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This week I have realized that I am beloved.


This week,
I have been cheated on and I have been lied to.
I have felt worthless and I have been without hope. 


I have been told that I am loved and that I am special.
But this week, I have believed that I am not loved or special.


I have lost a friend, two… three… and I have sunk into the loneliness.
I have felt dirty and used. I have been completely abandoned.


This week,
I have been kissed.
I have been ignored.
I have been promised love.
I have been broken.
I have been given words of comfort.
I have been pierced with shame. 


Guilt. Regret. Hurt.


This week, I have forgiven but I have not forgotten.


This week, I have listened and I have wept.
I’ve been made a fool and have been emotionally abused.


I have tried to find value in myself.


I have discovered strength and have been given support.
I have been shown love in the most unlikely and unexpected places.
I have been surprised in the power of healing.
I have found joy in the midst of brutal suffering.


I have searched for God in a dark place.
I have been told that I am beautiful and was wonderfully made.


I have realized that I am beloved.

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I've lived in you for two and a half years now, and I still haven't quite gotten over the fact that when I look up at your skyscrapers, it makes me realize how small I really am.
I have never been a huge fan of your consistent rain and what seems to be endless overcast, but as soon as the dew finally evaporates off of the grass I seem to forget about all of your clouds and any other worry that now is as far gone as winter.
The aroma of coffee brings me to your streets daily. On bike or by foot your trees pass swiftly by my path just like the giant ferries float near Pike Market or the sailboats linger passed the great blue Fremont Bridge.
And when I sit on the hill of Gas Works Park or the edge of Queen Anne looking over the Space Needle, it makes the walk seem worth it as the day's light sinks below the Olympics and your new city light shines into my view.
Your citizens are like no one I've ever met before. With funny glasses, flannel shirts and strange beards, they contain a style unlike anywhere else. You'd think that I would have fit in with my T-shirt and blue-jeans, but I've come to realize that the self-expression in street art and style have higher values than just meshing with a majority.
From the cafes of Capitol Hill to the streets of Wallingford, your alleyways and underground locations are full of surprises.
There is never a dull day living in you, Seattle.
Growing and constantly changing though you are vivid and full of live. Your culture is your own and I can't wait to see what you have in store for me tomorrow.


Love,
a very happy citizen. 

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Spanish cathedrals at dusk.

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A figure appearing on one of the battered walls in Salamanca, Spain.

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A photo collection remixed from a photos found on Tumblr.



sources:


http://www.nj.gov/dep/fgw/speciesinfo_fox.htm


http://stuckinatextbook.tumblr.com/post/42615839455


http://stuckinatextbook.tumblr.com/post/42615736989 

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Remember the friends you have.
Remember when they were there for you.
Remember how they've helped you.
Remember to be glad. 

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Another night passed away.
Another month thrown astray.
Yet another call that falls unanswered,
along with all the cries driven down in vain.


You were the one I thought was different.

Who could steal the light off any stage,
and make all the darkness flutter at bay.
Now here in the dim of my incandescent lamp,
these thoughts pass on. You're just like the rest.

Kind, your words console when near.
Though full of empty promises whispered in fear,
that maybe all was your fault; there's only one to blame.
Attempts to pay this meaningless debt; too late.

Concern flows through your eyes in each breath;
as half-hearted feelings so dry that I cannot wretch
enough from my seat to get away from you!
As if afterthoughts were enough to prove, innocence.


In this guise of gentle conversation,
the piercing of each and every abusive relation
comes etching forth the memories of what was...
...and what could have been.

So in this rhyme of stale grudge and drudgery,
comes from me a note; a tinge of sympathy.
Forgotten and hurt as I am, though this head will hold.
You my friend will keep on running from the loving and the bold.

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A shot of old-town Seattle's historic district. Architecture at it's finest.

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Trees painted blue in downtown Seattle.

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Capturing the residential life of Seattle; where the young come to settle.

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Silhouette of a kayak in Tacoma bay near Mount Rainier, Washington.

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My eyes are heavy.


Green tea loaded with caffeine,


Get inside of me.

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I took a seat on the dusty couch,
and finally began to think.
The dark and musty room,
for once gave me room to breath-


apart, 


from the great and busy lies,
that I've lived in every night.
I clutch to sit with myself,
and know what's right. 

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