLDEN Tacomas? He's a god-damn genie in a golden lamp. A God. A Greek God.” You got along with my friends so well, but at the same time, it made letting go all the more difficult. All the rest of the boys always failed the “friend test.” My friends gave the thumbs down to each poor sucker. Except you. Your holy truck... ... middle of paper ... ...lly like that kiddo.” Looking at you, standing there so innocently as if you hadn't pulled off one of the greatest heists of all. I’m sure this is the last time we’ll be “friends.” We will fade away from each other, like forgettable fickle dreams: worthless images in the light of day. Our last goodbye isn’t shockingly sour but it isn’t sickly sweet either. I hug you as tightly as I can, in hopes of remembering a time when you seemed to care a little more. Now even if you disappear once again, I won’t be sitting in the audience, staring hard, wishing for your return. No more Houdini. No more tricks. It’s just a simple flick of the wrist and you’re gone. But this time, I was fine with it. The pastry needs to be thrown out, and the coffee poured down the sink. There’s bound to be real gold in some dark part of the world, and now, my only mission was to find it.
It was a few days before I left for school and my best friend, Kate, was throwing a good-bye party for our group of friends. I was so excited for this bash seeing that it would be the last time our group would be together for a while. It was a time for all of us to move on and embark upon futures that held so much for all of us, and to say farewell to the people and memories that had shaped us.
the grocer remembers how I take my coffee, when the gut in the long tunnel of the
I discovered that it was easy to disappear, and that my disappearance was borne lightly by the world at large. My absence left in the fabric of the Makeshiweg Festival was filled soon enough-filled, indeed, by Tony. The show rolled on, as shows do.
“Honestly as much as I mess around and keep people at a distance with my jokes, you 're right Pheebs. You guys are the people I want to do that with the least.” Chandler
peacefully in the innocence of sleep, I just couldn't bring myself to do it. So
I have you, my friends. You who look out for me, yet allow me to be myself. Eat cheesecake, drink a beer, run barefoot through the grass—and enjoy it! I know that my life could be much worse. We all know that. Thank you for listening to me bitch about my world. I’ve needed to for a long time. Now let me return to being one of you. After all, I’m just another classmate, another student, another stranger on the street.
...arate occasions; first time in the late nineties, as a betrothed, migrating temporarily to the western state; second time four years later, a ring added, and everything else the same. She lured me into her sensuous web with promises of heathen desire. Now U2 plays and other memories from my teens and early twenties come as I race across streets, bang on cars, rush to join a crowd that I no longer see, so keen and now … different. The girl, English accent, cute in my shirt, stands on the front porch after one of the many sexual expeditions, a relationship based on sex, drunken sex, never sober, and I have the customary cigarette while two other friends sit inside my shadowy glow. They feel my passion, or the remnants.
It ranks amongst the rarest of metals. Consider this: for every 15 to 20 ounces of gold extracted, only a single ounce of platinum is mined. Unlike gold, which doesn't work well in its purest form, platinum is used in jewelry at 90–95% purity. Gold tarnishing is the slight corrosion of the gold surface and is evident as a dark discoloration of the gold item, also called a tarnish film. Gold alone or pure gold does not combine easily with oxygen so it stays shiny, it does not rust nor tarnish, again, that is pure gold. The magnet test is also a good test to determine if gold is real or fake. If your gold item is attracted to a magnet, it is definitely not real gold. Still, this doesn't mean that there is no gold in your item, just that it is not made with a substantial amount of gold. Gold is most often found in quartz rock. When quartz is found in gold bearings areas, it is possible that gold will be found as well. Quartz may be found as small stones in river beds or in large seams in hillsides. The white color of quartz makes it easy to spot in many
Where do I start? How do I begin a farewell when I still can't believe you're gone? How do I say goodbye to a part of my soul?
I remember the day well. There was a disturbance of some sort in the house of which I had taken part. I am not sure whether I was the malefactor or was the beneficiary, probably a quarrel with my brothers, but I do remember what happened thereafter. After my rebuke, I walked through the back door and proceeded to the garage. In those days, and even now, the garage was not meant for cars but for storage, so there were boxes upon boxes of stored junk. Upon entering, I moved a few boxes away, found a familiar hole where my brothers and I used to go and hide, bellied myself on the dusty flour, and crawled about three and one half feet under stored chairs and one desk to my destination—a hidden spot in the far corner of garage. None would find me there! Immediately I began to cry. “No one loves me!” and “Everybody hates me!” were the phrases that I would say. Tears flowing, I would condemn the world for its hatred and console myself with the words I knew too well, “It’s okay. You can survive though no one understands you.” How hopeless words can console is a mystery—but truth switches places with lies when you’re deceived.
Gold, nothing can compare to this precious metal. A symbol of wealth and prosperity, it has been a value for explorers and adventurers and a lure for conquerors. Today it is vital to commerce and finance; popular in ornamentation, and increasing importance in technology.
You know you use to be something special, someone I use to admire, love, and respect. I use to admire so many things about you. I admire how you use to not care about what people thinks about you, you do whatever you wants and you’re proud of it. It didn’t concern you what other people opinions were about you. I admire how you tell like it is. It didn’t concern you how people feel, because you know it’s the truth. Then I realized that how you respect them, you didn’t feed them lies and false hopes, but you were a straight man. I use to admire how, you know what it doesn’t matter. In argument or conversations, no matter how hard it is, you tell the truth even though the other person doesn’t know the whole story, the other side. You tell it
I’ve been a good wife; attentive, loving, dedicated. Even after the accident, I stayed with you because I thought I loved you. I did at first, but now loving you seems a very silly notion. I will be ending my live at ten-thirty. If you care to say goodbye, come to me at the Manhattan Bridge.
I can surely say that I won't be able to forget about our love story. You were the most beautiful thing that could ever happen in my life. The most tender feeling I have ever endured. Having you in my life and having the opportunity to meet you brought warmth, love, and passion to my heart and soul. The fact that we decide to go separate ways has filled my heart with coldness, sadness and fear, not knowing if you would ever come back to me and perhaps you would forget me bring tears to my eyes.
It was a dreadful afternoon, big droplets of rain fell directly on my face and clothes. I tasted the droplets that mixed with my tears, the tears I cried after the incident. The pain in my foot was excruciating. It caused me to make a big decision of whether I should visit you or not. I decided I would. I limped towards my bright, blue car where my bony, body collapsed onto the seat. I started the engine up but at the same time being cautious of my bleeding foot. I then drove to the destination where I was bound to meet you. I was bound to meet you after three years of counselling from my last appearance with you. I guess all I can remember is the scarring....