Tell them you love them

I wrote in my journal today for the first time since March 12th, 2006. I'm not really sure why it had been so long, I think I had forgotten to take it to Disney World, which would partly explain it, and then I guess I just never got around to it, but I've had the past few days off, off from school and work, so I thought I would blow the dust off of it and give it a spin.

It feels good to write down my feelings, my thoughts, my emotions. It is some kind of release. It reminds me of that song, "Breathe" "If I get it all down on paper, its no longer inside of me, threatening the life it belongs to". I don't know why I don't write in the thing more often.

I flipped through my journal, reading past things that I wrote and all, and I came upon this. It doesn't really have any relevance to anything, but I kind of liked it. I wrote it while looking out my window of the dorms last year in late fall.

The needles move with the wind. All of them holding strong against the onslaught of nature.
Nature sends rain next, trying to dislodge some of them, but most of them old on, only few of the
weaker,older ones, succumb. Nature changes her tactics and sends blistering cold day in and
day out. Some of the young ones are not able to survive and they fall, yellow and orange, the
colors of death. In a last effort Nature sends snow to cover the needles in heavy ice, weighing
them down, freezing them, killing them. Many more die, young, old, middle aged, the ice doesn't seem to care. But for everyone that dies many more live, clinging to the tree that gives them life, not willing to die, not willing to let go, not willing to fall. They hold on wondering if Nature will ever relent and allow the warmth of the sun to reach them again.

Finally, since I have nothing else to say, I will end with this, since I could see myself saying this in 40-50 years, "Looking back, I have this to regret, that too often when I loved, I did not say so." -David Grayson