<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438</id><updated>2012-02-16T04:57:37.552-08:00</updated><category term='t'/><category term='2'/><category term='ii'/><category term='b'/><category term='Afraid of an airplane'/><category term='i'/><category term='k'/><category term='Wh'/><title type='text'>Landlocked Blues</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>299</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-5086550069879022585</id><published>2010-09-13T20:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-13T20:39:25.635-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I am...</title><content type='html'>...a little over a month into my marriage.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wowie, these are my blogs of being single and in pain and I am now married! Crazy...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happily married, I should add. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My HUSBAND adores the very ground I walk on, and we praise in God together...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-5086550069879022585?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/5086550069879022585/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=5086550069879022585' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/5086550069879022585'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/5086550069879022585'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2010/09/i-am.html' title='I am...'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-2860873644960064114</id><published>2010-06-24T19:38:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-24T19:38:52.965-07:00</updated><title type='text'>You become...</title><content type='html'>...and do what everyone else is like and does. It's really embarrassing. Get a spine and maybe your own religion too.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-2860873644960064114?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/2860873644960064114/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=2860873644960064114' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/2860873644960064114'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/2860873644960064114'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2010/06/you-become.html' title='You become...'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-3325494919155092795</id><published>2010-06-12T13:11:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-12T13:19:09.353-07:00</updated><title type='text'>This is pretty cool...</title><content type='html'>...not sure if I wrote it when I was 16 or 17. I think it's pretty clever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"My faith is as thick as rope and as strong as fishing wire,  my hope is as thin as paper and frays like hemp, My pain however pierces my heart and is as sharp as barbed wire. But my love for everything is as pure as the whitest of clouds, It is easily corrupt as storm clouds turned a dark shade of gray. My trust holds as a palm tree in the wind, it holds but waves to and fro and breaks at the right gust. I am ready to let them in, cure my taffy stuck tongue and make me as confident as a drunk girl because I want to dance as though I was high. But you must be warned, I can make you hit rock bottom like a stone over a cliff, and if they let me have my way, I'll tear them apart with my judgments that come quicker than an ocean wave. I act as I am and as my thoughts are made. I am Lauren."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-3325494919155092795?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/3325494919155092795/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=3325494919155092795' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/3325494919155092795'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/3325494919155092795'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2010/06/this-is-pretty-cool.html' title='This is pretty cool...'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-5611717702369533389</id><published>2010-06-12T13:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-12T13:10:52.500-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Going through...</title><content type='html'>...hella stuff from high school. Mostly letters and journals and poems, while listening to The Used...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's crazy how depressed I was over SO many boys. So dumb! I'd listen to The Used and cry and thought it consoled me. Now I'm listening to it and feel so sad cause I remember how unhappy I was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It blows my mind how much time has passed and it feels like no time at all. I feel like high school was just yesterday, and now here I am preparing to seal the deal with someone who never makes me cry. It's so crazy. I was so scared of being alone, yet finding someone really was just around the corner. I feel so odd right now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-5611717702369533389?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/5611717702369533389/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=5611717702369533389' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/5611717702369533389'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/5611717702369533389'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2010/06/going-through.html' title='Going through...'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-3548052435622076461</id><published>2010-04-03T12:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-03T12:45:39.143-07:00</updated><title type='text'>No one can drive me more crazy than him,</title><content type='html'>but no one can make my heart melt like he can.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Seeing youngish dudes with kids makes me want a kid. With you. Only you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love my Love-Love.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-3548052435622076461?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/3548052435622076461/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=3548052435622076461' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/3548052435622076461'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/3548052435622076461'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2010/04/no-one-can-drive-me-more-crazy-than-him.html' title='No one can drive me more crazy than him,'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-2134692972953951568</id><published>2010-03-20T20:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-20T21:17:39.755-07:00</updated><title type='text'>This week...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/S6Wd2_bdfsI/AAAAAAAAAEU/B7snPlaOQTE/s1600-h/l_7f245d3af0cc446d9d5e4415fee635cb.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/S6Wd2_bdfsI/AAAAAAAAAEU/B7snPlaOQTE/s320/l_7f245d3af0cc446d9d5e4415fee635cb.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450936492066963138" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our anniversary has been on my mind and in my heart. Today, the 20th, marks the year of when we first saw each other as a couple type. Today marks the year of when we first kissed, we first laid together, first watched a movie together, first loved on each other, first cuddled, first fell asleep together. Today marks the year someone held me unlike anybody had ever held me because I'd never melted into somebody with this peace and love that I had for Benjamin David Moran.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel so touched by the memory because the build up of my trip to San Jose was so intense, and unlike anything I'd ever felt before. We could not even wait to see each other. We were counting hours til he would get to pick me up from the airport and give me my first kiss. The nerves I had that day were crazy. When I landed, my legs were so shaky, I could hardly walk and was sure I couldn't go through with it. I was sooo nervous about seeing him and staying with him and being alone with him, though I'd been dying to. The butterflies were going, and it was just a craaaazy feeling. Every bit of it! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That day before I got there, I was at work and all I could think about was how the next day I was going to see the love of my life. It was the talk of the salon, and all on my brain. I couldn't wait to get off work and go home to pack so I could head out to my sister's in Fontana. She was going to take me to the airport in the AM and was as nervous as I was. We giggled about how exciting it was for me to get to kiss him for the first time because we both knew it would be a kiss like no other kiss, and an even cooler kiss since it was going to be in an airport-- like a movie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And going to bed that night before was next to impossible. We talked til like 3 AM, and would say how many hours we had left til he'd see me. It was the best feeling in the entire world. I walked on a cloud. I really did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And when I landed, I let my sister know I did, and that I couldn't do it. I couldn't see him. I was too nervous and wanted to call Liz so she could get me. But before I knew it, I was walking and I looked up, and he was there. I'm pretty sure I squeeled like a little girl and we hugged and went to get my luggage, and it was there that we kissed for the first time. And walked with our arms linked to the truck. And it was there that he gave me the ticket to the airport parking building and told me to put it in our scrapbook. He then stole kisses from me as we drove to the animal shelter to look at puppies, and went to Santa Cruise  and walked around. Then we went back to his place and I met his mom and we watched a movie and ate pizza and cuddled and kissed all day long. And in that bed is where I wanted to stay. Just there because it was there I felt warm and safe and where I belonged, like I finally made it home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We went to Liz's that night, and stayed there. He left in the morning after the best sleep of my entire life (because I was in his arms), and I was sooo happy to be with Liz but so sad he wasn't with me. We texted each other all evening, and talked before bed and our conversation was so lovey dovey her roomies hated me, and then he picked me up the next day after he went to church. I was soo happy that he was getting me, even with his hair all spiked like the raging bro he was. We talked all the way home, and it was the best, as usual. We spent the rest of the day cuddling and kissing, and then his best friend Kris came over and we watched a movie. He knelt beside me that night and told me what I meant to him. And held me through the night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The day I left, he took me to Santana Row and we walked around and ate at the sushi place Kris worked at. We had a shot of Sake and ate some good food. We went to a tattoo place that day, then went back to his place where I only had a couple hours left with him. I was soo sad and so quiet. I cried when we got to the airport, and cried even harder after he watched me walk through security, and left. I cried, and cried, and called Bonnie, then he called and asked if I was sad because he was sad, and I cried. I cried on the plane, and was so sad when my sister picked me up. We ate dinner and talked about my trip.&lt;br /&gt;I drove home from her place that night soo sad not knowing when I'd be seeing him next. I listened to Lykke Li all the way home, crying, of course.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a fabulous weekend. And today is the day that marks the year of that wonderful day that it all started. A God blessed year. Without a doubt. I feel so warm and so emotional thinking about it all. What a year, and what changes I've made, and what person I left behind to become the person I am now. Now everything I've done in the last year has had Ben on the brain. Hard to believe that he's been with me this long, and that the time has already passed. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And when I left, I left this written on paper for him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We'll bathe in rose petals, red &lt;br /&gt;And lie in violet lilac beds &lt;br /&gt;And through the darkness of the night &lt;br /&gt;We'll watch our future shining bright &lt;br /&gt;And out of everyone I've met &lt;br /&gt;It's you I can't forget &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And there was a time my heart was aching &lt;br /&gt;Yes there was the day I swore it was breaking &lt;br /&gt;Under a lucky star our love was born brand new &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And in the shadows of the night &lt;br /&gt;I'll trace your silhouette in candlelight &lt;br /&gt;And if you fall asleep when you rise &lt;br /&gt;I'll be there to kiss your eyes &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now my heart is in your hand &lt;br /&gt;So baby, understand &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And there was a time my heart was aching &lt;br /&gt;Yes there was the day I swore it was breaking &lt;br /&gt;Under a lucky star our love was born brand new &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So don't cry, Angel &lt;br /&gt;I will stay the whole night through &lt;br /&gt;Forevermore, I'll be loving you &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And there was a time my heart was aching &lt;br /&gt;Yes there was the day I swore it was breaking &lt;br /&gt;Under a lucky star our love was born brand new &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So don't cry, Angel &lt;br /&gt;I will stay the whole night through &lt;br /&gt;Forevermore, I'll be loving you &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Forevermore, I'll be loving you&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-2134692972953951568?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/2134692972953951568/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=2134692972953951568' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/2134692972953951568'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/2134692972953951568'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2010/03/this-week.html' title='This week...'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/S6Wd2_bdfsI/AAAAAAAAAEU/B7snPlaOQTE/s72-c/l_7f245d3af0cc446d9d5e4415fee635cb.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-6560218292217975900</id><published>2010-03-13T13:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-13T13:14:08.607-08:00</updated><title type='text'>He said,</title><content type='html'>"It's crazy how much I love you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love his love. It's nice to know he loves to be with me, and doesn't time his naps with when I get off work to avoid me like he once did with another. It's nice having someone who almost always wants to be around me. He's the best. We are going out of town this weekend to Anaheim to watch a Sharks vs. Ducks game and then go to Disneyland the next day. I can't wait. I am burned out on so much and am having a hard time being an enjoyable me. I can't wait to show him my good side again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-6560218292217975900?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/6560218292217975900/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=6560218292217975900' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/6560218292217975900'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/6560218292217975900'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2010/03/he-said.html' title='He said,'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-8733633654293865589</id><published>2010-02-25T21:14:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-25T21:14:58.677-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I think</title><content type='html'>you might always be my best friend. It's just hard to be. Hmm.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-8733633654293865589?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/8733633654293865589/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=8733633654293865589' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/8733633654293865589'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/8733633654293865589'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2010/02/i-think.html' title='I think'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-7903022976055990470</id><published>2010-02-25T21:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-25T21:12:49.787-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Eat your heart out!</title><content type='html'>"I love you, and I want to be with you and live with you and have some babies with you so they can call you daddy!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I want to live with you too! And I want to hear a baby call you mommy. And I want to call you wifey!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I come to a note on my bed that reads:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Dear Boobie,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I missed you all day and all night. I can't wait to be off work so I can lay and simply love you! I hope you had a good day, and missed me very, very much. I know I missed you. Well, I'll see you later then. Love you!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I knew he was smart, and not stupid like I thought he possibly was in April. And nice to know he looks forward to seeing me, and doesn't time his naps to when I get home and off of work. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's hard to believe it's almost been a year since we've been together. Love love love!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-7903022976055990470?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/7903022976055990470/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=7903022976055990470' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/7903022976055990470'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/7903022976055990470'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2010/02/eat-your-heart-out.html' title='Eat your heart out!'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-1945862752182865150</id><published>2009-12-27T10:22:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-27T10:35:56.069-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The thing is...</title><content type='html'>...I was there when you needed me. I stuck by your side, and you left. I'm not mad you left, but you did, so I moved on. Now you don't need me like you used to, so don't be angry at me that I can't be your party friend any more. If you needed me, I'd be there still, but the thing is, you didn't need me last night. You wanted me to party with you, which yeah, it would have been fun to do, but it wouldn't be worth causing a wave in my relationship. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not gonna start a fight that I'll be left behind to repair, because you'll end up leaving in a few days back to your life, and this is my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My life is preparing to be a wife. I'm not just a girlfriend. The world has belittled what a girlfriend really is and has turned it into a "just", so while many may be "just a girlfriend", I am not that. I am a girlfriend. A girlfriend working to get a ring on my finger, and have a promise made that my best friend will always and forever be my best friend. A promise where he can't move and leave me behind to figure out his life, and have me figure out my own life. He and I are in this together, and proving to one another that we love and respect each others' wishes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sorry I'm hurting you in the process of, but it's how it is. Sooner or later you'll do it too. You'll find someone to settle down with and make priority over your friends. I just happened to make the jump first. