<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035</id><updated>2011-04-29T02:46:19.464-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Postcards From College in Jacksonville</title><subtitle type='html'>"I guess the winter
makes you laugh a little slower
makes you talk a little lower
...I cant remember
all the times I tried to tell myself
to hold on to these moments
as they pass...."</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>317</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-111764044121210795</id><published>2005-06-01T08:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-06-01T08:40:41.276-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>This Is Love, Make It HurtAs if like clock work, the same memory will appear in both our heads at the same time:We would text message through the evening about the tight black skirt I was wearing at work, and how easily the buttons undid themselves if I just exhaled far enough.  And then it was voice to voice till I drove all that way in the dark to his house in Gainesville.  Mindless cahtter </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/111764044121210795/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=111764044121210795' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111764044121210795'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111764044121210795'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/06/this-is-love-make-it-hurt-as-if-like.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-111670760648595554</id><published>2005-05-21T13:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-21T13:33:26.503-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>You Knew The Words I Never Said...of course however, you would ask me to call.  And naturally I agreed with a departing hug.  But we both know the rules of this game.  You won't hear from me agian until I'm desperate with desire.I pulled up at a red light.  I didn't bother to walk you out last night, so how was I to know the appearance of you car?  I'd have taken a right on red without peering </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/111670760648595554/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=111670760648595554' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111670760648595554'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111670760648595554'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/05/you-knew-words-i-never-said.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-111661147582378660</id><published>2005-05-20T09:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-20T10:53:22.870-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Baby Let Me Explain Somethin It's All Down To Drugs, Atleast I Remember Taking Them, But Not A Lot Else.............you remember these are the instances your mother told you about. these are the moments that we, as moral human beings, would regret the next morning. but they failed to mention that repetition leads to apathy. Ordinarily, I can't remember enough to gather any information about the </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/111661147582378660/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=111661147582378660' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111661147582378660'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111661147582378660'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/05/baby-let-me-explain-somethin-its-all.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-111639180063429929</id><published>2005-05-17T21:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-17T21:57:34.653-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>And To Think I Thought I Lost It....I second guess my passion for you.  Not enough, I guess, in my heart to have that intuition.  love is one of those connections; the kind that moves us up out of our reality, if need be, and into something that isn't quite so perfect.And you? You weren't so perfect this morning. But I slept through your hysterical sufferings as if the world was finally at peace </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/111639180063429929/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=111639180063429929' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111639180063429929'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111639180063429929'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/05/and-to-think-i-thought-i-lost-it.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-111605285906944933</id><published>2005-05-13T21:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-13T23:40:59.103-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>WHY CANT I FIND ANYTHING TO WRITE ABOUT?!</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/111605285906944933/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=111605285906944933' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111605285906944933'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111605285906944933'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/05/why-cant-i-find-anything-to-write.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-111596300663372059</id><published>2005-05-12T22:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-12T22:43:26.640-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Is This Really A Dream?   [read slowly. pause after sentences...better that way]"She was not ready.She was absent minded; couldn't remember to take care of herself, let alone another living individual.  When was the last time she thought about the well being of someone else, before her own?  Too concerned with superficial gains to be wondering what she could give to benefit another.  How can a </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/111596300663372059/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=111596300663372059' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111596300663372059'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111596300663372059'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/05/is-this-really-dream-read-slowly.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-111527226031715861</id><published>2005-05-04T22:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-09T14:26:14.093-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>What Goes Up Must Come Downit wasn't unusual for me to be sneaking out from underneath the blankets after their minds were in dreams. queitly tip toeing towards the door i'd make my way slowly out to my car. falling asleep in my own bed seemed more practical, and i knew they only invited me for the night because it seemed like a packaged deal. you "put out" in exchange for a place to stay, and </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/111527226031715861/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=111527226031715861' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111527226031715861'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111527226031715861'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/05/what-goes-up-must-come-down-it-wasnt.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-111507792735010726</id><published>2005-05-02T16:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-02T16:52:07.353-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Your A Traiter To Your Own Heart, Be AshamedBefore today,I woke up yesterday with a hand resting on my hip.  I knew exactly whose hand it was and why it was there.  It is always there on those certain weekends.  And every time he lays his sencere hands on my waist in an innocent embrace, I'm slightly easing it off with delicacy.  Very carefully so not to disturb the half conscious body sleeping </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/111507792735010726/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=111507792735010726' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111507792735010726'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111507792735010726'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/05/your-traiter-to-your-own-heart-be.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-111483886311163802</id><published>2005-04-29T21:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-04-30T18:35:03.240-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Will I Ever Make It Home, Will I Ever Leave The Ground [leave this place so far behind, where there is no turning back]Did i think that this would never end? And if i did think it would, was i under the assumption that i would be nonchalant? i thought i couldn't wait to move out. i thought that i'd start that long drive south with a smile on my face. but this marks the end of freshmen year. these</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/111483886311163802/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=111483886311163802' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111483886311163802'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111483886311163802'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/04/will-i-ever-make-it-home-will-i-ever.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-111420091387990471</id><published>2005-04-22T13:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-04-22T13:15:13.883-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>She Always Takes It With a Heart Of Stone-But if there's anything that I've learned this past year living in Jacksonville, it's toExperience.I don't care how hard it is to detatch myself from someone, I'll grow to care for them and even when it hurts to be let down- I'll be thankful for that experience.It could be anything.    It could beDriving to Savannah at 10pm on a school night like there is</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/111420091387990471/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=111420091387990471' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111420091387990471'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111420091387990471'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/04/she-always-takes-it-with-heart-of.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-111411766443545125</id><published>2005-04-21T13:28:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2005-04-21T14:07:44.440-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Before It Was Different...because before when it happened you were with me.  In a sense, he was with me too, but not like you were.  With you I knew why you were there, I knew the reasons why you held my hand and let me cry on your shoulder.  You wanted to be there.  You wanted to make me feel better, and you did.  By simply being there.This time I was alone.  I went to sleep with the fears of </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/111411766443545125/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=111411766443545125' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111411766443545125'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111411766443545125'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/04/before-it-was-different_21.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-111411766176229188</id><published>2005-04-21T13:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-04-21T14:07:41.766-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Before It Was Different...because before when it happened you were with me.  In a sense, he was with me too, but not like you were.  With you I knew why you were there, I knew the reasons why you held my hand and let me cry on your shoulder.  You wanted to be there.  You wanted to make me feel better, and you did.  By simply being there.This time I was alone.  I went to sleep with the fears of </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/111411766176229188/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=111411766176229188' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111411766176229188'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111411766176229188'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/04/before-it-was-different.