Tuesday, April 19, 2005
She's gone. In the other part of the island that seems light years away. I didn't even bid her goodbye. WTH. I can't stop crying, it's so depressing. She is my little angel. And she just has to go. WHY?? Well, my life already sucks. And her having to go is not getting any better. Why is that something/someone is taken away from you then you start to think that you did not do enough for that something/someone although, honestly, you DID a lot?!?! Oh SHIT. LiFe Is NoT GeTTin AnY BeTTeR. To Flush, My Dog by Elizabeth BrowningYet, my pretty sportive friend,
Little is't to such an end
That I praise thy rareness!
Other dogs may be thy peers
Haply in these drooping ears,
And this glossy fairness.
But of thee it shall be said,
This dog watched beside a bed
Day and night unweary—
Watched within a curtained room,
Where no sunbeam brake the gloom
Round the sick and dreary.
Roses, gathered for a vase,
In that chamber died apace,
Beam and breeze resigning.
This dog only, waited on,
Knowing that when light is gone
Love remains for shining.
Other dogs in thymy dew
Tracked the hares, and followed through
Sunny moor or meadow.
This dog only, crept and crept
Next a languid cheek that slept,
Sharing in the shadow.
Other dogs of loyal cheer
Bounded at the whistle clear,
Up the woodside hieing.
This dog only, watched in reach
Of a faintly uttered speech,
Or a louder sighing.
And if one or two quick tears
Dropped upon his glossy ears,
Or a sigh came double—
Up he sprang in eager haste,
Fawning, fondling, breathing fast,
In a tender trouble.
And this dog was satisfied
If a pale thin hand would glide
Down his dewlaps sloping—
Which he pushed his nose within,
After—platforming his chin
On the palm left open.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005 She's got style