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish you didn't say such mean things though. I was really hurt when I went out there for my birthday trip and you couldn't finish an hour drive after I made 7 hours of it... I didn't tell you you were a lame friend and this and that and that you were a half ass friend. I was really hurt, but whatever, it happened, and it wouldn't have been worth the fight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And you're in the process of choosing him over me, and I don't want to feel it. I would have made an honest effort to see you as soon as you got here, but I knew he was the priority and I didn't want to feel the hurt of the realization of it. I've been venting to my other half the last couple of weeks about how I've been replaced. You're not the only one feeling it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But whatever, the boys were right, right? And they'll never peace out on you, right? I'm the only looow one who will do that cause I am just thaaaat bad of a person...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just settled down first.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-1945862752182865150?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/1945862752182865150/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=1945862752182865150' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/1945862752182865150'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/1945862752182865150'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/12/thing-is.html' title='The thing is...'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-9136797776382408429</id><published>2009-11-12T18:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-12T18:30:42.774-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I have these moments where....</title><content type='html'>...I'm not sure of how much I really forgave. My chest tightens up and I get really hurt, but I know I'm in love and I know I want it all to be forgotten, and just think of it as a bad dream. But he loves me. And it has to be my focus.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I love you. I wish coming home to you like today was everyday. You will never be someone I used to love, but someone I will always love."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-9136797776382408429?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/9136797776382408429/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=9136797776382408429' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/9136797776382408429'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/9136797776382408429'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/11/i-have-these-moments-where.html' title='I have these moments where....'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-4342020073272708074</id><published>2009-09-20T03:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-20T03:23:01.595-07:00</updated><title type='text'>So many girls to hate...</title><content type='html'>...and so little time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-4342020073272708074?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/4342020073272708074/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=4342020073272708074' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/4342020073272708074'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/4342020073272708074'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/09/so-many-girls-to-hate.html' title='So many girls to hate...'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-1511372622600474055</id><published>2009-09-10T18:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-10T19:02:53.291-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I take it back. How can I miss...</title><content type='html'>...those old days, I didn't have Ben. I didn't know Ben, and I don't want to not know him, especially cause I hardly believe I lived my life without him. But he's the best. I asked, "How do you know you love me?" and this is what he said,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I know I love you because my heart and soul misses you when you're at work.. Because I don't take this relationship for granted, because I truly value what you say and feel, even though I may be a dumb ass and not show. Because the Devil has been putting me through challenges, and God put you in my life, and you've stuck it out with me. And because I know you truly love me... I hope you know I really do love you. And I hope things get better for me, cause it's honestly making things difficult in our relationship. Things should get better, and you'll see how much I really love you. Cause at this point in my life, it's just not me. I can be a better man, a better boyfriend, it's the Devil that's making me extremely stressed and frustrated, not you. I love you Lauren Alyss Morales."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now that is love.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-1511372622600474055?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/1511372622600474055/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=1511372622600474055' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/1511372622600474055'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/1511372622600474055'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/09/i-take-it-back-how-can-i-miss.html' title='I take it back. How can I miss...'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-7432185389474370254</id><published>2009-09-08T22:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-08T22:41:52.463-07:00</updated><title type='text'>After reminiscing...</title><content type='html'>...I wonder if I was maybe more me when I was drunk all the time. Maybe I was meant to be Party Girl? I dunno. I am in quite the funk, and it makes me feel really sick and sad. All Liz and I's old blogs and pictures and videos sure sounded and looked like a good time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-7432185389474370254?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/7432185389474370254/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=7432185389474370254' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/7432185389474370254'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/7432185389474370254'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/09/after-reminiscing.html' title='After reminiscing...'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-2555048146966493413</id><published>2009-07-27T12:08:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-27T12:08:20.466-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Misery Business</title><content type='html'>I'm in the business of misery, let's take it from the top&lt;br /&gt;She's got a body like an hourglass that's tickin like a clock&lt;br /&gt;It's a matter of time before we all run out...&lt;br /&gt;When I thought he was mine she caught him by the mouth&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I waited eight long months&lt;br /&gt;She finally set him free&lt;br /&gt;I told him I can't lie he was the only one for me&lt;br /&gt;Two weeks and we had caught on fire&lt;br /&gt;She's got it out for me&lt;br /&gt;But I wear the biggest smile&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whoa, I never meant to brag&lt;br /&gt;But I got him where I want him now&lt;br /&gt;Whoa, it was never my intention to brag&lt;br /&gt;To steal it all away from you now&lt;br /&gt;But God does it feel so good&lt;br /&gt;Cause I got him where I want him now&lt;br /&gt;And if you could then you know you would&lt;br /&gt;Cause God it just feels so...&lt;br /&gt;It just feels so good&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Second chances they don't ever matter, people never change&lt;br /&gt;Once a whore you're nothing more, I'm sorry, that'll never change&lt;br /&gt;And about forgiveness, we're both supposed to have exchanged&lt;br /&gt;I'm sorry honey, but I'm passing up, now look this way&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well there's a million other girls who do it just like you&lt;br /&gt;Looking as innocent as possible to get to who&lt;br /&gt;They want and what they like it's easy if you do it right&lt;br /&gt;Well I refuse, I refuse, I refuse&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whoa, I never meant to brag&lt;br /&gt;But I got him where I want him now&lt;br /&gt;Whoa, it was never my intention to brag&lt;br /&gt;To steal it all away from you now&lt;br /&gt;But God does it feel so good&lt;br /&gt;Cause I got him where I want him right now&lt;br /&gt;And if you could then you know you would&lt;br /&gt;Cause God it just feels so...&lt;br /&gt;It just feels so good&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I watched his wildest dreams come true&lt;br /&gt;Not one of them involving you&lt;br /&gt;Just watch my wildest dreams come true&lt;br /&gt;Not one of them involving...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whoa, I never meant to brag &lt;br /&gt;But I got him where I want him now&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whoa, I never meant to brag&lt;br /&gt;But I got him where I want him now&lt;br /&gt;Whoa, it was never my intention to brag&lt;br /&gt;To steal it all away from you now&lt;br /&gt;But God does it feel so good&lt;br /&gt;Cause I got him where I want him now&lt;br /&gt;And if you could then you know you would&lt;br /&gt;Cause God it just feels so...&lt;br /&gt;It just feels so good&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-2555048146966493413?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/2555048146966493413/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=2555048146966493413' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/2555048146966493413'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/2555048146966493413'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/07/misery-business.html' title='Misery Business'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-2361074876319730159</id><published>2009-06-01T13:12:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-01T13:12:47.630-07:00</updated><title type='text'>When I say let's keep in touch,</title><content type='html'>I really mean I wish you'd grow up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-2361074876319730159?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/2361074876319730159/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=2361074876319730159' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/2361074876319730159'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/2361074876319730159'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/06/when-i-say-lets-keep-in-touch.html' title='When I say let&apos;s keep in touch,'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-2039123231049492262</id><published>2009-05-21T02:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-21T02:48:07.132-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm laying in bed...</title><content type='html'>thinking of him, and missing him. I hate having to wake and leave his side to come home, but I'm grateful to be with him most of the day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I couldn't love anyone more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love him with every bit that I am. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He's so cute:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I miss you. As much as I love falling asleep with you, I hate not waking up with you..."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-2039123231049492262?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/2039123231049492262/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=2039123231049492262' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/2039123231049492262'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/2039123231049492262'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/05/im-laying-in-bed.html' title='I&apos;m laying in bed...'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-917781804250158102</id><published>2009-05-13T08:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-13T08:53:18.273-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Update:</title><content type='html'>As of May 9th, we're officially boyfriend and girlfriend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love him more and more as every minute passes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-917781804250158102?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/917781804250158102/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=917781804250158102' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/917781804250158102'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/917781804250158102'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/05/update.html' title='Update:'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-7353506420668389363</id><published>2009-05-01T07:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-01T07:38:46.722-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I miss him</title><content type='html'>soo much when I'm not with him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I could spend hours with him, and the minute he leaves, I miss him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He's my liiife.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-7353506420668389363?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/7353506420668389363/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=7353506420668389363' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/7353506420668389363'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/7353506420668389363'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/05/i-miss-him.html' title='I miss him'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-5409447805651301605</id><published>2009-05-01T00:30:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-01T00:30:42.261-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"I don't care what nobody says...</title><content type='html'>...we're gonna have a baby."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-5409447805651301605?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/5409447805651301605/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=5409447805651301605' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/5409447805651301605'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/5409447805651301605'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/05/i-dont-care-what-nobody-says.html' title='&quot;I don&apos;t care what nobody says...'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-4610032222367007971</id><published>2009-04-30T01:23:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-30T01:24:18.521-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Yup, I'm getting ghetto.</title><content type='html'>Loving you is a like a song I replay&lt;br /&gt;Every three minutes and thirty seconds of every day &lt;br /&gt;And every chorus was written for us to recite &lt;br /&gt;Every beautiful melody of devotion every night&lt;br /&gt;It's potion like this ocean that might carry me&lt;br /&gt;In a wave of emotion to ask you to marry me&lt;br /&gt;And every word, every second, and every third&lt;br /&gt;Expresses the happiness more clearly than ever heard &lt;br /&gt;And when I play them, every chord is a poem&lt;br /&gt;Telling the Lord how grateful I am cause I know him &lt;br /&gt;The harmonies possess a sensation similar to your caress &lt;br /&gt;If you asking then I'm telling you it's yes&lt;br /&gt;Stand in love, take my hand in love, God bless&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-4610032222367007971?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/4610032222367007971/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=4610032222367007971' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/4610032222367007971'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/4610032222367007971'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/yup.html' title='Yup, I&apos;m getting ghetto.'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-5777733767660921523</id><published>2009-04-28T01:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-28T01:14:40.294-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I don't know what I am doing...</title><content type='html'>I shouldn't take him back. I shouldn't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I don't know how to be without him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What happens when you feel like God can continue to work in your life together?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-5777733767660921523?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/5777733767660921523/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=5777733767660921523' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/5777733767660921523'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/5777733767660921523'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-dont-know-what-i-am-doing.html' title='I don&apos;t know what I am doing...'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-2772427838134246208</id><published>2009-04-27T22:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-27T22:15:43.673-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"I can't...</title><content type='html'>...lose you Lauren."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What do I do? I've prayed all day long...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I want you, your family, and that future we talk about..."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-2772427838134246208?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/2772427838134246208/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=2772427838134246208' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/2772427838134246208'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/2772427838134246208'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-cant.html' title='&quot;I can&apos;t...'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-8585107524956979396</id><published>2009-04-27T18:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-27T18:21:08.684-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I put</title><content type='html'>my purity ring back on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;True love waits, man.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-8585107524956979396?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/8585107524956979396/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=8585107524956979396' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/8585107524956979396'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/8585107524956979396'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-put.html' title='I put'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-7958001268676712079</id><published>2009-04-26T21:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-26T21:02:07.760-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Completely and utterly</title><content type='html'>irritated and worried.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FML.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-7958001268676712079?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/7958001268676712079/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=7958001268676712079' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/7958001268676712079'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/7958001268676712079'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/completely-and-utterly.html' title='Completely and utterly'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-4029648393417184878</id><published>2009-04-26T20:53:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-26T20:53:57.818-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Street Spirit</title><content type='html'>Rows of houses, all bearing down on me&lt;br /&gt;I can feel their blue hands touching me&lt;br /&gt;All these things into position&lt;br /&gt;All these things we'll one day swallow whole&lt;br /&gt;And fade out again&lt;br /&gt;And fade out&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This machine will&lt;br /&gt;Will not communicate these thoughts and this strain I am under&lt;br /&gt;Be a world child form a circle before we all go under&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And fade out again and fade out again&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cracked eggs dead birds scream as they fight for life&lt;br /&gt;I can feel death can see its beady eyes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All these things into position&lt;br /&gt;All these things we'll one day swallow whole&lt;br /&gt;And fade out again and fade out again&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Immerse your soul in love&lt;br /&gt;Immerse your soul in love&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-4029648393417184878?