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-111388557370951127</id><published>2005-04-18T19:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-04-18T21:39:33.716-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Climb Inside The Emptiness It's Safe When Your Alone...We were CoDependent lovers. The first night he met me he fell in love.  No doubt in my mind because the day after he did everything he could when he assumed I had given him the wrong number.  Lunch that day probably sealed the deal.  Because the next weekend he drove from his home in St. Augustine to Clearwater to spend time with me, and </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/111388557370951127/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=111388557370951127' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111388557370951127'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111388557370951127'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/04/climb-inside-emptiness-its-safe-when.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-111358997895799065</id><published>2005-04-15T11:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-04-15T11:32:58.966-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Step Outside The Misery- For Once You Feel AliveMaybe it was dissatisfaction that the way I planned the night out to be, didn't happen?  Maybe it was the margaritas (all TWO of them....idiot) and random sips from cups unknown? Sitting here, I don't know what came over my seemingly rational mind and said,"let him in your car"I was alone. Walking out to the parking lot in the dark.  Alone.  And </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/111358997895799065/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=111358997895799065' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111358997895799065'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111358997895799065'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/04/step-outside-misery-for-once-you-feel.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-111349127914044714</id><published>2005-04-14T07:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-04-14T08:07:59.146-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I knew, You'd Love Me As Long As You Wanted- And Then Someday You'd Leave Me For Somebody New....I haven't heard from him since...Monday?  Yes that's right,he called me on Monday night.  It was a short conversation, very dull very bland,J: "Do You still hate me?"Me: "Why yes!  Not much has changed in twenty-four hours! Do not hate me?"J: "No, I do..."Silence- [why the hell would I say anything?]</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/111349127914044714/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=111349127914044714' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111349127914044714'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111349127914044714'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/04/i-knew-youd-love-me-as-long-as-you.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-111341440579976577</id><published>2005-04-13T10:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-04-13T10:46:45.803-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Stumbling I Fall Away- It's Hard To Make A Change...Waking up from a sleep like that is rough.  I half expect something to change from the time we went to sleep at the ludacrous hours of the night.  I always doze of with false hope in the back of my mind though not too evident due to exhaustion.The light or something in me saying my eyes haven't seen the world for too long, wakes me up and </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/111341440579976577/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=111341440579976577' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111341440579976577'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111341440579976577'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/04/stumbling-i-fall-away-its-hard-to-make.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-111328580020690340</id><published>2005-04-11T19:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-04-11T23:03:20.210-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Oh God It's Raining, But I'm Not Complaining...He grabs the side of my cheeck which pauses the kisses I'm slowly leaving down his chest.  I take my time and look up with questions in my eyes as to why I was stopped.His face looks sencere and concerned when he finally asks, "If you had it your way, what would this be to you?"Wonderful, I think.  There is either a right or wrong answer.  If it's </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/111328580020690340/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=111328580020690340' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111328580020690340'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111328580020690340'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/04/oh-god-its-raining-but-im-not.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-111317727482254689</id><published>2005-04-10T15:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-04-10T16:54:34.830-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Walking Past The Lonely Ones With Eyes As Cold As StoneI hope when I open my phone to answer, it is never agian his voice on the end.  That's really all I can say.  Suprisingly there aren't any words descriptive enough to fully capture the hate I hold for him.  Well I suppose that's not entirely suprising, considering there aren't many words to best describe the discomfort an eyelash caught in </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/111317727482254689/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=111317727482254689' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111317727482254689'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111317727482254689'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/04/walking-past-lonely-ones-with-eyes-as.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-111298663491417346</id><published>2005-04-08T11:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-04-08T11:57:14.916-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Sometimes I Can't Find The Lightswitch...Sometimes I'd Rather, Dwell In The DarknessI wanted to say that this isn't the me, that I want you to know.  This isn't the person who accuratly represents who I am.  The "me" you met last night, was drunk.  And maybe I can use that excuse one more time, and still have it be valid.  And my actions would suddenly be justified in that one small word, drunk.I</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/111298663491417346/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=111298663491417346' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111298663491417346'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111298663491417346'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/04/sometimes-i-cant-find-lightswitch.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-111282817848297275</id><published>2005-04-06T15:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-04-06T15:58:45.036-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Gift That I'm Burnin' All At Once...Selfish can be best defined by the lack of thought for other people, and the ignorant idea that one's ideas and feelings are the same as the majority.  Also characterized by high images of one's self without thinking realistically about flaws.(i'll give myself this: i realize my flaws!)I guess I'll always be selfish. In some way or another. Perhaps it's because</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/111282817848297275/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=111282817848297275' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111282817848297275'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111282817848297275'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/04/gift-that-im-burnin-all-at-once.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-111271689731060841</id><published>2005-04-05T08:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-04-05T09:01:37.313-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Your The Only One Who Really Knew Me At All....Yesterday when we finally spoke I said I was fine!  That there was no need to stress about upsetting an individual that wasn't even there.  Sounds like I'm pushing myself down, but truthfully what do I matter.  Not trying to sound problematic anymore,but I just don't see the relevance in worrying over me.  Well I guess it was weird when I was </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/111271689731060841/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=111271689731060841' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111271689731060841'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111271689731060841'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/04/your-only-one-who-really-knew-me-at.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-111263872961211687</id><published>2005-04-04T11:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-04-04T11:18:49.616-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Oh The Regrets I Have...Frightened the shit out of my poor roommate Danielle last night.  Tisk tisk...I woke up in a state of terror from the unknown.  We worry about a test grade, and we worry how we are going to get the weekend off of work to party...but this isn't like that.  Saturday I was selfish.  Shocked that someone could actually ditch me  on a Saturday night. Sunday afternoon I was </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/111263872961211687/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=111263872961211687' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111263872961211687'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111263872961211687'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/04/oh-regrets-i-have.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-111259131750980250</id><published>2005-04-03T01:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-04-03T22:08:37.513-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I Wasn't Alone Last Night, But I May As Well BeenI walked down the hall to get a pillow to rest my aching neck on.  Half way back to the couch I realized I only grabbed one.  Funny I had to first see it before the simple courtesy came to my mind.  That's just one thing.He laid his head down on my shoulder two nights ago.  It took me 10 seconds of debating and 5 seconds of telling myself no, </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/111259131750980250/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=111259131750980250' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111259131750980250'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111259131750980250'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/04/i-wasnt-alone-last-night-but-i-may-as.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-111248628333184108</id><published>2005-04-02T15:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-04-02T15:58:03.333-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>taking a break from that stupid story and all of it's stupid details that i don't want to write or think about.my passion is my downfall. nothing i write will ever been good enough.  i dont know how to express myself without criticizing it. there's no point in even editing that dumb thing cause something is missing and i dont know what. i can add all the thoughts and imagery i want to- something </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/111248628333184108/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=111248628333184108' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111248628333184108'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111248628333184108'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/04/taking-break-from-that-stupid-story.