Hi, I'm curious on what you would consider the absolute best books on the Presidency and lives of President Gerald Ford and George H.W. Bush to be? I'm really interested in those particular presidencies because they weren't coveted well in any history course I've ever taken. Thank you!
What did she expect? Certainly not this. Certainly not for him to stop loving her so soon.
“I used to dream of the day I would meet the one,” she take a deep breathe before continuing, “I thought my dream was coming true the day I met you. But I guess you’re not the one and I guess dreams don’t come true.”
I’m standing here with a broken heart and broken dreams because of you, is what she really wants to say.
“I was never the one for you.” He says to her.
Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #64 // but how could he know that?
I urge you to spend a good amount of time counting the things that still make you smile. Like puppies, or an old couple you see sitting in the park hand-in-hand, or that one stranger holding out the door for you. Because believe me when I say you will need that when you’re alone and the storm decides to pay you a visit.
He always seeks me out in crowded bar rooms, just so he can ask me about her. I always tell him the same things. Yes, she has a boyfriend. No, I don’t think she’ll leave him. Even when she does, there’s always another lined up,waiting in the wings. But he will never be the one she’ll choose.
I used to feed him falsehoods. I’d encourage him because I thought that one day she’d see what I see. That was until I picked up on the way her eyes rolled repulsively whenever he hovers near in adoration. Now, I find delicate ways to convey that she’s a lovely girl,but she’ll never love him.
And by God, he is handsome. I mean, plenty of pretty girls send sultry stares his way, just waiting for his gaze to make a home out of their bodies. They’d love him better than she ever would. They’d let him use them. They’d let him do whatever he likes.
But what he likes is to agonize over this girl who will never blink in his direction. I used to shake my head in bewilderment over the whole ordeal, but now I know better. Since then, I have had the experience of being that girl to others just like him. Boys who set their sights on what they can’t have. They desire demise. These kinds of boys want to buy the boat with the holes in it, even if it takes them straight to the bottom of the ocean.
“And He’s Sinking, Sinking ,Sinking…” by Brittney L. Melvin
I want to live. I want to travel across the world. I want to be amazed by other cultures. I want to learn by hearing other people’s life stories. I want to look down at the people from a balcony at 1am. I want to wake up at 7am and go to the beach and take a walk. I want to relax. I want to live.
I’m here to tell you that the disappointment you feel, with your family, occasionally, is normal. They will fight with you, say brusque things and will force you to do things you probably never want to do but that’s family. I know you didn’t sign up for this, neither did we all, but I’ll ask you this: would you trade it for the world? Because I know I wouldn’t. Ever since I could remember, my dad used to urge me to talk to my sister properly, open up to her and listen to her. He always said, “She’s your sister. Your family. When all your friends will leave you, you’ll understand how she was the only one that stayed. She should be your best friend.” with this all knowing smile of his, which I never understood until probably now. Now I know, that no matter what you go through, you have the same blood, you are the same people and so they will be there for you as you will be, for them, until the very end.
Don’t let me go, I’m yours to keep. Don’t speak, just kiss me. Don’t go, just hold me. Please don’t go, I’ll hold you. Don’t turn your head, just meet my gaze. Don’t second guess, just let yourself fall. I’ll catch you. Don’t cry, just laugh with me. And if you break, let me pick up the pieces.
I don’t mean a factual diary noting every jot or job, but write your story and write it like no one else can.
It doesn’t have to be perfectly penned or prettily eloquent, just honest and completely your own experience.
The only limits are your choices in regards to your use of each page- you don’t know how many you may have left to fill or how few words remain to relate.
Everyone else has their own story to tell, so don’t worry about how yours compares- the world needs each new and original point of view to get the fullest picture of a universal narrative.
There’s perhaps nothing so important to share sometimes as those things we keep hid or deepest buried:
the shrouded fragments smouldering within our core waiting for that vital breath of oxygen to fan its flame alight and burn openly, expending itself in abandon to the essence of its transformation of raw matters to light and heat.
Yes, perhaps it is the things we fear most to tell that render our tale most human and relatable to those who read;
for in vulnerable honest revelation lies potential lines to connection with each who feels so terribly alone inside their own burdened secrecy.
A final footnote passed in confidence-
often the best medium to tell our tale is not in words but in our actions, attitudes, through our art, & aye, even our very being.
Most crucial answers are discovered by necessity for solution when problems occur before lessons were learned(Experience is the hardest curriculum)
I don’t feel there is any injustice when people expand beyond my music and speculate on who certain songs might be about. I’ve never named names, so I feel like I still have a sense of power over what people say—even if that isn’t true, and even if I don’t have any power over what people say about me. The fact that I’ve never confirmed who those songs are about makes me feel like there is still one card I’m holding. So if you’re going to look at your life and say, ‘I get to play sold-out football stadiums all over the world. I get to call up my favorite artists and ask them to perform with me, and most of the time they say yes. I get to be on the cover of this magazine'—this is all because I write songs about my own life. So I would feel a little strange complaining about how it’s covered.
Oh God I want a young mchanzo au where Hanzo works in a library and Mccree visits the library almost every day and “reads” there (even tho he doesnt like reading) and secretly watches Hanzo, although Hanzo knows hes watching him