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/4029648393417184878/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=4029648393417184878' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/4029648393417184878'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/4029648393417184878'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/street-spirit.html' title='Street Spirit'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-3411375684391013742</id><published>2009-04-25T20:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-25T20:53:00.197-07:00</updated><title type='text'>&lt;3</title><content type='html'>He brought them to my work for being me he says.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SfPage4cq6I/AAAAAAAAAEM/bwtH9Ql5uVc/s1600-h/Photo+8.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SfPage4cq6I/AAAAAAAAAEM/bwtH9Ql5uVc/s320/Photo+8.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328843035689921442" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-3411375684391013742?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/3411375684391013742/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=3411375684391013742' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/3411375684391013742'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/3411375684391013742'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/3.html' title='&lt;3'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SfPage4cq6I/AAAAAAAAAEM/bwtH9Ql5uVc/s72-c/Photo+8.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-8882985347236278625</id><published>2009-04-25T15:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-25T15:24:29.260-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I could</title><content type='html'>stay in his arms forever.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-8882985347236278625?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/8882985347236278625/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=8882985347236278625' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/8882985347236278625'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/8882985347236278625'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-could.html' title='I could'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-5508316434665845753</id><published>2009-04-23T07:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-23T08:08:37.046-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I adore</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SfCEaXPmbmI/AAAAAAAAAEE/ASXvc-H8x8c/s1600-h/l_64058d0ce85d420794299f962ef14d9b.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SfCEaXPmbmI/AAAAAAAAAEE/ASXvc-H8x8c/s320/l_64058d0ce85d420794299f962ef14d9b.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327903947630210658" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;your face, YOUR LAUGH,  your voice, your sense of humor, your accents, your jokes, your views (minus your political ones), your love, holding your hand, your kisses, how we never bicker, how you're such a grandpa, how you don't bug me, how much I miss you when we're not speaking, the way you sleep cause you hold me better than anyone has and anyone ever could and because you don't snore, basically everything you say and do because I just simply adore YOU.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are perfect, Roo.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-5508316434665845753?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/5508316434665845753/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=5508316434665845753' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/5508316434665845753'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/5508316434665845753'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-adore.html' title='I adore'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SfCEaXPmbmI/AAAAAAAAAEE/ASXvc-H8x8c/s72-c/l_64058d0ce85d420794299f962ef14d9b.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-5936963431193399069</id><published>2009-04-20T09:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-20T09:23:27.309-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It's like this.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SeyheZrySFI/AAAAAAAAADs/dq5g1u9myfc/s1600-h/748550-xxs.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 110px; height: 99px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SeyheZrySFI/AAAAAAAAADs/dq5g1u9myfc/s320/748550-xxs.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326810002935138386" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-5936963431193399069?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/5936963431193399069/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=5936963431193399069' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/5936963431193399069'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/5936963431193399069'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/its-like-this.html' title='It&apos;s like this.'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SeyheZrySFI/AAAAAAAAADs/dq5g1u9myfc/s72-c/748550-xxs.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-5669455630401971668</id><published>2009-04-20T01:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-20T01:36:25.854-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Made it through...</title><content type='html'>...and have my Roo. Wooo.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-5669455630401971668?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/5669455630401971668/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=5669455630401971668' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/5669455630401971668'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/5669455630401971668'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/made-it-through.html' title='Made it through...'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-7567999438007813537</id><published>2009-04-18T10:43:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-18T10:43:30.379-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sick of</title><content type='html'>GAMES.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can't have your cake and eat it too.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-7567999438007813537?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/7567999438007813537/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=7567999438007813537' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/7567999438007813537'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/7567999438007813537'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/sick-of.html' title='Sick of'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-1210070313469434305</id><published>2009-04-17T01:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-17T09:23:11.127-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Miss...</title><content type='html'>this. You know, you can fix this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/Seg71SS7OsI/AAAAAAAAADk/NRYZeizrxjw/s1600-h/IMG00258.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/Seg71SS7OsI/AAAAAAAAADk/NRYZeizrxjw/s320/IMG00258.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325572345995934402" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-1210070313469434305?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/1210070313469434305/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=1210070313469434305' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/1210070313469434305'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/1210070313469434305'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/miss.html' title='Miss...'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/Seg71SS7OsI/AAAAAAAAADk/NRYZeizrxjw/s72-c/IMG00258.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-1927004244572184083</id><published>2009-04-16T08:46:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-16T08:46:46.025-07:00</updated><title type='text'>All These Things That I've Done</title><content type='html'>When there's nowhere else to run&lt;br /&gt;Is there room for one more son&lt;br /&gt;One more son&lt;br /&gt;If you can hold on&lt;br /&gt;If you can hold on, hold on &lt;br /&gt;I wanna stand up, I wanna let go&lt;br /&gt;You know, you know - no you don't, you don't&lt;br /&gt;I wanna shine on in the hearts of men&lt;br /&gt;I want a meaning from the back of my broken hand &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another head aches, another heart breaks&lt;br /&gt;I am so much older than I can take&lt;br /&gt;And my affection, well it comes and goes&lt;br /&gt;I need direction to perfection, no no no no &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Help me out&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, you know you got to help me out&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, oh don't you put me on the blackburner&lt;br /&gt;You know you got to help me out &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And when there's nowhere else to run&lt;br /&gt;Is there room for one more son&lt;br /&gt;These changes ain't changing me&lt;br /&gt;The cold-hearted boy I used to be &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, you know you got to help me out&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, oh don't you put me on the blackburner&lt;br /&gt;You know you got to help me out&lt;br /&gt;You're gonna bring yourself down&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, you're gonna bring yourself down&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, you're gonna bring yourself down &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got soul, but I'm not a soldier&lt;br /&gt;I got soul, but I'm not a soldier&lt;br /&gt;... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, you know you got to help me out&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, oh don't you put me on the blackburner&lt;br /&gt;You know you got to help me out&lt;br /&gt;You're gonna bring yourself down&lt;br /&gt;You're gonna bring yourself down&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, oh don't you put me on the blackburner&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, you're gonna bring yourself down &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Over and out, last call for sin&lt;br /&gt;While everyone's lost, the battle is won&lt;br /&gt;With all these things that I've done&lt;br /&gt;All these things that I've done&lt;br /&gt;If you can hold on&lt;br /&gt;If you can hold on&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-1927004244572184083?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/1927004244572184083/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=1927004244572184083' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/1927004244572184083'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/1927004244572184083'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/all-these-things-that-ive-done.html' title='All These Things That I&apos;ve Done'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-7755510580841188305</id><published>2009-04-16T00:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-16T01:00:08.313-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Maybe not...</title><content type='html'>...we are clearly not meant to be without each other.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-7755510580841188305?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/7755510580841188305/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=7755510580841188305' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/7755510580841188305'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/7755510580841188305'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/maybe-not.html' title='Maybe not...'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-3620083283402334278</id><published>2009-04-15T17:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-17T09:23:34.413-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Plotting to bid my farewell...</title><content type='html'>...but I don't really know how to.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-3620083283402334278?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/3620083283402334278/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=3620083283402334278' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/3620083283402334278'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/3620083283402334278'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/plotting-to-big-my-farewell.html' title='Plotting to bid my farewell...'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-5242077648612059505</id><published>2009-04-15T07:53:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-15T07:53:59.140-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I especially miss this...</title><content type='html'>You've got a way with me &lt;br /&gt;Somehow you got me to believe &lt;br /&gt;In everything that I could be &lt;br /&gt;I gotta say--you really got a way &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You've got a way it seems &lt;br /&gt;You gave me faith to find my dreams &lt;br /&gt;You'll never know just what that means &lt;br /&gt;Can't you see... you got a way with me &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's in the way you want me &lt;br /&gt;It's in the way you hold me &lt;br /&gt;The way you show me just what love's made of &lt;br /&gt;It's in the way we make love &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You've got a way with words &lt;br /&gt;You get me smiling even when it hurts &lt;br /&gt;There's no way to measure what your love is worth &lt;br /&gt;I can't believe the way you get through to me &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, how I adore you &lt;br /&gt;Like no one before you &lt;br /&gt;I love you just the way you are &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's just the way you are&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-5242077648612059505?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/5242077648612059505/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=5242077648612059505' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/5242077648612059505'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/5242077648612059505'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-especially-miss-this.html' title='I especially miss this...'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-3698886182188744695</id><published>2009-04-15T01:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-15T01:53:59.587-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>stu·pid       (stōō'pĭd, styōō'-)    &lt;br /&gt;adj.   stu·pid·er, stu·pid·est &lt;br /&gt;Tending to make poor decisions or careless mistakes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;de·ci·sion       (dĭ-sĭzh'ən)    &lt;br /&gt;n.  &lt;br /&gt;The act of reaching a conclusion or making up one's mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What's the point of saying you miss me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I can't blame you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What isn't there to miss about me? Especially when you + me worked so perfectly...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I do miss you too. I miss you waking me up, I miss hearing from you all day everyday even when we were working, I miss having a reason to go home early, I miss you always wanting to hear my voice, I miss your never ending ability to make me laugh, I miss never NOT wanting to talk to you, I miss you saying you missed me when we weren't talking, I miss you calling me bebe and mujer and telling me how beautiful I am everyday, I miss sending you pictures, I miss hearing your stories, I miss your advice, I miss planning a life together, I miss our goals, I miss talking about God, I miss you telling me about The Sharks, I miss your stupid hella, I miss hearing about your day and your day with your friends, I miss actually caring, I miss, "You can gag me,", I miss how much we talked about Forgetting Sarah Marshall, I miss you squeezing me to "Bad Fish" coming on, I miss kissing you, I miss you blowing air into my lungs, I miss COOL WHIP, I miss shut your fuckin mouth, I miss the 3 Ben Jrs, not to be confused with the Benjamin Jr., I miss you saying your tata was 54, I miss gay gay gay, I miss smelling Ralph Lauren on you, I miss you hitting people with your truck. I miss YOU.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-3698886182188744695?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/3698886182188744695/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=3698886182188744695' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/3698886182188744695'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/3698886182188744695'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/stupid-stoopid-styoo-adj.html' title=''/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-5436726248910050110</id><published>2009-04-14T19:13:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-14T19:13:51.463-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Where does the good go?</title><content type='html'>Ms. Morales, I hope you know, I think of you everyday, and pretty much all day. Since I've really met you, I can't stop thinking of you. &lt;br /&gt;You make me feel so good about myself, like I'm not a fuck up. I don't know exactly what it is, but I'm sure of one thing, that this feels so right. Your like my compass, you help me follow the direction that I need to be in. Your amazing, I've never felt like this, and I am loving this moment in life. As hard as it is to keep my head up...you keep it way up for me, and make me look forward, for the next day. I forget about all the bull shit in my life, but help me get through it, day, by day. &lt;br /&gt;Your an amazing girl Lauren, your not just some whack, boring, spoiled girl. You work two jobs, you try to go to school, even though you don't have too, and you already started your career. it makes me proud to say, this girl likes me, and I like her...so much! I've thrown away some good shit in my life Lauren, but I can't let this go, I really can't! And I won't! When I say " I can't wait to see what the future has in store for us", I mean it. I can't wait. So, muah, muah, muah! Talk to you soon. Muah! Many X's! Bannannannaahhhh!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-5436726248910050110?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/5436726248910050110/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=5436726248910050110' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/5436726248910050110'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/5436726248910050110'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/ms.html' title='Where does the good go?'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-4412758132465339537</id><published>2009-04-14T18:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-14T19:02:12.257-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm finding myself to be...</title><content type='html'>...in an angered state right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess I'm trying to decide if we can be friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know. I'm really pissed that he could think that she and I are on the same caliber. When I am clearly up here, where she could never touch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sure, I sound as though I may think far too high of myself, but if I don't think this high of myself, who will? I have to acknowledge how amazing I am otherwise I'll live as though I don't love myself and I'll date down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It makes me sad to think that maybe he's beneath me to go for her. But I know I really don't think he's less than me, he just maybe doesn't see what he's worth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know. It just irritates me so much to think of them together when he's already pointed out all the reasons I'm good for him, and I know I'm a catch and need someone who's aware. Ughhhh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-4412758132465339537?