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-111216595510730946</id><published>2005-03-29T22:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-03-30T10:24:00.650-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Continued from last post 3/28the day I forgot to write downHe only brought wheat thins, and I only brought my smiling face so we opted for something with a little more substance."I'll drive," he said in a meek voice "Where do you want to go?"I shouldn't have suggested it, but I knew that he didn't know. Still though, it would be in my mind when we sat down at the table and looked around at the </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/111216595510730946/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=111216595510730946' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111216595510730946'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111216595510730946'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/03/continued-from-last-post-328-day-i.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-111203756896805360</id><published>2005-03-28T10:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-03-30T14:26:18.046-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The Day I Forgot To Write down... [a work in progress- improper use of grammer, mis spelling, and ackwardness of sentences is possible...ill edit once i get it out of my head]that day was weird. The night before was Sunday, and we had been speaking on the phone but only on random occasions.  Our talks were breif, short on the weather and sometimes our individual plans for the upcoming weeks.  If </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/111203756896805360/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=111203756896805360' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111203756896805360'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111203756896805360'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/03/day-i-forgot-to-write-down.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-111202083572303738</id><published>2005-03-28T06:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-03-28T06:40:35.736-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>You Say That You Need Time- I Say You'll Be Fine...I've always said we'll see how long this one lasts.  But I hope this time it is for real that we don't talk for at least a month or two.  Maybe until summer...when we can see eachother...as friends...So I've decided that since I won't be emotionally involving myself with anyone that I could just read books!!  So I finished The Notebook and that </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/111202083572303738/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=111202083572303738' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111202083572303738'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111202083572303738'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/03/you-say-that-you-need-time-i-say-youll.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-111138363226888285</id><published>2005-03-20T20:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-03-21T14:34:27.656-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Some Contemplation, Much Hesitation- Hit The RoadI soaked your jewelry in hot water and dish soap today. My mom's ex fiance' used to tell me it was the next best thing if you didn't have the special stuff. Coming from a jewler I guess I've taken that with me... even though he's not.The light hit the diamonds hard and I really looked into it. I remember you said something about what it meant to </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/111138363226888285/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=111138363226888285' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111138363226888285'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111138363226888285'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/03/some-contemplation-much-hesitation-hit.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-111128164804403843</id><published>2005-03-19T17:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-03-19T17:20:48.046-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Remember How Many Times We Tried to call it a night? And that consistently ended in the non-seperation of our bodies for atleast another twenty four hours. It was almost as if we wanted the extra time so that when we did happen to say goodbye, it would seem worth it.  [Like taking a long road trip; trying to stay as long as possible so that the monotony of the drive wouldn't seem so prominent </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/111128164804403843/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=111128164804403843' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111128164804403843'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111128164804403843'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/03/remember-how-many-times-we-tried-to.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-111016395394911577</id><published>2005-03-06T21:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-03-06T18:52:33.953-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Why Are You Hesitating? Why Do You Keep Me Waiting?As of now, I can say I have it under control.  Of course I do, because nothing is going wrong to make me feel like I've gone too far with myself.  Tonight, at 9:41pm I can say that I'm not dedicating my heart to the idea of us, nor am I over imagining a life with him.  But what about tomorrow?  Suppose he changes his mind...Pretend that something</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/111016395394911577/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=111016395394911577' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111016395394911577'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/111016395394911577'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/03/why-are-you-hesitating-why-do-you-keep.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110988206914568840</id><published>2005-03-03T12:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-03-03T12:34:29.153-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Guess You've Always Known...(bullshit post...scroll down down down for something pretty and poetic)that there are a million different things I'd rather be doing than try and tell you how I feel.  The words sound cordial and sensible in my head but once they leave my mouth,suddenly my demeaner turns cold and everything out of my mouth is followed by a chilly air as well.I can't explain why.  Why </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110988206914568840/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110988206914568840' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110988206914568840'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110988206914568840'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/03/guess-youve-always-known.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110974130912971550</id><published>2005-03-01T21:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-03-01T21:28:29.133-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I give myself 3 minutes now, to go back to Gainesville,To stand proudly on the sidewalk leading to your door while looking back over my shoulder at our two trucks paired together-Together like us behind the bedroom door:You rythmically moving inside me as I look off into space wondering silently if the words that touch my ears are real.Now I let myself believe you, and when I listen to the first </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110974130912971550/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110974130912971550' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110974130912971550'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110974130912971550'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/03/i-give-myself-3-minutes-now-to-go-back.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110973973025284461</id><published>2005-03-01T20:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-03-01T21:02:10.256-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>For 20 Dollars...I'll Write You AnythingI can too. (talent is neither here nor there...haha)I can't write myself back into his life though.  I've tried.  I wrote the most moving poem you could possibly think of- explaining in depth how remorse fills my heart and what I wouldn't give to go back.  He has it somewhere...most likely in a box somewhere under his bed.  Under his bed where not even the </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110973973025284461/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110973973025284461' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110973973025284461'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110973973025284461'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/03/for-20-dollars.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110965508259549518</id><published>2005-02-28T18:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-03-01T09:59:35.190-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>When Your Not Here- It's Hard To Pretend...That I could use this as a take it or leave it situation.Embarassing could be best described as I remember back to the heated moments where I told myself, "This is under my control"And it is, until we're done and your ready to leave me. Then I lose my grip when the doors shuts with you behind it, and I'm sitting on my bed wishing that there was still the</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110965508259549518/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110965508259549518' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110965508259549518'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110965508259549518'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/02/when-your-not-here-its-hard-to-pretend.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110946751599777373</id><published>2005-02-26T17:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-02-26T17:25:16.000-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Get The Hell Out- I'm Definitly The Type Of Girl You'd Want To LeaveAnd then they say I'm just being modest.  And it isn't until they smell some other cologne that they understand finally that I was not joking in the slightest.You find me one decent guy that doesn't think, act, or deceive like I do and I will gladly give him a chance.  Now that I have played the game, discovered tricks to hide my</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110946751599777373/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110946751599777373' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110946751599777373'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110946751599777373'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/02/get-hell-out-im-definitly-type-of-girl.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110922264099609782</id><published>2005-02-23T21:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-02-23T21:24:01.030-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Going Home Will Be LikeA much anticipated cigarette after a long day.It is the most amazing to me, after all those years living there, the emotions and warmth it brings me just to see familiar grounds.  I've memorized the back roads to everywhere and I know where the end of each road lies.I see roads everyday here in Jacksonville and I wonder: "Where do they go?"Even if I knew where they emptied </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110922264099609782/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110922264099609782' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110922264099609782'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110922264099609782'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/02/going-home-will-be-like-much.