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the land of cotton


Sometimes I think it is an act of God that I met him. All of the winter of 2009, and the spring, I prayed to a God I wasn't sure if I believed in that I would find someone who loved me. I prayed that I would love someone, that we would be happy- that I would get a chance, if only one.
I got desperate. I lost hope. I was 13 years old and I thought that my life was going to end of I didn't find love.
And love found me.
Maybe I'll start calling him September. If I called him June, the month I met him, people would probably think he's a girl.
He is a man. He is eighteen years old. He is sweet and loving and we have hurt each other and maybe we are starting again.
Maybe we aren't. I don't know what comes now.
I'm okay with not knowing.

I have a nephew. It's still settling. He is young and eventually he will be old and I will be old someday, too.
We will be able to carry on a conversation when he is older. He will make me laugh and I'm sure I will think of holding him when he was a baby, how small he was, how much I loved him.
I will always love this small life that was in my sister for almost ten months, that she pushed out of her in next to no time. This small life lived inside of her and now it is living in the world and he is beautiful.
She hasn't been able to sleep, lately, because he is always crying and screaming and hungry. It's not always, actually. It could be so much worse.
For now,  we are lucky.
I can't stop looking at him.

I have struggled with weight my whole life. I was always the fat kid, always not growing any taller but always getting wider and wider. I was never a Small, only a Medium and then a Large, and eventually an extra large. At one point, I weighed close to 170.
That was almost a year ago, before I met Him. I have an idea for a poem, a post, involving the two of us again. Maybe I'll write it on Saturday, when I have more time.
I still struggle with my weight, though I've lost somewhere around 30 pounds. I look in the mirror and sometimes still hear, "Fat." Other times I look in the mirror and just think, "Wow. I look great."
But those times are once in a blue moon and they are so few I could probably count them.
Some days I skip meals. I eat a small breakfast and skip lunch, just to come home and eat and eat and eat. I try to fast and instead I binge and the process repeats again the next day.
I want to lose weight. I do. 5 pounds, 10 pounds, 20 pounds. If I lost 20 pounds, I would make myself sick.
I want to be happy with my body. Sometimes I don't think I need to lose weight. I probably don't.
I have lost 30 pounds. I am 6 pant sizes smaller, meaning my waist is six inches smaller.
I was an Extra Large and now I am a Small.
I should be proud.
Maybe someday I will be.
I always think of this post when I think of my weight. Maybe you will think of it now, too.

I have had this blog for two months.

I will return in a few days.
Until then, have a good week.

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Every time I pass through here, I am impressed by you. Your fervor for life glows, and even if it's shining from far away, even if it's shining through a line of other people like light through panes of glass, it still warms me.

Hey you! Where have you been? LIVING!? That is ridiculous, and quite alright.
Thank you. :]

Haha, yeah, I guess you could say that. Mostly I've been kept busy with deadlines and schoolwork, though. So it depends on your definition of "living." :P

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