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/4412758132465339537/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=4412758132465339537' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/4412758132465339537'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/4412758132465339537'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/im-finding-myself-to-be.html' title='I&apos;m finding myself to be...'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-9151300580805509187</id><published>2009-04-13T23:18:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-14T09:04:20.674-07:00</updated><title type='text'>In one of our conversations...</title><content type='html'>...we decided to speak as though we weren't going to ever part. The way something was worded (I forget what) left us open for an ending, and we didn't want that. We decided to speak in terms of forever.Or the fact he forwarded me a text he sent to AB saying "Hurry and find me a job so I can move back and marry Lauren." Ugh.  I don't know why I think of our conversations. &lt;br /&gt;I guess it's what I need to do to decide if he's worthy of my friendship. I was nice to him today, but maybe I shouldn't be. It's all so fucked up. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've got nowhere to go&lt;br /&gt;I'm gonna miss you&lt;br /&gt;I'm gonna miss you &lt;br /&gt;When you're gone&lt;br /&gt;She says, I love you&lt;br /&gt;I'm gonna miss you &lt;br /&gt;And your songs&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I said, please&lt;br /&gt;Don't talk about the end&lt;br /&gt;Don't talk about how &lt;br /&gt;Every living thing goes away&lt;br /&gt;She said, friend&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All along I thought &lt;br /&gt;I was learning how to take&lt;br /&gt;How to bend not how to break&lt;br /&gt;How to live not how to cry&lt;br /&gt;But really &lt;br /&gt;I've been learning how to die&lt;br /&gt;I've been learning how to die&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hey everyone&lt;br /&gt;The grave is lazing me&lt;br /&gt;He takes our body slow&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I said, please&lt;br /&gt;Don't talk about the end&lt;br /&gt;Don't talk about how &lt;br /&gt;Every living thing goes away&lt;br /&gt;I said, friend,&lt;br /&gt;All along I thought &lt;br /&gt;I was learning how to take&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How to bend not how to break&lt;br /&gt;How to live not how to cry&lt;br /&gt;But really &lt;br /&gt;I've been learning how to die&lt;br /&gt;I've been learning how to die&lt;br /&gt;Die, die&lt;br /&gt;I've been learning how to die&lt;br /&gt;I've been learning how to die&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-9151300580805509187?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/9151300580805509187/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=9151300580805509187' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/9151300580805509187'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/9151300580805509187'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/lunacy-fringe.html' title='In one of our conversations...'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-5327942374544443355</id><published>2009-04-13T21:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-13T21:08:36.898-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It's been a hard day, harder nights.</title><content type='html'>"Me too. This is hard."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you were confident in your decision, wouldn't you not need to say it was hard? I don't know. I could be wrong.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-5327942374544443355?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/5327942374544443355/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=5327942374544443355' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/5327942374544443355'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/5327942374544443355'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/its-been-hard-day-harder-nights.html' title='It&apos;s been a hard day, harder nights.'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-5703358997155233736</id><published>2009-04-13T20:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-13T20:34:19.327-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What are the chances...</title><content type='html'>...that they'd both text me today?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What a weird day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One, I'm not sure if I wanna hear from due to my devastated state, and the other I'm happy to hear from cause I just need to know he's ok. I normally don't hear from him unless he's drunk, so I was quite surprised being that it was before 8pm and I got a "How u doing?' Normally it's like a "Yo." or a "Hey." or the infamous, "You whack.". &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hm.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-5703358997155233736?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/5703358997155233736/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=5703358997155233736' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/5703358997155233736'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/5703358997155233736'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/what-are-chances.html' title='What are the chances...'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-4474207980036447530</id><published>2009-04-13T07:52:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-13T07:52:24.747-07:00</updated><title type='text'>When does</title><content type='html'>the pain subside?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-4474207980036447530?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/4474207980036447530/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=4474207980036447530' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/4474207980036447530'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/4474207980036447530'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/when-does.html' title='When does'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-8494600654169462476</id><published>2009-04-12T22:59:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-12T23:02:58.125-07:00</updated><title type='text'>He's managed</title><content type='html'>to make me more mad. "Happy Easter". Hey fuck you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like an idiot, I said, "Thank you. You too". I should have just said "Thanks." Now it looks like I've forgiven him, and I have not yet. I figured saying, "You too" as opposed to an entire "Happy Easter" was best because it kept me from seeming to friendly and personal being that those ties have now been severed, but as I rethink how angry I am that he'd wish me a Happy Easter, I wish I let him know how not ok it was. Why the fuck are you wishing me a good day when you've said so much shit you've never said? He'd probably rip away that wish being that that's his thing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whatever. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm contemplating sharing that he's upset me with his text. I don't know what to say to him though.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-8494600654169462476?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/8494600654169462476/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=8494600654169462476' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/8494600654169462476'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/8494600654169462476'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/hes-managed.html' title='He&apos;s managed'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-9136596168115283197</id><published>2009-04-12T09:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-12T09:56:05.184-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm just trying to get through this...</title><content type='html'>...and maybe you're just insecure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It takes a lot to move on. It takes a lot of security and confidence to know you don't need an ex. It's scary knowing that if you let them go you may end up alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe you're lacking that much confidence in yourself to know you're ok without comfort. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comfort isn't anything to look for.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know. Maybe I'm lying to myself.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-9136596168115283197?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/9136596168115283197/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=9136596168115283197' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/9136596168115283197'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/9136596168115283197'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/im-just-trying-to-get-through-this.html' title='I&apos;m just trying to get through this...'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-1365536627763360061</id><published>2009-04-12T08:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-12T09:05:18.483-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I was pretty</title><content type='html'>wasted last night when I blogged that, and I'm still pretty drunk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I still know that you've made a huge mistake. It hurts me so much, and I keep praying, and I know I'll eventually pull through and be ok and YOU will live with the fact that you'll never know if that was the right decision. You'll have to be the one to wonder. Not me because I didn't give up. You'll be the one plagued with wonder. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As much as it hurts right now and nothing makes it feel remotely better, I find some peace knowing that's something you'll have to live with when you realize your guys' relationship is the same as it was before and it wouldn't change.  Not something I'll have to live with because I gave it my all, and would have continued to give it my all because nothing was wrong with us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And honestly, I do hope you live with that because what you have done is SO unfair. So unfair. I can't get all the shit you've said out of my head. I pray pray pray for it to leave my mind because it kills me. Rips my very heart out replaying all the things you've said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't even know what hurts most. I do know that the conversation of it being weird that we were going to have a baby together kills me a lot. "Isn't it weird we are going to have a baby together?" "Yeah it is!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And it hurts knowing we made them into people (Chloe, Jacqueline, and Ben Jr.).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And us moving.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have no idea which part hurts the most cause each part makes me want to throw up. I feel soo sick at the idea of you two being together. So sick.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I can't change it. And didn't you say I was too pretty to be sad?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess this will be my attempt at being ok.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-1365536627763360061?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/1365536627763360061/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=1365536627763360061' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/1365536627763360061'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/1365536627763360061'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-was-pretty.html' title='I was pretty'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-8189321683910699511</id><published>2009-04-12T03:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-12T04:04:33.721-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ii'/><title type='text'>I'll tell you now...</title><content type='html'>...you made the biggest mistake of your life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The heart may want what the heart wants. But it doesn't mean it's right. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If love meant everything, Natasha would be with Chase, Jackie would be with Manuel, and I would be  with Jess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just because you love someone doesn't mean that it's everything, honestly. Love may mean a lot but it really isn't everything&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love doesn't make everything right. It just doesn't. And I am so pro love and I know the truth, and I know that's the truth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's the truth:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ben, you've meant the world to me. You've been my better half. You've shown me sides of myself I didn't even know existed. As much as 99 percent of me is dead right now, I still feel the ache of you leaving me. "I wish you the best, I guess..."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-8189321683910699511?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/8189321683910699511/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=8189321683910699511' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/8189321683910699511'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/8189321683910699511'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/ill-tell-you-now.html' title='I&apos;ll tell you now...'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-3759104503966781959</id><published>2009-04-11T11:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-11T11:46:09.636-07:00</updated><title type='text'>More like DOES SHE EVER GET THE BOY?</title><content type='html'>This ruined puzzle&lt;br /&gt;is beige with the pieces&lt;br /&gt;all face down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So the placing goes slowly.&lt;br /&gt;The pictures of anything&lt;br /&gt;other than it's meant to be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the hours they creep&lt;br /&gt;The patterns repeat&lt;br /&gt;Don't be concerned&lt;br /&gt;You know I'll be fine on my own.&lt;br /&gt;I never said "Don't Go" (don't go)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;But I've hidden a note&lt;br /&gt;It's pressed between pages that&lt;br /&gt;you've marked to find your way back.&lt;br /&gt;It says......&lt;br /&gt;"Does he ever get the girl? "&lt;br /&gt;But what if the pages stay pressed&lt;br /&gt;The chapters unfinished&lt;br /&gt;The stories too dull to unfold?&lt;br /&gt;Does he ever get the girl?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;This basement's a coffin&lt;br /&gt;I'm buried alive&lt;br /&gt;I'll die in here just to be safe.&lt;br /&gt;I'll die in here just to be safe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Cause you're gone&lt;br /&gt;I get nothing&lt;br /&gt;and you're off with barely a sigh&lt;br /&gt;I never said goodbye.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I've hidden a note&lt;br /&gt;It's pressed between pages&lt;br /&gt;That you've marked to find your way back&lt;br /&gt;It says...&lt;br /&gt;"Does he ever get the girl?"&lt;br /&gt;But I've hidden a note&lt;br /&gt;That's pressed between pages&lt;br /&gt;That you'll read if you're so inclined&lt;br /&gt;Does he ever get the girl?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the hours they creep&lt;br /&gt;The patterns repeat&lt;br /&gt;Don't be concerned&lt;br /&gt;I know I'll be fine on my own.&lt;br /&gt;I never said "Don't Go" (don't go)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Does he ever get the girl?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-3759104503966781959?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/3759104503966781959/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=3759104503966781959' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/3759104503966781959'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/3759104503966781959'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/more-like-does-she-ever-get-boy.html' title='More like DOES SHE EVER GET THE BOY?'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-4253530885426213100</id><published>2009-04-11T07:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-11T11:14:08.914-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm</title><content type='html'>sleeping the next couple of weeks away til I adapt to the idea that he's dead in my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't stop the question in my head..."What happened?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How do you love someone so much you let go of what we had? I love another, and I always will, but I would never throw away what we had for it because of how wonderful it was. It made sense. We got along, we agreed, we have the same goals, we both have personal relationships with God and were both bringing our relationships with him and putting them on the table, and we made each other laugh. WE MADE EACH OTHER LAUGH. That's so important.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know. The whole situation makes me fucking sick to my stomach. What makes me so sick is that earlier in the night that he made the decision, he came over. He met my mom and my sister, and my dogs. We kissed bye. I thought we were ok being that HE wanted to come over. It was HIS idea. "I wanted to see you."  Oh, ok. Well fuck you. You can't have your cake and eat it too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just wanna throw up due to the nausea of it all and sleep.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-4253530885426213100?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/4253530885426213100/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=4253530885426213100' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/4253530885426213100'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/4253530885426213100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/im.html' title='I&apos;m'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-4245683096049927386</id><published>2009-04-10T17:02:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-10T17:02:53.321-07:00</updated><title type='text'>So much for this, right?</title><content type='html'>Ouch.&lt;br /&gt;"This is what it's like...&lt;br /&gt;...since my last this is what it's like post on March 4th.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's like I have this faith that God really did make someone for me. Like he molded him with me in mind. And that I was molded with him in mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know how to explain it. I've never felt this before. Sure, I've been in love. Sure, I've thought it could last. But there wasn't this feeling of being made for each other. It was more like feelings happened out of convenience. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The things he says to me blow my mind. It's like he's been crawling around in my brain for years and took everything I could ever dreamed of being told and is speaking them. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, it's like that. Without knowing it's what I want to hear, he says it. It's like he's known me for forever. I've heard people say such things but couldn't begin to fathom what it was like, and I couldn't really figure out what it meant. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But God...that's what it's like. It's like he's known me forever and that he was designed for me. What more could I want?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This distance kills me, but at the same time, it gives me more faith in us. We can both continue to strengthen ourselves with God so that when we are together, we don't screw up. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This weekend was beyond amazing with him. I was so scared that all of the feelings I was feeling came from not being able to see him, and that it was all too good to be true, but that wasn't the case. The sparks were still there while we were together. The smile was plastered to my face. The fire in my heart burned and burned and burned, and it's continuing to burn and grow. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think about it all and it feels surreal. I feel so lucky to have that surreal feeling. It was that good. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He traced the lines of my face. He kissed me and knelt beside me. He's everything I've dreamed of, and more. I didn't know I could have it this good. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I pray for us everyday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Girls, I hope you stop and search for this. This feeling compares to nothing else. The respect, and the pure love. The love that isn't caught up with lust.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everything I feel makes me feel so funny, and different. Like I was laying in bed with him stroking his face and his hair...examining it all, and taking it all in, and in something so small, I felt this rush and emotions flooded over me. There was something in touching him like that that made me feel so...warm, romantic, loving, happy, grateful... Just everything. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Basically what it's like is I'm always feeling these feelings that I didn't know existed."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-4245683096049927386?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/4245683096049927386/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=4245683096049927386' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/4245683096049927386'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/4245683096049927386'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/so-much-for-this-right.html' title='So much for this, right?'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-238051504018476314</id><published>2009-04-10T16:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-10T16:38:10.631-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What's with</title><content type='html'>my streak of failed relationships?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm in a state of shock. I've lost all hope. How does something so sure and so right go wrong?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-238051504018476314?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/238051504018476314/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=238051504018476314' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/238051504018476314'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/238051504018476314'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/whats-with.html' title='What&apos;s with'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-4949130554215775440</id><published>2009-04-09T20:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-09T20:41:39.004-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Maybe</title><content type='html'>it's not over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He met my mom today. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My heart still weighs a ton though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess this is where my wall pops up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-4949130554215775440?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/4949130554215775440/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=4949130554215775440' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/4949130554215775440'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/4949130554215775440'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/maybe.html' title='Maybe'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-4069298903936405003</id><published>2009-04-08T22:48:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-08T22:57:49.651-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I wish</title><content type='html'>I could breathe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish my heart didn't hurt so bad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I keep trying to change positions I sit or lay in to get comfortable, but no matter which way I get, it all hurts the same, and I'm uncomfortable all the same.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I forgot what it was like to feel this devastated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You were trying to kill me with a hundred knives, you were trying to kill me in the heart a hundred times..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know you're there, I wish you'd talk...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Roll over to me, roll over, roll over to me, roll over...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But there is nothing I'd rather do then spend all day in the sac with you, I want to mess up my sheets with you, there is nothing I'd rather do."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-4069298903936405003?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/4069298903936405003/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=4069298903936405003' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/4069298903936405003'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/4069298903936405003'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-wish.html' title='I wish'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-5379403401542650674</id><published>2009-04-07T22:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-07T22:28:12.307-07:00</updated><title type='text'>And everything</title><content type='html'>has crumbled down. Right before my very eyes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But God has never shown me such grace as he is now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The feeling in my hands and feet are back.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-5379403401542650674?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/5379403401542650674/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=5379403401542650674' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/5379403401542650674'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/5379403401542650674'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/and-everything.html' title='And everything'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-1788585398141853051</id><published>2009-04-06T14:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-06T14:11:26.018-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Le siigh...</title><content type='html'>I was listening to this song right now. A song that would have been totally fitting for my last obsession that I was plagued far too long for. I always thought he and I would end up together, and for the last month, or however long I've been swept off my feet (longer than a month) I began to think differently. And began to know differently. And so anyway, I was listening and just knew completely and happily that I belong where I am. And I couldn't be more happy with him. He's who I will be with forever, and I love that. I love that I don't doubt it. I love that I'm letting go of my fear and not putting up walls because of it. I don't know, it just feels so good to trust someone so much.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-1788585398141853051?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/1788585398141853051/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=1788585398141853051' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/1788585398141853051'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/1788585398141853051'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/le-siigh.html' title='Le siigh...'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-3730009360929120610</id><published>2009-04-04T16:50:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-04T16:50:43.427-07:00</updated><title type='text'>This is THE song.</title><content type='html'>At last, my love has come along&lt;br /&gt;My lonely days are over&lt;br /&gt;And life is like a song&lt;br /&gt;Oh, yeah, at last&lt;br /&gt;The skies above are blue&lt;br /&gt;My heart was wrapped up in clovers&lt;br /&gt;The night I looked at you&lt;br /&gt;I found a dream that I could speak to&lt;br /&gt;A dream that I can call my own&lt;br /&gt;I found a thrill to rest my cheek to&lt;br /&gt;A thrill that I have never known&lt;br /&gt;Oh, yeah when you smile, you smile&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and then the spell was cast&lt;br /&gt;And here we are in heaven&lt;br /&gt;For you are mine&lt;br /&gt;At last&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-3730009360929120610?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/3730009360929120610/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=3730009360929120610' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/3730009360929120610'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/3730009360929120610'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/this-is-song.html' title='This is THE song.'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-5453458000796606673</id><published>2009-04-02T07:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-02T07:49:53.570-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I might live on this cloud forever...</title><content type='html'>"Ms. Morales, I hope you know, I think of you everyday, and pretty much all day.  Since I've really met you, I can't stop thinking of you.  &lt;br /&gt;  You make me feel so good about myself, like I'm not a fuck up.  I don't know exactly what it is, but I'm sure of one thing, that this feels so right.  Your like my compass, you help me follow the direction that I need to be in.  Your amazing, I've never felt like this, and I am loving this moment in life.  As hard as it is to keep my head up...you keep it way up for me, and make me look forward, for the next day.  I forget about all the bull shit in my life, but help me get through it, day, by day.  &lt;br /&gt;  Your an amazing girl Lauren, your not just some whack, boring, spoiled girl.  You work two jobs, you try to go to school, even though you don't have too, and you already started your career.  it makes me proud to say, this girl likes me, and I like her...so much!  I've thrown away some good shit in my life Lauren, but I can't let this go, I really can't!  And I won't!  When I say " I can't wait to see what the future has in store for us", I mean it.  I can't wait.  So, muah, muah, muah!  Talk to you soon.  Muah!  Many X's!  Bannannannaahhhh!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-5453458000796606673?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/5453458000796606673/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=5453458000796606673' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/5453458000796606673'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/5453458000796606673'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-might-live-on-this-cloud-forever.html' title='I might live on this cloud forever...'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-8493347757318187094</id><published>2009-04-01T08:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-01T08:36:25.688-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dear Ben,</title><content type='html'>you're the best thing to happen to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thank God all day, everyday for you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're my better half.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-8493347757318187094?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/8493347757318187094/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=8493347757318187094' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/8493347757318187094'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/8493347757318187094'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/04/dear-ben.html' title='Dear Ben,'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-5716021243243758928</id><published>2009-03-31T20:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-31T20:26:07.644-07:00</updated><title type='text'>This Year's Love</title><content type='html'>This years love had better last&lt;br /&gt;Heaven knows it's high time&lt;br /&gt;And I've been waiting on my own too long&lt;br /&gt;But when you hold me like you do&lt;br /&gt;It feels so right&lt;br /&gt;I start to forget&lt;br /&gt;How my heart gets torn&lt;br /&gt;When that hurt gets thrown&lt;br /&gt;Feeling like you can't go on&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Turning circles when time again&lt;br /&gt;It cuts like a knife oh yeah&lt;br /&gt;If you love me got to know for sure&lt;br /&gt;Cos it takes something more this time&lt;br /&gt;Than sweet sweet lies&lt;br /&gt;Before I open up my arms and fall&lt;br /&gt;Losing all control&lt;br /&gt;Every dream inside my soul&lt;br /&gt;And when you kiss me&lt;br /&gt;On that midnight street&lt;br /&gt;Sweep me off my feet&lt;br /&gt;Singing ain't this life so sweet&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This years love had better last&lt;br /&gt;This years love had better last&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So whose to worry&lt;br /&gt;If our hearts get torn&lt;br /&gt;When that hurt gets thrown&lt;br /&gt;Don't you know this life goes on&lt;br /&gt;And won't you kiss me&lt;br /&gt;On that midnight street&lt;br /&gt;Sweep me off my feet&lt;br /&gt;Singing ain't this life so sweet&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This years love had better last&lt;br /&gt;This years love had better last&lt;br /&gt;This years love had better last&lt;br /&gt;This years love had better last&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-5716021243243758928?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/5716021243243758928/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=5716021243243758928' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/5716021243243758928'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/5716021243243758928'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/03/this-years-love.html' title='This Year&apos;s Love'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-6012455057063050421</id><published>2009-03-30T11:25:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-30T15:31:19.588-07:00</updated><title type='text'>We had</title><content type='html'>our first trial. And the hour it lasted was the most suffocatingly frightening hour. Every burden that had been lifted by him was back on times 10.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then all was clear and beautiful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a reality of how far in I am and that I don't know how I could live my life without him, and I surely don't want to, and we surely won't be without each other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You've got a way with me&lt;br /&gt;Somehow you got me to believe&lt;br /&gt;In everything that I could be&lt;br /&gt;I've gotta say-you really got a way &lt;br /&gt;You've got a way it seems&lt;br /&gt;You gave me faith to find my dreams&lt;br /&gt;You'll never know just what that means&lt;br /&gt;Can't you see... you got a way with me &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's in the way you want me&lt;br /&gt;It's in the way you hold me&lt;br /&gt;The way you show me just what love's made of&lt;br /&gt;It's in the way we make love &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You've got a way with words&lt;br /&gt;You get me smiling even when it hurts&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;There's no way to measure what your love is worth&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't believe the way you get through to me &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's in the way you want me&lt;br /&gt;It's in the way you hold me&lt;br /&gt;The way you show me just what love's made of&lt;br /&gt;It's in the way we make love &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Oh, how I adore you&lt;br /&gt;Like no one before you&lt;br /&gt;I love you just the way you are &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's in the way you want me&lt;br /&gt;It's in the way you hold me&lt;br /&gt;The way you show me just what love's made of&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's in the way we make love &lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's just the way you are &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-6012455057063050421?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/6012455057063050421/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=6012455057063050421' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/6012455057063050421'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/6012455057063050421'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/03/we-had.html' title='We had'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-793989287982570855</id><published>2009-03-29T02:06:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-29T02:06:45.821-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Afraid of an airplane'/><title type='text'>Xanax</title><content type='html'>Afraid of an airplane&lt;br /&gt;Of a car swerving in the lane&lt;br /&gt;Of a dark cloud too low&lt;br /&gt;Of being swept away by the undertow&lt;br /&gt;Of a building tumbling down&lt;br /&gt;Of the dream when it's underground&lt;br /&gt;Of the icy mountain roads &lt;br /&gt;We have to take to get to the show&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's just a time when we must all let go the breath that we hold&lt;br /&gt;There's just a time when we must all let go the breath that we hold&lt;br /&gt;But not the unknown &lt;br /&gt;We have to let go&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Afraid when the phone rings&lt;br /&gt;Another breath of life has ceased&lt;br /&gt;It seems, it's just lost so easily&lt;br /&gt;Afraid my heart it beats too slow&lt;br /&gt;Or that I died and just didn't know&lt;br /&gt;Or of the fate I will have to choose&lt;br /&gt;And I'm afraid of how much I love you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's just a time when we must all let go the breath that we hold&lt;br /&gt;There's just a time when we must all let go the breath that we hold&lt;br /&gt;But not the unknown &lt;br /&gt;We have to let go&lt;br /&gt;It's just now that I've found&lt;br /&gt;A place where I can breathe&lt;br /&gt;It's just now that I've found&lt;br /&gt;A place where I can sleep&lt;br /&gt;It's just now that I've found&lt;br /&gt;A place where I can breathe&lt;br /&gt;It's just now that I've found &lt;br /&gt;Place where I can sleep&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-793989287982570855?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/793989287982570855/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=793989287982570855' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/793989287982570855'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/793989287982570855'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/03/xanax.html' title='Xanax'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-5232974146992199207</id><published>2009-03-27T07:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-27T07:49:16.068-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Each day</title><content type='html'>I fall harder and harder and harder for him...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today, I woke up scared. I know there's no turning back now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My heart is definitely on the line.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Love is giving someone the power to break your heart, but trusting them not to..."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-5232974146992199207?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/5232974146992199207/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=5232974146992199207' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/5232974146992199207'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/5232974146992199207'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/03/each-day.html' title='Each day'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-3898319372680320314</id><published>2009-03-25T01:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-25T01:42:11.053-07:00</updated><title type='text'>This is what it's like...</title><content type='html'>...since my last this is what it's like post on March 4th.