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110903022207701219</id><published>2005-02-21T15:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-02-21T15:57:02.080-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>How Come I Never Hear You Say- I Just Want To Be With You? Guess You Never Felt That Way...I learn a lot in Jacksonville.  I'm more of an observer than actually living here.  I serve my purpose of school work and lectures...but I can't breathe here.  Catching air up North is rough, but in Dunedin my lungs will fill up so big that I'm amazed they don't burst.  This lifestyle is just another one of</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110903022207701219/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110903022207701219' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110903022207701219'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110903022207701219'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/02/how-come-i-never-hear-you-say-i-just.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110887742740455127</id><published>2005-02-19T00:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-02-19T21:30:27.413-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>How Can I Put It? He Put Me on...I Even Fell For That Stupid Love SongI'm tired.  Tired of exterting so much energy into the unknown, thinking it's worth while due to promises that turned out empty after all.  How can he look at himself in the mirror everyday and claim to be something he's not. How can he degrade everything a relationship between two people stands for, and still go on?  I don't </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110887742740455127/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110887742740455127' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110887742740455127'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110887742740455127'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/02/how-can-i-put-it-he-put-me-on.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110859249980341724</id><published>2005-02-16T13:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-02-16T14:21:39.810-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Jokes Over...Right?- (warning this is a bull shit post)Ok...it was funny like...the first three months- but now it's getting scary.I thought it was going to be one of those things where I suffered for awhile but not after some professional help.  Well considering it's been way over 6 months and I'm still in pain is just a little bit nerve wracking.Am I going to go through the rest of my life with</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110859249980341724/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110859249980341724' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110859249980341724'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110859249980341724'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/02/jokes-over.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110842372101610450</id><published>2005-02-14T15:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-02-14T15:28:41.023-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>It Had To Be YouAnyone else and there would be no doubt in my mind as to the wonderful possibilities that could happen (anyone care to concur?).  It's those really nice guys that throw you off and make you question whethor or not this scheme would even work.  So should you?Instead of worrying about an STD you'll be pacing the floor about catching his HEART! It's pretty much a given that you are </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110842372101610450/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110842372101610450' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110842372101610450'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110842372101610450'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/02/it-had-to-be-you-anyone-else-and-there.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110836133377876608</id><published>2005-02-13T21:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-02-13T22:08:53.783-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Sexually...There Is No Growing up...[From those random nights where strangers meet amidst chaos and alcohol.  We only  initiate mystery and warmth in order to reach the desire that  soon fades (because we're so inebriated).Suddenly your walking out( shoes and sweater in hand cause you don't want to waste the time in that same room to put them on) quicker than he can say the word "Leave".  there </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110836133377876608/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110836133377876608' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110836133377876608'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110836133377876608'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/02/sexually_13.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110797877367531363</id><published>2005-02-09T11:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-02-09T11:52:53.676-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>If You Walk Out On Me- I'm Walking After YouIt's tough when you start talking to someone new.  I think one of the hardest things is deciphering whethor nor this situation your placed in is a product of lonliness or reason...?I can't tell today if I want someone to want me, because nobody else worthwhile does.  That's a tough thing to grasp because it involves being completely honest to </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110797877367531363/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110797877367531363' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110797877367531363'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110797877367531363'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/02/if-you-walk-out-on-me-im-walking-after.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110789813115171787</id><published>2005-02-08T13:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-02-08T13:28:51.150-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I Guess For A Brief Moment I forgot...That we loathe the very room that holds us together, let alone the sight of our faces in tandem to each other.  We throw out those words that contradict the welcome mat under our feet until our eyes catch sight of the bedroom door closed tight.  Two years ago I would never believe that a combative relationship could turn intimate with one thought of the </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110789813115171787/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110789813115171787' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110789813115171787'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110789813115171787'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/02/i-guess-for-brief-moment-i-forgot.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110780544045985148</id><published>2005-02-07T11:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-02-07T11:44:00.460-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>She Doubts...Affirms...And Doubts Agian [a not so poetically talented post: ]Being sure of one's self in some situations can come without any additional information other than what you see on the outside.  So ofcourse, I have a crush on him...I don't know him!I think I do...and then I wonder, well do I? I think I do though....It was my birthday this weekend so I drove 4 hours to home to </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110780544045985148/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110780544045985148' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110780544045985148'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110780544045985148'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/02/she-doubts.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110701711399707631</id><published>2005-01-29T08:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-01-29T08:45:13.996-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The Only Thing A Girl Should Be Chasing Is A ShotAnd that's exactly what I heard when I answered his call...Drove to his house...And agreed to fall asleep there...It's not like I haven't done it before, but that voice in my head was so prominent you would have thought it was the very beginning of unfortunate events to come.  Maybe in the beginning I wondered and looked around in </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110701711399707631/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110701711399707631' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110701711399707631'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110701711399707631'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/01/only-thing-girl-should-be-chasing-is.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110693007834282057</id><published>2005-01-28T08:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-01-28T08:34:38.343-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Leave The Light On...I'll Never Give Up On YouIt fills your heart with anxiety to the point where you might honestly wish to go through the receiver of the telephone and find her on the other side.  It isn't until you reach the realization that you don't even know what she looks like now, since the last time you saw her, that those thoughts dissapate and reality is restored:Distance Matters..</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110693007834282057/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110693007834282057' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110693007834282057'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110693007834282057'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/01/leave-light-on.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110676965975676065</id><published>2005-01-26T11:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-01-26T12:06:46.976-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I May Hate Myself In The Morning But I'm Gonna Love You TonightHow many times will I wake up to someone else's unfamiliar breath on the back of my neck before I finally realize that I have to go farther back into the night to change it- not just the minutes before.It wouldn't be on my mind unless I was biting my lower lip while closing my eyes wondering, "What would it be like?" It's a </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110676965975676065/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110676965975676065' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110676965975676065'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110676965975676065'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/01/i-may-hate-myself-in-morning-but-im.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110617131508221809</id><published>2005-01-19T13:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-01-19T13:48:35.083-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'> You Visualize These Sort Of Things At Night- But You Never Think It Will HappenBut just as all hope was lost and I was on my way to forgetting about it all,I saw him.  Last semester I spent the minutes in which he was before me wondering, "What could I say that wouldn't sound too interested but at the same time not un-interested".  Well I wasted a whole 5 months wondering if he would actually </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110617131508221809/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110617131508221809' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110617131508221809'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110617131508221809'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/01/you-visualize-these-sort-of-things-at.