How Many Times Had I

But They Were Wrong. There Was A Reason.

Then Come To Realize That You're Making Mountains Out Of Molehills. Realize How Petty You've Become. Sure, It May Feel Like You Can't Get A Grip On This Town. It May Seem That Every Time Someone Offers You A Hand Up, They Just Let Go And You Slip Further Down. But You Must Stop Being So Pessimistic, Hannah, And Learn To Trust Those Around You. So I Do. One More Time.

That’s What I Love About Poetry. The More Abstract, The Better. The Stuff Were Your Not Sure What The Poets Talking About. You May Have An Idea, But You Cant Be Sure. Not A Hundred Percent. Each Word, Specifically Chosen, Could Have A Million Different Meanings. Is It A Stand-in ―a Symbol For Another Idea? Does It Fit Into A Larger, More Hidden, Metaphor? ...i Hated Poetry Until Someone Showed Me How To Appreciate It. He Told Me To See Poetry As A Puzzle. Its Up To The Reader To Decipher The Code, Or The Words, Based On Everything They Know About Life And Emotions.

People Grow Apart, And Sometimes, There Nothing Anyone Can Do About It.

I Want To Look Back. To Look Over My Shoulder And See The Stop Sign With Huge Reflective Letters, Pleading With Hannah. Stop!