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's like I have this faith that God really did make someone for me. Like he molded him with me in mind. And that I was molded with him in mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know how to explain it. I've never felt this before. Sure, I've been in love. Sure, I've thought it could last. But there wasn't this feeling of being made for each other. It was more like feelings happened out of convenience. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The things he says to me blow my mind. It's like he's been crawling around in my brain for years and took everything I could ever dreamed of being told and is speaking them. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, it's like that. Without knowing it's what I want to hear, he says it. It's like he's known me for forever. I've heard people say such things but couldn't begin to fathom what it was like, and I couldn't really figure out what it meant. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But God...that's what it's like. It's like he's known me forever and that he was designed for me. What more could I want?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This distance kills me, but at the same time, it gives me more faith in us. We can both continue to strengthen ourselves with God so that when we are together, we don't screw up. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This weekend was beyond amazing with him. I was so scared that all of the feelings I was feeling came from not being able to see him, and that it was all too good to be true, but that wasn't the case. The sparks were still there while we were together. The smile was plastered to my face. The fire in my heart burned and burned and burned, and it's continuing to burn and grow. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think about it all and it feels surreal. I feel so lucky to have that surreal feeling. It was that good. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He traced the lines of my face. He kissed me and knelt beside me. He's everything I've dreamed of, and more. I didn't know I could have it this good. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I pray for us everyday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Girls, I hope you stop and search for this. This feeling compares to nothing else. The respect, and the pure love. The love that isn't caught up with lust.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everything I feel makes me feel so funny, and different. Like I was laying in bed with him stroking his face and his hair...examining it all, and taking it all in, and in something so small, I felt this rush and emotions flooded over me. There was something in touching him like that that made me feel so...warm, romantic, loving, happy, grateful... Just everything. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Basically what it's like is I'm always feeling these feelings that I didn't know existed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-3898319372680320314?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/3898319372680320314/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=3898319372680320314' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/3898319372680320314'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/3898319372680320314'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/03/this-is-what-its-like.html' title='This is what it&apos;s like...'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-6222716044987502789</id><published>2009-03-24T01:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-24T01:01:06.756-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Miss him</title><content type='html'>so much already.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Blah.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We'll bathe in rose petals, red &lt;br /&gt;And lie in violet lilac beds &lt;br /&gt;And through the darkness of the night &lt;br /&gt;We'll watch our future shining bright &lt;br /&gt;And out of everyone I've met &lt;br /&gt;It's you I can't forget &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And there was a time my heart was aching &lt;br /&gt;Yes there was the day I swore it was breaking &lt;br /&gt;Under a lucky star our love was born brand new &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And in the shadows of the night &lt;br /&gt;I'll trace your silhouette in candlelight &lt;br /&gt;And if you fall asleep when you rise &lt;br /&gt;I'll be there to kiss your eyes &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now my heart is in your hand &lt;br /&gt;So baby, understand &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And there was a time my heart was aching &lt;br /&gt;Yes there was the day I swore it was breaking &lt;br /&gt;Under a lucky star our love was born brand new &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So don't cry, Angel, I&lt;br /&gt;Will stay the whole night through &lt;br /&gt;Forevermore, I'll be loving you &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And there was a time my heart was aching &lt;br /&gt;Yes there was the day I swore it was breaking &lt;br /&gt;Under a lucky star our love was born brand new &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So don't cry, Angel, I&lt;br /&gt;Will stay the whole night through &lt;br /&gt;Forevermore, I'll be loving you &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Forevermore, I'll be loving you&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-6222716044987502789?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/6222716044987502789/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=6222716044987502789' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/6222716044987502789'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/6222716044987502789'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/03/miss-him.html' title='Miss him'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-2543802898011204458</id><published>2009-03-18T19:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-18T19:56:03.729-07:00</updated><title type='text'>You know it's good when</title><content type='html'>they bring out the better side of you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My sister and I have gotten along so much better lately.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He brings out this happy, radiant, mature side of me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My sister has even noticed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I text her telling her I love her and that I felt like we'd gotten closer over the last few weeks and she said she's felt the same and overjoyed and has been telling everyone the same thing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And he brings out this side of me where I feel nothing but true compassion. Hearing him hurt makes me hurt. And I hate it. I feel the ache for people I'm closest to, and he's become that.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-2543802898011204458?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/2543802898011204458/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=2543802898011204458' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/2543802898011204458'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/2543802898011204458'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/03/you-know-its-good-when.html' title='You know it&apos;s good when'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-2041747997717073375</id><published>2009-03-17T21:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-17T21:28:38.601-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Cause I'm  lookin for my friend,</title><content type='html'>now I got you, got you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't you let me let me go tonight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dry my eyes, dry my eyes, I'm fallin deeper by the hour.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-2041747997717073375?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/2041747997717073375/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=2041747997717073375' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/2041747997717073375'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/2041747997717073375'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/03/cause-im-lookin-for-my-friend.html' title='Cause I&apos;m  lookin for my friend,'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-2456469480504980641</id><published>2009-03-16T23:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-16T23:48:17.722-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"I forget my problems...</title><content type='html'>....when I'm thinkin or talkin to you...love it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;3&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We get better by the minute.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-2456469480504980641?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/2456469480504980641/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=2456469480504980641' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/2456469480504980641'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/2456469480504980641'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/03/i-forget-my-problems.html' title='&quot;I forget my problems...'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-65387517821517370</id><published>2009-03-16T08:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-16T11:25:49.075-07:00</updated><title type='text'>&lt;3</title><content type='html'>"The chemistry here is outrageous...and I wanna pursue it. Look...what I'm tryin to say is...I like you Ms. Morales, I do."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We talked on the phone from 11-2 or 3, and texted til after 4. I could talk to him for forever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll be the grapes fermented, bottled and&lt;br /&gt;served with the table set in my finest suit&lt;br /&gt;like a perfect gentleman.&lt;br /&gt;I'll be the fire escape that's bolted to the &lt;br /&gt;ancient brick where you will sit and&lt;br /&gt;contemplate your day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll be the waterwings that save you if you&lt;br /&gt;start drowning in an open tab when your&lt;br /&gt;judgement's on the brink.&lt;br /&gt;I'll be the phonograph that plays your favorite&lt;br /&gt;albums back as your lying there drifting off&lt;br /&gt;to sleep.&lt;br /&gt;I'll be the platform shoes and undo what&lt;br /&gt;heredity's done to you: you won't have to&lt;br /&gt;strain to look into my eyes.&lt;br /&gt;I'll be your winter coat buttoned and zipped&lt;br /&gt;straight to the throat with the collar up so&lt;br /&gt;you won't catch cold.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want to take you far away from the cynics in this&lt;br /&gt;town and kiss you on the mouth.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;we'll cut our bodies free from the tethers of&lt;br /&gt;this scene, start a brand new colony&lt;br /&gt;where everything will change, we'll give&lt;br /&gt;ourselves new names, identities erased.&lt;br /&gt;the sun will heat the grounds under our bare&lt;br /&gt;feet in this brand new colony.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;everything will change...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-65387517821517370?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/65387517821517370/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=65387517821517370' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/65387517821517370'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/65387517821517370'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/03/3.html' title='&lt;3'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-2754289326132510936</id><published>2009-03-15T22:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-15T22:27:36.071-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Every single day,</title><content type='html'>he makes me happier and happier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My heart is in my throat. He evokes emotions inside of me I didn't even know existed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't wait to see him. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The thought of our first kiss makes me feel so funny in so many ways. I haven't had that built up first kiss in a very long time. The last person I kissed was the last person I'd been kissing  for a few months, and we never had that exciting first kiss. We were drunk and it just happened. Where this...this is like gonna be one of those situations where when we kiss, I'll melt into him. I know I will.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know it'll be one of those kisses where your heart is fluttering and you get tongue tied with nervousness when it's time to talk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think about that amazing feeling and get all like giddy and funny and weird. My sister and I were talking about it today, and we both were like obnoxious girls who kicked and giggled excitedly about it. She totally loves him. There's nothing to not love though. He's so good. And I showed her a picture, and she was like, "He's really cute. I want to look, but he makes me so nervous. I can't look at him!" I think she's so relieved that I've met someone so good. She loves me so much and hates seeing me with stupid guys. She's like my other mother, ya know, so she's just so happy that I'm so happy, and rightfully happy because he's everything someone could ever want. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway... 4 days.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-2754289326132510936?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/2754289326132510936/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=2754289326132510936' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/2754289326132510936'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/2754289326132510936'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/03/every-single-day.html' title='Every single day,'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-2593393351761166739</id><published>2009-03-15T16:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-15T16:03:41.563-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Yes, I have really become this cheesy...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Oh, this is the start of something good, don’t you agree?&lt;br /&gt;I haven’t felt like this in so many moons, you know what I mean?&lt;br /&gt;And we can build through this destruction&lt;br /&gt;As we are standing on our feet&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So since you want to be with me&lt;br /&gt;You’ll have to follow through&lt;br /&gt;With every word you say&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;And I, all I really want is you&lt;br /&gt;You to stick around&lt;br /&gt;I’ll see you everyday&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But you have to follow through&lt;br /&gt;You have to follow through&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;These reeling emotions they just keep me alive, they keep me in tune&lt;br /&gt;Oh, look what I‘m holding here in my fire, This is for you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Am I too obvious to preach it&lt;br /&gt;You’re so hypnotic on my heart&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So since you want to be with me&lt;br /&gt;You’ll have to follow through&lt;br /&gt;With every word you say&lt;br /&gt;And I, all I really want is you&lt;br /&gt;You to stick around&lt;br /&gt;I’ll see you everyday&lt;br /&gt;But you have to follow through&lt;br /&gt;You have to follow through&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The words you say to me are unlike anything that’s ever been said&lt;br /&gt;And what you do to me is unlike anything that’s ever been&lt;br /&gt;Am I too obvious to preach it&lt;br /&gt;You’re so hypnotic on my heart&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So since you want to be with me&lt;br /&gt;You’ll have to follow through&lt;br /&gt;With every word you say&lt;br /&gt;And I, all I really want is you&lt;br /&gt;You to stick around&lt;br /&gt;I’ll see you everyday&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So since you want to be with me&lt;br /&gt;You’ll have to follow through&lt;br /&gt;With every word you say&lt;br /&gt;And I, all I really want is you&lt;br /&gt;You to stick around&lt;br /&gt;I’ll see you everyday&lt;br /&gt;But you have to follow through&lt;br /&gt;You have to follow through&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You’re gonna have to follow&lt;br /&gt;Oh,&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt; this is the start of something good, don’t you agree? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-2593393351761166739?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/2593393351761166739/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=2593393351761166739' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/2593393351761166739'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/2593393351761166739'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/03/yes-i-have-really-become-this-cheesy.html' title='Yes, I have really become this cheesy...'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-3653781953465373797</id><published>2009-03-14T12:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-14T12:36:09.319-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Going through my old blogs..</title><content type='html'>...depresses me. I've got some sad stuff in here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Dear you,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think it's time to let you know how I really feel...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You see, I can really get over things. I've done so before, and did so again, but what I can't get over is the nerve you have. I never was malicious towards you, or cruel. I wanted to give you everything, and showed you nothing but love, yet you have the nerve to continue to be rude to me when I never did anything to you. I try to be nice to you, though you're one of the people who doesn't deserve any respect, and you actually continue to spit in my face. You don't deserve anything I've given, or said to you with behavior like yours.&lt;br /&gt;I don't know who you think you are, and who you think I am, that you have that right. You should be apologizing to me, and I should be spitting on you. For 8 months, you drug me along for your sick and twisted games, when I told you how I felt. And you didn't have the slightest ounce of good heart to stop. As long as youuu got yours, who gives a fuck about Lauren? She's just some dog with no feelings...&lt;br /&gt;I just can't believe that you can't be cordial to me when I did NOTHING to you. And I had nothing but respect for you for the longest time. And all the things I told you, and all the nights I spent trying to make you feel some ounce of happiness, and nothing... No respect for me then, and no respect for me now. &lt;br /&gt;I hate you. I really do. I hate you for making me trust you. I hate you for leading me on. I hate our old friendship, and I hate how that old friendship made me believe that you could be trusted. I hate you for all the memories I have (the good, and the bad). I hate you for turning me into such a stupid girl. I hate you for blinding me. I hate you for not treating me like the gold that I am, and making me think that maybe I wasn't, because I took our "friendship" to heart. And I hate you for making me hate people and lack any trust that I can't function normally in a relationship. And I hate you for all these pieces I broke into and was left to pick up, while your arrogant ass just laughs and pisses through life.&lt;br /&gt;I wish I could take back all those nice things I'd tell you, and words of wisdom. And I can't. And I wish I listened to you when you'd tell me that I was too good for you. And you know why? Because I am. I would never treat you as you treated me, or anyone.&lt;br /&gt;You KNEW how I felt, and you could have fucked all those other girls (that you did), and left me alone. You didn't NEED to do that to me. You didn't need to throw away our friendship. You didn't need to "persue things" with me. You didn't need to tell me what a beautiful person I am. Or how it hurt you to hear me suffering. You didn't need to tell me to be patient with you. You didn't need to talk to me alllll night and day and tell me all the things you did just to walk away in a cruel and heartless way showing no remorse. But I guess it's all the things you'll say to feel like you have all the control.