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110594391311001026</id><published>2005-01-16T21:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-01-16T22:38:33.110-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>It Only Hurts When I'm BreathingThis morning when I woke up I felt guilty:  I did my daily routine of remorse while reminiscing(sp) through our box of memories kept in a drawer under my bed.  It amazes me that the smile I look at is trapped and goes no further than the edge of those papers.  I won't see it anymore...But today was like starting to ween myself off a night light.  Though it </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110594391311001026/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110594391311001026' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110594391311001026'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110594391311001026'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/01/it-only-hurts-when-im-breathing-this.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110522015085180456</id><published>2005-01-08T13:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-01-08T13:35:50.850-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Show Me How Defenseless You Really AreThe two of them both show the strength and devotion that it takes to keep a promise.I don't think I'm ready or at the point they are, to make that decision with the intent to keep it.  School isn't coming along the way it did last semester.  I guess I could credit that to having a social life.  I have homework but no books, three classes which </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110522015085180456/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110522015085180456' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110522015085180456'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110522015085180456'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/01/show-me-how-defenseless-you-really-are.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110516911081057219</id><published>2005-01-08T02:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-01-07T23:25:10.810-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Hunch Punch Has The Power (this is a drunken post)To show your what you never thought possible.Went to two parties tonight, both not lasting too long.Saw him that I never really wish to see agian.  But then agian, It's the seemingly simple act of involvement that draws one to the other- so I really do want to see that person.  In a perfect world one of these guys will find a part in their </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110516911081057219/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110516911081057219' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110516911081057219'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110516911081057219'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/01/hunch-punch-has-power-this-is-drunken.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110504120473066413</id><published>2005-01-06T14:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-01-06T11:53:24.730-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Cause We're Always Fucking But You Never Tell Me WhyI guess some night or another when nothing is completely out of the ordinary something finally triggers in the mind that this, this passed out right beside me with no regard for my feelings...Is wrongAll it took was the presence of my inhibitions which were usually destroyed by alcohol to notice every detail in an instant.  Not just my </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110504120473066413/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110504120473066413' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110504120473066413'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110504120473066413'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/01/cause-were-always-fucking-but-you.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110473585942127920</id><published>2005-01-02T22:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-01-12T11:35:21.506-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>If It Wasn't Love Then What Was ItI toss back and forth the ideaOf washing my faceAt 3amNoI'm already in bedBesides, I didn't wear that much make-up todayI'm lyingMy imagination suddenly plays tricks on meAnd I'm under the red comforter agianLying on your side of the bedJust because it's yoursOur hands are clasped tightAnd my leg fits perfectly between yoursbecause you sleep </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110473585942127920/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110473585942127920' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110473585942127920'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110473585942127920'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/01/if-it-wasnt-love-then-what-was-it-i.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110473437097128129</id><published>2005-01-02T22:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-01-02T22:39:30.970-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I Close My Eyes And Sometimes See You In The Shadows Of This Smoke Filled RoomAnd so starts the beginning of a long period of absence for each of us.   We won't talk agian for a good month possibly even more until one caves in on the next holiday or big event.  Though every time the phone rings we wonder in the back of our minds, "Is it him" "Is it her" It will not be me calling him I know </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110473437097128129/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110473437097128129' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110473437097128129'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110473437097128129'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/01/i-close-my-eyes-and-sometimes-see-you_02.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110465231580203425</id><published>2005-01-02T02:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-01-01T23:51:55.803-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Watch Your Broken Dreams Dance In And Out Of The Beams Of A Neon MoonAbout this time last year I was doing the same thing.  Writing about the ease it was in which to find a "partner" but the lack of love in each.  My 2004 brought a series of unfortunate relationships; each missing the boat every time. (I believe that's the expression...not sure?)Psycho Ex, DHS, Abercrombie, and Chris, wanting</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110465231580203425/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110465231580203425' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110465231580203425'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110465231580203425'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2005/01/watch-your-broken-dreams-dance-in-and.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110445298415932324</id><published>2004-12-30T16:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-30T16:29:44.160-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Return To Sender- Adress UnknownThe text read as follows:"Thanks a lot Mike, I don't know what I was thinking?  Your just like everyone else"Now I've glued the cell phone to the palm of my hand thinking that if in fact he did call, I'd be able to answer quicker.  Confusing situations have a way of putting things into perspective I believe.  This tradgedy ( totally exaggerated but what can I </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110445298415932324/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110445298415932324' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110445298415932324'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110445298415932324'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/12/return-to-sender-adress-unknown-text.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110439503795579205</id><published>2004-12-30T02:29:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-30T00:23:57.956-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I'm Glad I didn't Know- The Way It All Would End, The Way It All Would Go...Even if I found a road sign counting down the miles to the home I hold steadily in my mind, It would be as useful as direction in a foreign country.  Nothing looks familiar- I don't know where I am.I don't have any idea what it is that I am doing with myself, but I'm most certain that this isn't where I ought to be.</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110439503795579205/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110439503795579205' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110439503795579205'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110439503795579205'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/12/im-glad-i-didnt-know-way-it-all-would.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110429405075296683</id><published>2004-12-28T19:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-28T20:20:50.753-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I Walk Alone- I Walk AloneIf I were to tell him that there were no malicious intent behind my skill…I’d be lying.  Standing there, watching his eyes fall to the ground at the mercy of my touch drew a grin upon my face.  I’m sure he scowled with dissatisfaction before he fell asleep, how could he not?  It’s the very reason why we didn’t go into that room…because she was in there.  I think it </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110429405075296683/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110429405075296683' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110429405075296683'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110429405075296683'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/12/i-walk-alone-i-walk-alone-if-i-were-to.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110413358053469621</id><published>2004-12-26T23:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-26T23:46:20.533-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>When You Answer The Door, Pick Up The Phone, You Won't Find Me Cause I'm Not Comin' Home...I suppose if anyone thought that I wouldn't go back to that lifestyle, they haven't been hurting quite like this. Lex and I spoke awhile last night, three hours to be exact, and it wasn't until then that I realized I still wasn't over Alex. (Ew Sarah get over it!)It's always in the far back corner of </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110413358053469621/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110413358053469621' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110413358053469621'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110413358053469621'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/12/when-you-answer-door-pick-up-phone-you.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110395604472219681</id><published>2004-12-24T22:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-24T22:27:24.723-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Broken Relationships and Rejection...do you believe that the above statements were mentioned at church tonight?  I think it was solely for the purpose of making the healing process extremely difficult.  Is it not ironic how when two people split- their entire environment becomes a bitter reminder of the past?  Suddenly, all those inside jokes,songs,places, and connections that brought the </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110395604472219681/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110395604472219681' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110395604472219681'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110395604472219681'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/12/broken-relationships-and-rejection.