Reguess
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WpMetadataNoticeLast published Sat, May 2, 2015
May 2 Reguess When in my sarcasm I suggested that you ‘guess again’, I realized that you were in fact guessing, guessing about everything, guessing in order to create a process of elimination, a tool on which I now recognize you entirely depend. Guessing as a way of life is a tragedy. I’m not saying that trying to know every last thing in the world is an acceptable alternate goal, but to reach an adult age and not even be able to work your way up to a possible hunch is scary, scarier than even my sarcasm, which at this moment seems interminable, but I’m sure you guessed that. Make a list of your favorite fingers * ON COMING Anticipation of the approaching traffic consumes. The tiny spec grows and develops into the arriving vehicle 50 miles per and the rapid succession of the coming And those leaving eats quickly at my heart. The pain seers me Why are these who travel from the direction of my destination Passing me by? For miles and miles they appear to be greeters The breeze created by their passing chaps my face And questions my goals How can so many abandon my objective? But flee they do. My hunger does not diminish And I press on Of course if we all went this way, we might tip the globe Maybe that’s what they fear. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault http://www.amazon.com/More-Sober-The-Way-Sane/dp/144141231X/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1374072329&sr=8-3&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane http://www.amazon.com/Lines-My-Life-Sherrie-Theriault/dp/1448652820/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374072576&sr=1-1&keywords=Lines+from+my+life%2C+Sherrie+theriault
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~Her words were my poison. I used them to consume myself. Disturbingly honest. Painfully strained. Carefully penned down. Dangerously addictive.~ A journal that landed in the right hands and told a whole story with words, no lips could speak. Two people bound by the pages of a book that tore their souls apart. He found it lying around and wondered what could go wrong. He didn't recognise the handwriting but he knew he instantly fell in love with it. Then it began. The assault of words on his life. He couldn't believe a word she wrote but somehow he did. He knew more about her than anyone else but he knew so little about who she was... It was maddening. How someone could have such an impact on you without having a single conversation with you. Her precious words tortured his existence, they drowned him in misery, created a black hole of words around him, gave him everything he needed to live. Made him fall in love. Gave him a world of his own. Made him believe in rainbows, unicorns, coffee, the basis of happiness, the meaning of every sunrise, the mystery of every deep ocean, she made him human. He knew he had to find her. He had to find out who she was. He had given him all the clues he needed but none of them were enough to prepare him for who she was. But sometimes... The journey is more important than the destination. Sometimes, the journey is the destination. A book full of stolen pages and a boy full of curiosity. This was how he let her shape his story. __________________ Description inside. Italics = Journal entry. 500 word chapters. Okay, so I don't know if you want to read it yet but it would mean the world to me if you could give it a shot.

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