&lt;br /&gt;And you know what? You win. You were right. You're no good. I hope you're happy that the ONE person who defended you and saw how pure you could be hates you and thinks you're the worst thing that could have happened. Thanks for taking advantage of my vulnerability and using the heartache of my dog and family and stress and your humor to your own advantage. It's greatly appreciated.&lt;br /&gt;And you know what is really sad? It's sad that I care enough for you as a human that I do hope you grow-up and follow through with things and figure out what it's like to respect people. And I hate knowing that I can count on you never wishing the same for me. And it's sad that I still hope that you'll prove me wrong after finally believing everything everyone said you are. And it must be because I still value you somewhere and all you taught me about how fucked up the world is. Now I'm able to watch myself. And one last thought... If you never cared, you shouldn't have pretended. I&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;f you didn't love me, you should have let me go.&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know that I'm in a different place, but it makes me really angry that I spent so much time being sad. It makes me angry I can't get those days back. But I can't change it, so I need to let my anger go...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-3653781953465373797?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/3653781953465373797/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=3653781953465373797' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/3653781953465373797'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/3653781953465373797'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/03/going-through-my-old-blogs.html' title='Going through my old blogs..'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-2386653346676561394</id><published>2009-03-14T12:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-14T12:08:21.670-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Use Somebody</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;I've been roaming around&lt;br /&gt;Always looking down at all I see&lt;br /&gt;Painted faces fill the places I can't reach&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know that I could use somebody&lt;br /&gt;You know that I could use somebody&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Someone like you&lt;br /&gt;And all you know&lt;br /&gt;And how you speak&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Countless lovers undercover of the street&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know that I could use somebody&lt;br /&gt;You know that I could use somebody&lt;br /&gt;Someone like you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Off in the night&lt;br /&gt;While you live it up I'm off to sleep&lt;br /&gt;Waging wars to shape the poet and the beat&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;I hope it's gonna make you notice&lt;br /&gt;I hope it's gonna make you notice&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Someone like me&lt;br /&gt;Someone like me&lt;br /&gt;Someone like me&lt;br /&gt;Somebody&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Someone like you&lt;br /&gt;Somebody&lt;br /&gt;Someone like you&lt;br /&gt;Somebody&lt;br /&gt;Someone like you&lt;br /&gt;Somebody&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-2386653346676561394?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/2386653346676561394/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=2386653346676561394' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/2386653346676561394'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/2386653346676561394'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/03/use-somebody.html' title='Use Somebody'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-819464765097212084</id><published>2009-03-14T02:26:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-14T02:28:35.417-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What do you do when...</title><content type='html'>...you're stuck in the valley with 2 people you can't fucking stand, and everywhere you turn they're right there? I really despise them both for their lack of common courtesy, but I'm trapped, and I hate it. So much. First low in a while.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-819464765097212084?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/819464765097212084/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=819464765097212084' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/819464765097212084'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/819464765097212084'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/03/what-do-you-do-when.html' title='What do you do when...'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-3906002586638127492</id><published>2009-03-13T07:40:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-13T07:41:27.805-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Just letting it be known</title><content type='html'>that waking up every morning is easier because of YOU.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-3906002586638127492?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/3906002586638127492/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=3906002586638127492' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/3906002586638127492'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/3906002586638127492'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/03/just-letting-it-be-known.html' title='Just letting it be known'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-521685459261061094</id><published>2009-03-13T00:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-13T00:48:33.242-07:00</updated><title type='text'>P.S.</title><content type='html'>I actually know I'm never going back. I actually know I won't ifs, ands, or butts or coulda, shoulda, wouldas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been saved.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've always felt a part of me wonder if I could fall again, and I know I won't. I couldn't, I shouldn't, I wouldn't, and won't want to/ EVER.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-521685459261061094?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/521685459261061094/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=521685459261061094' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/521685459261061094'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/521685459261061094'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/03/ps.html' title='P.S.'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-8533488148919157628</id><published>2009-03-13T00:34:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-13T00:45:21.303-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='i'/><title type='text'>I thought...</title><content type='html'>I blew it. In fact, I know I blew it with someone who could have been really great.&lt;br /&gt;I couldn't change.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At first, I was so sad by that fact that I lost out on someone great, but I'm happy I couldn't otherwise I wouldn't have been brought to him, and where I am now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So much is opening up in my mind that every flawed relationship has created each detail in my spine that has stacked and made  me stand straight, tall, and proud.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm happy. We both talked about how happy we are this evening. And I am happy he's happy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the first time, I'm in something that's not backwards. We're building some foundation. I've never really had this. We are moving forward, not doing some dance with sidesteps, or back steps. We move forward. We actually communicate too. In fact, we have great communication. And honesty. Such honesty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I pray for him everyday. I pray for us too. No matter what kind of us it may be, I pray. I pray for him. I pray for myself. I pray for what we could become. I just pray. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I'm putting all my chips in. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I may get really hurt. REALLY hurt. But this is worth a shot-- you know, keeping myself involved. Not running before I find out what it could or couldn't be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm so emotionally satisfied by our talking. It's because we're doing this right. I have no reason to feel empty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is how it feels...good. Safe. Healthy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-8533488148919157628?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/8533488148919157628/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=8533488148919157628' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/8533488148919157628'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/8533488148919157628'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/03/i-thought.html' title='I thought...'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-2578118932385705628</id><published>2009-03-12T08:41:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-12T08:41:34.088-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sometimes the only way is jumping,</title><content type='html'>I hope you're not afraid of heights.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-2578118932385705628?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/2578118932385705628/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=2578118932385705628' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/2578118932385705628'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/2578118932385705628'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/03/sometimes-only-way-is-jumping.html' title='Sometimes the only way is jumping,'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-7026491714426603514</id><published>2009-03-11T22:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-11T22:14:54.198-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It feels like</title><content type='html'>my heart is racing at an uncontrollable rate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And it feels like knowing you makes carrying the load on my back 100x lighter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'd like to ask where have you been all this time...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-7026491714426603514?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/7026491714426603514/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=7026491714426603514' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/7026491714426603514'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/7026491714426603514'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/03/it-feels-like.html' title='It feels like'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-6026096623704888316</id><published>2009-03-11T07:28:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-11T07:29:02.283-07:00</updated><title type='text'>He gets</title><content type='html'>better and better every, single day. How's it possible?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've never met anyone like him before.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-6026096623704888316?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/6026096623704888316/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=6026096623704888316' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/6026096623704888316'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/6026096623704888316'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/03/he-gets.html' title='He gets'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-4778168027729719798</id><published>2009-03-09T15:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-09T15:40:20.326-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>What they call love is a risk, &lt;br /&gt;'Cause you will always get hit &lt;br /&gt;Out of nowhere by some wave &lt;br /&gt;And end up on your own.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-4778168027729719798?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/4778168027729719798/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=4778168027729719798' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/4778168027729719798'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/4778168027729719798'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/03/what-they-call-love-is-risk-cause-you.html' title=''/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-5933115727995863049</id><published>2009-03-09T04:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-09T04:17:06.930-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I fell</title><content type='html'>asleep reeeally early, but got a late phone call, and now I can't sleep. I didn't want to keep him up though, but now I'm bored&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11 days. I can't wait. Anticipation is eating me alive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are gonna go look at puppies. Not to buy or anything, but to look.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How perfect right?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-5933115727995863049?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/5933115727995863049/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=5933115727995863049' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/5933115727995863049'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/5933115727995863049'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/03/i-fell.html' title='I fell'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-1599127678995536301</id><published>2009-03-09T04:11:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-09T04:11:52.529-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>He was bored and tired of my laments &lt;br /&gt;Said&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt; I'd die for you one time, but never again.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-1599127678995536301?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/1599127678995536301/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=1599127678995536301' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/1599127678995536301'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/1599127678995536301'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/03/he-was-bored-and-tired-of-my-laments.html' title=''/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-6542711931068904681</id><published>2009-03-08T13:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-08T13:58:30.838-07:00</updated><title type='text'>This is...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SbQwsotM1SI/AAAAAAAAADc/yTTkVY8wedo/s1600-h/Photo+104.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SbQwsotM1SI/AAAAAAAAADc/yTTkVY8wedo/s320/Photo+104.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310923403976037666" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...me. This is me on a Sunday, bumming the day as much as possible. This is me straight of the shower. That's me in my Natural Habitat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm ok with me. I've never loved myself so much in my life. I've never loved people more and I've never worked harder. I feel like an adult. And I find myself coming to be a lady.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love myself. This is where I've been needing to get, and here I am.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-6542711931068904681?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/6542711931068904681/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=6542711931068904681' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/6542711931068904681'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/6542711931068904681'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/03/this-is.html' title='This is...'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SbQwsotM1SI/AAAAAAAAADc/yTTkVY8wedo/s72-c/Photo+104.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-891389476165213621</id><published>2009-03-07T11:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-07T11:34:01.652-08:00</updated><title type='text'>March 20th</title><content type='html'>isn't getting here quick enough.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;akejwrkwerklejdjsg.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm so anxious I can hardly relaaaxxx.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm so anxious, I have my outfit planned out for my plane ride. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He's the sweetest thing and I can't wait to spend time with him. And I can't wait to have San Francisco Debauchery with my BEST FRIEND: Round 2.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-891389476165213621?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/891389476165213621/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=891389476165213621' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/891389476165213621'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/891389476165213621'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/03/march-20th.html' title='March 20th'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-3087624644022712340</id><published>2009-03-05T20:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-05T20:01:55.708-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='b'/><title type='text'>I couldn't be</title><content type='html'>more excited, and I couldn't be more nervous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not sure why I'm nervous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't think I'm going to relax until I am picked up from the airport. =]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's going to be the best pick up EVER.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-3087624644022712340?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/3087624644022712340/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=3087624644022712340' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/3087624644022712340'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/3087624644022712340'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/03/i-couldnt-be.html' title='I couldn&apos;t be'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-621537157093935064</id><published>2009-03-05T19:59:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-05T19:59:21.462-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Let it Fall</title><content type='html'>So I weep &lt;br /&gt;So I weep &lt;br /&gt;So I weep &lt;br /&gt;So I weep &lt;br /&gt;In my weakest moments I weep &lt;br /&gt;'Cause I like the way, tears fit my cheek &lt;br /&gt;In my darkest moments I cry &lt;br /&gt;Oh how I love the way, tears suits my face &lt;br /&gt;I like it salt &lt;br /&gt;I like it wet &lt;br /&gt;Like my makeup in a mess &lt;br /&gt;So I cry hard &lt;br /&gt;Let it fall &lt;br /&gt;And I won't stop until my tears are all shed &lt;br /&gt;So I weep &lt;br /&gt;So I weep &lt;br /&gt;So I weep &lt;br /&gt;So I weep &lt;br /&gt;In my joyous moments I moan &lt;br /&gt;'Cause it feels so good when I let my water flow &lt;br /&gt;Drip drop, and I cannot stop &lt;br /&gt;Can't stop, no I said no &lt;br /&gt;Drip drop, and I cannot stop &lt;br /&gt;Can't stop &lt;br /&gt;I cry for you, cry for you &lt;br /&gt;I cry because I cannot help it &lt;br /&gt;So it runs, yes it falls &lt;br /&gt;And ain't no stopping at all &lt;br /&gt;I like it salt &lt;br /&gt;I like it wet &lt;br /&gt;Like my makeup in a mess &lt;br /&gt;So I cry hard &lt;br /&gt;Let it fall &lt;br /&gt;And I won't stop until my tears are all shed &lt;br /&gt;So I weep &lt;br /&gt;So I weep &lt;br /&gt;So I weep &lt;br /&gt;So I weep &lt;br /&gt;Let it fall&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-621537157093935064?