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110388141439734315</id><published>2004-12-24T01:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-24T01:43:34.396-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Another Love Grows Cold On The Sleepless NightI guess it's an impressively positive fact that I'm not head over heels with Mike, nor do I have all these wonderful plans or extravagant expectations.  I won't lie- I toyed around with the slight idea that maybe going to Orlando and ditching my date with Abercrombie was a sign of fate; destiny at work how I just randomly picked Mike to mingle with</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110388141439734315/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110388141439734315' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110388141439734315'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110388141439734315'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/12/another-love-grows-cold-on-sleepless.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110365646055856353</id><published>2004-12-21T10:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-21T11:14:20.560-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Don't Mind Me If I Start That Trashy Talk-The phone calls and text messages...don't end.  I haven't gotten off the phone with him once, without the reassurance of the next time I will talk to him &lt;---and it's never very long between the calls.Don't misconstrue(sp?) the above statements and think that I'm  overwhelmed to a point of dissatisfaction.  Because I'm not.  The whole situation gives </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110365646055856353/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110365646055856353' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110365646055856353'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110365646055856353'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/12/dont-mind-me-if-i-start-that-trashy.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110350335555359909</id><published>2004-12-19T16:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-19T16:42:35.553-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Everyone Is A Label In This World...It doesn't really matter how nice of a girl I am, or how "innocent" or "timid" I come off to be.  Layering clothes like sweaters and button-downs to acheive a desired look means nothing when at the end of the night they are tossed in a bundle beside someone's bed.I guess I'm back to being that girl agian.  Never been quite like this though, lying there </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110350335555359909/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110350335555359909' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110350335555359909'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110350335555359909'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/12/everyone-is-label-in-this-world.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110331696674038576</id><published>2004-12-17T13:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-17T12:56:06.740-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Cheeck To Cheeck, The Lights Are Low, A Kiss Beneath The Mistle ToeYour Face Lit By The Fire's Glow- That's All I Want Tonight....It's been awhile since I drove out of town for someone.  (Alex doesn't count- we lived in the same town)  It reminded me of Jeremy when I used to skip Friday and drive up to Gainesville with my pup Jayden.  I won't sugar coat the situation and say that it felt </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110331696674038576/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110331696674038576' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110331696674038576'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110331696674038576'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/12/cheeck-to-cheeck-lights-are-low-kiss.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110314518718070761</id><published>2004-12-15T13:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-15T13:13:07.180-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>...To Watch The Storm With All It's Wonder...Ragin' In Her Lover's Eyes...It could be, so perhaps caution is recommended, that I'm just lonely.  It could be that the desperate wishes for a happy ending are just a mere product of my new environment.  That environment consisting solely of "filler" activities (we already talked about my idea of "fillers") and snuggleing with the dog (and only the </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110314518718070761/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110314518718070761' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110314518718070761'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110314518718070761'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/12/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110307586769716589</id><published>2004-12-14T17:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-14T17:57:47.696-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>This Is Love- Make It HurtSaturday mornings are set-aside for those who drive themselves delirious with duties during the week, and deserve the extra sleep.Resting late wasn’t an option this particular Saturday,Reminders of last night’s regretful events lingered under my comforter.Took a hot shower to try and rinse off the mistakes from my bodyMission failed:I can still smell the cologne </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110307586769716589/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110307586769716589' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110307586769716589'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110307586769716589'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/12/this-is-love-make-it-hurt-saturday.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110304655419877138</id><published>2004-12-14T08:58:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-15T12:54:56.493-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>She's Just Not Into ItSmooth wouldn't be the first word that came to mind when we first saw each other agian (for the first time since it happened). The air was dry, our movements stiff, and conversations seemed to stumble and trip over eachother. I think I heard, "What's new" at least three times as if he was expecting to hear something different-like buying three different boxes of cracker </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110304655419877138/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110304655419877138' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110304655419877138'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110304655419877138'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/12/shes-just-not-into-it-smooth-wouldnt.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110291378514593064</id><published>2004-12-12T20:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-12T20:56:25.146-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Two People Made To Be Together; Two Lovers Dreaming Of Forever...Try as I might to ignore it, the temporary comfort of arms around mine for only a night is no doubt disapointing.  It doesn't matter how many times I brag that this life, this one right here, is fulfilled as much as it could right now.  Nights like these are like eating diet food:At first it's really great and you wonder, "Why</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110291378514593064/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110291378514593064' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110291378514593064'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110291378514593064'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/12/two-people-made-to-be-together-two.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110280705052187567</id><published>2004-12-11T15:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-11T15:20:59.903-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I Don't Want To Light A Fire- Unless It Will Warm Your Heart...I think it's just the way the holiday season is so hyped up for love and togetherness that brings single folk like me down. (I'll have a blue Christmas without you) But whatever I'll just have my "togetherness" with every guy I see.Went to the mall with Jenn today and though I had a sure fire plan to start on that"togetherness" </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110280705052187567/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110280705052187567' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110280705052187567'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110280705052187567'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/12/i-dont-want-to-light-fire-unless-it.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110271799001134779</id><published>2004-12-10T14:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-10T14:33:10.010-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Just Give Me The NightTruthfully it was the alcohol, it was the week, and it was most definatly the imagination that put me there...all night.Being drunk is like the ultimate, and probably most understandable justification for mistakes or random acts of craziness that I know of.  Considering all it really takes is for someone to put a drink in front of me and I'm tipsy and once I take a sip </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110271799001134779/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110271799001134779' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110271799001134779'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110271799001134779'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/12/just-give-me-night-truthfully-it-was.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110270859519249687</id><published>2004-12-10T11:56:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-10T11:56:35.193-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>What is that somethin to seal the deal? Dude I already agreed stop suckin' up </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110270859519249687/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110270859519249687' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110270859519249687'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110270859519249687'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/12/what-is-that-somethin-to-seal-deal.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110270856297024400</id><published>2004-12-10T11:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-10T11:56:02.970-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I DON'T NEED ALCOHOL TO MAKE OUT (or anything else along those lines...) </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110270856297024400/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110270856297024400' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110270856297024400'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110270856297024400'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/12/i-dont-need-alcohol-to-make-out-or.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110270853492248503</id><published>2004-12-10T11:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-10T11:55:34.923-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>"Your hair smells good, want some dick?" </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110270853492248503/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110270853492248503' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110270853492248503'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110270853492248503'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/12/your-hair-smells-good-want-some-dick.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110270849941839286</id><published>2004-12-10T11:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-10T11:54:59.416-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Hildy, Sarah, and Danielle  </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110270849941839286/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110270849941839286' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110270849941839286'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110270849941839286'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/12/hildy-sarah-and-danielle.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110256512963812232</id><published>2004-12-08T20:05:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-08T20:05:29.636-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Are we drunk? </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110256512963812232/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110256512963812232' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110256512963812232'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110256512963812232'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/12/are-we-drunk.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110256510302603382</id><published>2004-12-08T20:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-08T20:05:03.026-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Cute as hell </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110256510302603382/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110256510302603382' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110256510302603382'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110256510302603382'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/12/cute-as-hell.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110253722272306134</id><published>2004-12-08T11:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-08T12:20:22.723-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Watch The Sunrise Say Your Goodybyes, Off We GoWe had our  brief conversation with the absence of contemplation and It was I who hit the road.  It's crazy how cities and streets change from one portion of our life to the next.  I thought my life was marked by green road signs pointing in his direction; counting down the miles. But now I drive blind with the comfort of stop lights to be very few</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110253722272306134/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110253722272306134' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110253722272306134'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110253722272306134'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/12/watch-sunrise-say-your-goodybyes-off.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110248525800086839</id><published>2004-12-07T21:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-08T07:44:15.993-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I Think Your Missing The PointIt seems easy right, to transition smoothly from the many phases in our lives that make up who we are...? Defining what I was actually doing is trivial but the important idea being that I was alone. It didn't matter the number of calls from guys I was receiving(not dialing) or the hours accumulating spent getting ready for a date...all that is useless when your </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110248525800086839/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110248525800086839' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110248525800086839'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110248525800086839'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/12/i-think-your-missing-point-it-seems.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110245262146214353</id><published>2004-12-07T13:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-07T12:50:21.463-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Drunk as F....(you get the idea)So wasted, I didn't even "Remember my name". You know your drunk when you wake up the next morning with the spins and would be eligible for a DUI even 12 hours after drinking. Lisette took my to her boyfriend's apartment and I just decided to get beligerant (sp).  We have never gone out together so we had a lot of fun.  Some girls that were at UNF over the </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110245262146214353/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110245262146214353' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110245262146214353'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110245262146214353'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/12/drunk-as-f.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110244158123124612</id><published>2004-12-07T09:46:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-07T09:46:21.230-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>SAILIN' WITH THE CAPTAIN </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110244158123124612/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110244158123124612' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110244158123124612'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110244158123124612'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/12/sailin-with-captain.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110244156099015728</id><published>2004-12-07T09:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-07T09:46:00.990-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Sarah (wasted) and Lisette </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110244156099015728/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110244156099015728' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110244156099015728'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110244156099015728'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/12/sarah-wasted-and-lisette.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110236969471453220</id><published>2004-12-06T13:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-06T13:48:14.713-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Treading WaterNot going to make it a habit, but I guess I'm going to actually go somewhere tonight.  I just can't sit in that room for a second without suffocating in despair.  I was good last night(after one mishap but I recovered like no other!) so I don't want to ruin my positive streak.It was like a Sunday sermon.  Only not too christian like, and the lesson was discovered after the sin.</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110236969471453220/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110236969471453220' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110236969471453220'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110236969471453220'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/12/treading-water-not-going-to-make-it.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110217518804995710</id><published>2004-12-04T07:19:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-05T20:56:49.466-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Try To Walk Away And I Stumble Couldn't sleep late this morning with the remembrance of those regretfulevents lingering under my comforterTook a hot shower to try and wash awaymy mistakes from last nightMission Failed:I can still smell the cologne as if it were fresh on my naked shoulderI guess I'll drench myself longer in steaming waterand scrub really hardHard like it was to lie and say that </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110217518804995710/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110217518804995710' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110217518804995710'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110217518804995710'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/12/try-to-walk-away-and-i-stumble-couldnt_04.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110213920523499208</id><published>2004-12-03T20:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-06T13:31:59.030-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Have Me As You Will, I'll Take What I Can Get So this is me huh? Walking the streets with a tune in my head instead of yourName...?Dancing to music in my car with girls that believe me when I comically play on that,"I'm enduring with ease"Wondering behind the facad with anticipation when will I get out of thisSkin...?Nobody wants to lie naked in a cold room without anExitBut here I am with my new</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110213920523499208/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110213920523499208' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110213920523499208'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110213920523499208'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/12/have-me-as-you-will-ill-ta_110213920523499208.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110210870002073491</id><published>2004-12-03T13:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-03T13:18:20.020-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Nothing Compares...Him:  " To me, if I was in your sitiuation Sarah, I would get right back out there and go crazy"His Friend:  "Yeah but when you fall in love, you need to feel that pain because it will surface sooner or later"Him:  "  Why don't you just spend the night and we'll find out" (in more or less words)Any other time and I wouldn't hesitate but it's different now.  But </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110210870002073491/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110210870002073491' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110210870002073491'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110210870002073491'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/12/nothing-compares.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110203044484515192</id><published>2004-12-02T14:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-02T15:34:04.846-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Objective UncertaintyBy definition the objective uncertainty is that which makes religion and love better because you put your faith in something unknown, but you trust it with your heart. Pretend for example, your wife/husband goes on a business trip and it just so happens that her highschool sweetheart will be there.  You could either hire someone to follow her around and know for sure what </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110203044484515192/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110203044484515192' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110203044484515192'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110203044484515192'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/12/objective-uncertainty-by-definition.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110177576157607990</id><published>2004-11-29T16:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-11-29T16:49:21.576-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Me and my brother Myles at the lakehouse for Thanksgiving </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110177576157607990/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110177576157607990' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110177576157607990'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110177576157607990'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/11/me-and-my-brother-myles-at-lakehouse.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110177446928845425</id><published>2004-11-29T16:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-11-29T16:29:17.833-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Let The World Around Me Fall ApartLast night I dragged Alex to see Bridget Jones at the movie theater...obviously I liked it a lot and he said he did too but only out of courtesy for me. I can completely relate to that Bridget Jones girl...nothing is ever right for me either. I remember I went to Prom with one of the many guys I've "fallen for" and his best friend and his date were swing </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110177446928845425/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110177446928845425' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110177446928845425'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110177446928845425'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/11/let-world-around-me-fall-apart-last.