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/621537157093935064/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=621537157093935064' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/621537157093935064'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/621537157093935064'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/03/let-it-fall.html' title='Let it Fall'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-1459053187758936102</id><published>2009-03-04T07:43:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-04T07:52:19.674-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It's like this.</title><content type='html'>It's like I've been with so many jerks (so many inconsiderate, confused, selfish JERKS) to get to this point of knowing I deserve someone like him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And maybe it won't work out. And maybe it'll make me really sad. But at least I'll never go back to dating scum of the earth because nothing compares to this feeling of feeling honored to get to have someone like him in my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I usually think that a guy is lucky to be with me, but this time I feel lucky to even get to hear their voice on top of knowing they care. I actually feel honored.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And it's like the second I get sad about knowing it's over with another, I catch myself snapping instantly out of it because he saved me from the hurt I was getting myself into... There's so much hurt with someone who won't surely include you in their future.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I feel honored that there is no sick past or rumors of a disgusting past to worry about. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I"m on a high. I hope this feeling never goes away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I like that I can pray for him. Yes, I could pray for everyone, but not everyone knows God the way he does that it just feels more right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah. It's like that.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-1459053187758936102?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/1459053187758936102/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=1459053187758936102' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/1459053187758936102'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/1459053187758936102'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/03/its-like-this.html' title='It&apos;s like this.'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-8307230391983136513</id><published>2009-03-02T15:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-02T15:32:38.229-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Saying good-bye,</title><content type='html'>while giving a hello.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kind of sad. But this feels really good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The sadness will pass...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-8307230391983136513?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/8307230391983136513/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=8307230391983136513' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/8307230391983136513'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/8307230391983136513'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/03/saying-good-bye.html' title='Saying good-bye,'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-8200747021820312059</id><published>2009-03-01T11:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-01T11:25:25.031-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'm watching Sex and The City right now and the scene where Samantha and Richard are dancing by the pool to Sade's By Your Side is on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It makes me so sad to see, but it's so good. Samantha finally lets her guard down in the scene and her eyes water because she actually cares for Richard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's so sad how tainted we women get that we put ourselves in so many fucked up relationships that we put up these walls and it takes the life out of us to let them down for potentially great guys. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anywho, I think I have my Aiden. I don't want to lose my Aiden and go back to my Mr. Big. Just a thought.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have to be careful.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-8200747021820312059?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/8200747021820312059/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=8200747021820312059' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/8200747021820312059'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/8200747021820312059'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/03/im-watching-sex-and-city-right-now-and.html' title=''/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-4279416347517408605</id><published>2009-02-28T08:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-28T08:08:48.588-08:00</updated><title type='text'>We Looked Like Giants</title><content type='html'>God bless the daylight, the sugary smell of springtime&lt;br /&gt;Remembering when you were mine&lt;br /&gt;In a still suburban town&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When every thursday I'd brave those mountain passes&lt;br /&gt;And you'd skip your early classes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;And we'd learn how our bodies worked.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God damn the black night with all it's foul temptation&lt;br /&gt;I become what I always hated&lt;br /&gt;When I was with you then&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We looked like giants in the back of my &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;grey subcompact&lt;br /&gt;Fumbling to make contact&lt;br /&gt;As the others slept inside&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And together there&lt;br /&gt;In a shroud of frost, the mountain air&lt;br /&gt;Began to pass from every pane of weathered glass&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;And I held you closer than anyone would ever get&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-4279416347517408605?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/4279416347517408605/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=4279416347517408605' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/4279416347517408605'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/4279416347517408605'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/02/we-looked-like-giants.html' title='We Looked Like Giants'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-2941879117884436257</id><published>2009-02-28T07:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-28T08:09:35.168-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Why</title><content type='html'>do I know so many douche bags?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've got two right off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Number 1 douche in my life text me again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What do we have left to say to each other?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nothing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish heee was here. Why is the good one so far away?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-2941879117884436257?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/2941879117884436257/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=2941879117884436257' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/2941879117884436257'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/2941879117884436257'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/02/why.html' title='Why'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-3832838307707805674</id><published>2009-02-28T01:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-28T01:16:10.516-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I wish</title><content type='html'>I never met you. I wish I never let you touch me. I wish I could take everything back. I wish you played no part in my life. You've hurt me and I despise you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you for being so inconsiderate in my presence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Go fuck yourself and all those nasty ass girls that you have fucked before. Have fun. Good luck in life. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're making me sick.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought so much better of you until now. What did I ever do to you to have you treat me like garbage?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-3832838307707805674?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/3832838307707805674/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=3832838307707805674' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/3832838307707805674'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/3832838307707805674'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/02/i-wish.html' title='I wish'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-5229764491139120390</id><published>2009-02-26T23:00:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-26T23:00:31.452-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I have</title><content type='html'>a smile plastered to my face. =]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Feels reeeally good.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-5229764491139120390?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/5229764491139120390/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=5229764491139120390' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/5229764491139120390'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/5229764491139120390'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/02/i-have.html' title='I have'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-8850449564930418331</id><published>2009-02-26T01:18:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-26T09:27:42.228-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I can't</title><content type='html'>stand you anymore. Seriously. You make me sick to my stomach.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And you'll probably be surprised knowing I mean you, and not them.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-8850449564930418331?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/8850449564930418331/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=8850449564930418331' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/8850449564930418331'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/8850449564930418331'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/02/i-cant.html' title='I can&apos;t'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-3940953356097727725</id><published>2009-02-23T16:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-23T16:02:20.738-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I can't believe...</title><content type='html'>...I used to tolerate feeling this way. Weekend after weekend after weekend for FOREVER. Sad stuff. I hate that I enabled him to let me feel as awful as I did. This song captures it all and reminds me of my refusal to ever been in a fucked up relationship again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Touch, lying on the floor&lt;br /&gt;Wishing this could last&lt;br /&gt;Knowing that it can’t&lt;br /&gt;Soon you will leave&lt;br /&gt;And I'll be on the floor&lt;br /&gt;Watching the TV&lt;br /&gt;Trying hard to find&lt;br /&gt;A reason to move&lt;br /&gt;I’m frozen in one place&lt;br /&gt;Staring at the screen&lt;br /&gt;Listening to the rain&lt;br /&gt;Falling on the street&lt;br /&gt;Some days go on too long&lt;br /&gt;To know, no one can hang out tonight&lt;br /&gt;Here, where the carpet's cool and soft&lt;br /&gt;Underneath the clock&lt;br /&gt;I feel my weary heart is put to rest&lt;br /&gt;You gather around your friends&lt;br /&gt;The connection that you feel&lt;br /&gt;When the night has not yet died&lt;br /&gt;You are new&lt;br /&gt;(And near now to someone)&lt;br /&gt;With a promise of a love&lt;br /&gt;(You used to love)&lt;br /&gt;you will probably never find&lt;br /&gt;(When you were young)&lt;br /&gt;(When all was gold and you two touched)&lt;br /&gt;A touch that you can really feel&lt;br /&gt;(And felt the flutter underneath your skin)&lt;br /&gt;The brokenness inside&lt;br /&gt;(You stood in glowing rooms)&lt;br /&gt;(The light dripping from both of you)&lt;br /&gt;As hope and less collide&lt;br /&gt;(And nothing since has felt as radiant or real)&lt;br /&gt;And nothing is real&lt;br /&gt;Love, there's nothing more I want&lt;br /&gt;Than just one night&lt;br /&gt;That’s free of doubt and sadness&lt;br /&gt;One night, one night, one night&lt;br /&gt;One night that I can really feel&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-3940953356097727725?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/3940953356097727725/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=3940953356097727725' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/3940953356097727725'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/3940953356097727725'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/02/i-cant-believe.html' title='I can&apos;t believe...'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-477840170288668263</id><published>2009-02-23T11:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-23T11:11:01.560-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Nostalgia at its finest...</title><content type='html'>Bittersweet, you're gonna be the death of me &lt;br /&gt;I don't want you, but I need you, &lt;br /&gt;I love you and I hate you at the very same time&lt;br /&gt;See what I want so much, should never hurt this bad...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-477840170288668263?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/477840170288668263/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=477840170288668263' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/477840170288668263'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/477840170288668263'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/02/nostalgia-at-its-finest.html' title='Nostalgia at its finest...'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-8179830694316852688</id><published>2009-02-21T09:54:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-21T10:14:34.490-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sometimes</title><content type='html'>I think our minds connect at some other level.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was thinking of him heavily, and missing him (to be quite honest) yesterday. I went to sleep and popped my eyes open around 3:30 am and after I woke up, I hear my phone vibrate. I immediately knew who it was, and sure enough, it was that person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This has happened a few times... My randomly waking up, and right after I wake up, I get a text from him. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It really was nothing, though. First my stomach turned and I thought of throwing up cause it was like, "Oh God, here we go.", but all he did was irritate me, and there was nothing to the short stream of texts at all. However, I wasn't too worried because I've grown my spine and I know how to put my foot down. So that wasn't why I felt nauseated. I felt nauseated because he manages to evoke so many negative feelings inside of me that I could just throw up everywhere.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How sad is that? The fact that I could care so much about a person who made me feel so awful that I could puke. What a sick thing. Masochist...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's what gets me about my current crush. I don't have all those negative feelings. Sure things were different with the other fellow... I fell a lot harder and a lot faster because of our being very close friends, but still. Liking someone should not hurt so bad, and with this guy, it doesn't. A lot of me felt this security in and with them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If we really are over, though, I hope I get a good-bye of some sort. I'm actually bumming really hard on them this morning. I miss him a lot and wish I had done so many things differently. I think back as to how we've evolved and I've just pushed him away. It went from being this good and fun girl to this drunken burden.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember how right away I was referred to as "my girl" when he was on the phone with his friend being asked what he was doing, and I felt so happy about that. Now I'm pretty sure I'd never catch that out of his mouth. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then sometimes I wonder how over we'll ever really be when what's his face and I still have this mental connection. Are we really ending? Or are we just beginning?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember being in beauty school and sitting outside with Claire while she smoked a cigarette, and things were going badly with boy #1. I recall saying to her, "I think it's over.", and then she said, "No, I think this is just the beginning." She couldn't have been more right. Our sick and twisted rendezvous of games and battles has lasted for 2 years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Will boy #2 plague me for 2 years too? Or will he be of some benefit? He seems too secure to plague me though. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hm...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-8179830694316852688?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/8179830694316852688/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=8179830694316852688' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/8179830694316852688'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/8179830694316852688'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/02/sometimes.html' title='Sometimes'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-3065009340312436783</id><published>2009-02-19T21:12:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-19T21:12:18.365-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm sorry</title><content type='html'>I'm a brat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I miss you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-3065009340312436783?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/3065009340312436783/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=3065009340312436783' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/3065009340312436783'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/3065009340312436783'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/02/im-sorry.html' title='I&apos;m sorry'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6459487292711687438.post-2158033775712709058</id><published>2009-02-18T01:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-18T01:56:10.141-08:00</updated><title type='text'>To</title><content type='html'>walk away is to fight your idea to possibly stay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I could wait and find out, but God I don't want to be rejected. And God I don't want to be walked away from.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just wanna talk to you. Is it that hard?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm scared of everything you could despise about me, and scared of all you're not ready for for. Whyyyyyyyyyyyyy?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6459487292711687438-2158033775712709058?l=laurenamorales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/feeds/2158033775712709058/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6459487292711687438&amp;postID=2158033775712709058' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/2158033775712709058'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6459487292711687438/posts/default/2158033775712709058'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laurenamorales.blogspot.com/2009/02/to.html' title='To'/><author><name>Lauren A. Morales</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13584919852310047895</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QwIpq-bbA0M/SWvU9X9euQI/AAAAAAAAACU/XwvecfcxnOA/S220/l_1b9426cd15f14f139f38b945b474d01c.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