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110175226285468640</id><published>2004-11-29T10:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-11-29T10:17:42.856-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Last Night I Dreamt You Loved me"I do love you sarah and I am passionate about you" -himNothin but teeth for meDreams are disapointing like that sometimes...waking up with a smile is one thing, but to find the world as it was is devastating</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110175226285468640/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110175226285468640' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110175226285468640'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110175226285468640'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/11/last-night-i-dreamt-you-loved-me-i-do.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110169349048464394</id><published>2004-11-28T17:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-11-28T17:58:10.483-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I Can't Think Of Anyone At The Moment...But give me some time and I may come up with a few people that don't want to have good communication in their relationship.  Whereas I'm almost positive there are those in the world that could care less about talking of their feelings, I think it's safe to say that a good majority prefer to know where they stand.For all I know I could be standing here </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110169349048464394/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110169349048464394' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110169349048464394'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110169349048464394'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/11/i-cant-think-of-anyone-at-moment.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110153135263911574</id><published>2004-11-26T20:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-11-26T20:55:52.640-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>"All Good Things Must Come To An End"Talked to Jeff to get some insight on his opinion of his parents situation. (His mother wanting to leave her husband of 43 years)  According to him he was suprised that it hasn't happened yet and he's been, "waiting for it now for 20 years".  And I put in my  modern two sense where perhaps it didn't belong and said that if it were my dilemma I'd be gone </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110153135263911574/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110153135263911574' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110153135263911574'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110153135263911574'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/11/all-good-things-must-come-to-end.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110143763249309377</id><published>2004-11-25T17:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-11-25T18:53:52.493-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Thankful For YouSeems as though I was lucky enough to have two Thanksgiving Dinners this year.  I ate with Alex at his mom's and then today at the Lakehouse (pics posted soon) with my family. I wish Alex could have come out to the Lakehouse with me because I was very drained from the kids biting my ankles all day.  Don't get me wrong I totally love them all but I like to spend time with someone</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110143763249309377/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110143763249309377' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110143763249309377'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110143763249309377'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/11/thankful-for-you-seems-as-though-i-was.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110143412462710006</id><published>2004-11-25T17:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-11-25T17:55:24.626-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>You Remind Me Of Someone...Or Something?(taken and edited from an April 2004 post)Ever thought of people in terms of objects? Possibly flirting with the idea about how SIMILIAR they truly are? We sat surrounded in candlelight at the dining room table in conversation.  He spoke to me triumphantly with all his hopes and dreams permeating the room so much that even the dog could sense his </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110143412462710006/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110143412462710006' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110143412462710006'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110143412462710006'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/11/you-remind-me-of-someone.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110135926766223053</id><published>2004-11-24T20:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-11-24T21:07:47.663-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Divorce...?Can you imagine if Divorce was still condemed (sp)?  The option would be there ofcourse but couples would most definatly reconsider what marriage is all about and clearly define for eachother what it is to be married.  I'm sure many young guys would rethink their decision after hearing how the girl doesn't want their relationship to, "slip away" and the only way to avoid that is to </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110135926766223053/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110135926766223053' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110135926766223053'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110135926766223053'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/11/divorce.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110127184335091523</id><published>2004-11-23T20:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-11-23T20:50:43.350-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I Can't Say "I Love You" I Don't Know What That Means (I'm a Pimp)Or should I say WAS a pimp!  I just ran through and fixed up my old posts and I had an excellent month over the summer (5 guys... sexual relations statistics will not be revealed to protect the reputation of the innocent) and then the end of my senior year!  OH MY GOSH.  Check out the posts from the month of April...I was on fire</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110127184335091523/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110127184335091523' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110127184335091523'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110127184335091523'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/11/i-cant-say-i-love-you-i-dont-know-what.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110118184654677712</id><published>2004-11-22T19:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-11-22T19:50:46.546-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Us Girls...Always Wondering...WHAT THE FUCK IS HE DOING?  It's natural to have that suspicious blood running through our veins but sometimes it's more than that.  It's a rush that starts first in the heart and proceeds to send warm sensations throught the body. WHY IS HIS PHONE TURNED OFF?  Then it's dread as every terrifying scenario runs slowly across the back of your eyelids. </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110118184654677712/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110118184654677712' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110118184654677712'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110118184654677712'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/11/us-girls.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110101733583385728</id><published>2004-11-20T21:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-11-20T22:08:55.833-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Is Beauty Honestly Only Skin Deep...?Or is it possible that the statement was invented to protect the egos of the unfortunately, irreversibly ugly.  If there is one thing that I'm learning in all this college stuff is the ability to DOUBT.  What is it about women and the word beautiful?  Who brainwashed the entire female population into thinking that in order to actually be the word we first </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110101733583385728/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110101733583385728' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110101733583385728'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110101733583385728'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/11/is-beauty-honestly-only-skin-deep.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110062220374108867</id><published>2004-11-16T08:18:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-11-16T08:23:23.740-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Eyes Wide Open Always Hopin' For A Song...I decided that I so loved this idea I ought to really make it shine:She used to wake up with him long before she had to serve her duty to the daySimply to be with him, sipping hot tea, and gently whispering with him.Eyes barely open from exhaustion looking of asian decent, but a contradicting glow within the cheecks to indicate otherwise; an emotion</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110062220374108867/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110062220374108867' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110062220374108867'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110062220374108867'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/11/eyes-wide-open-always-hopin-for-song.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110057424886413865</id><published>2004-11-15T18:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-11-21T18:35:19.026-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Will I Ever Make It Home?I'm so tired and lonely here in Jacksonville. Not so much lonely as I am tired. I'm more than ready for this semester from hell to be over.However...I did seal the deal with my mind this weekend. Before, I think I was afraid to say it with any truth entailed but now I know there is.I guess it's not that hard to fall in love, but reciprocated love is another story. </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110057424886413865/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110057424886413865' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110057424886413865'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110057424886413865'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/11/will-i-ever-make-it-home-im-so-tired.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273035.post-110056564827703278</id><published>2004-11-15T16:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-11-15T16:40:48.276-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Alex, Dan, Justin </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/feeds/110056564827703278/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6273035&amp;postID=110056564827703278' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110056564827703278'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6273035/posts/default/110056564827703278'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wishiwerethereopposedtohere.blogspot.com/2004/11/alex-dan-justin.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
