BFFs Angie and Kristan blog about anything, everything, and sometimes even nothing.

Message in a bottle


Sifting through the past
I stumble upon your words.
It’s nice to hear your voice again
even if it’s only in my head.

I can’t help myself from wondering
how you’re doing, and what you’re like now.
But every time the question arises
I resign myself to never knowing the answer.

With each passing day
our time together becomes more story than memory.
I always knew this is how it would be
but it’s sad in a way that doesn’t make me cry.



As time passes, it gets easier to remember things about you that bring a smile to my face.



The other day I stood up at my desk abruptly and looked around, eyes darting across over my desk. My coworker noticed and asked me what’s wrong. I told her, “I’m looking for something, but then I realized I don’t know what I’m looking for…” and followed promptly with “story of my life.”



How much weight does the question hold? How much weight does the answer hold?

Carried in chords


I left this as a comment on this post:

It’s amazing how resonant music can be, years after the fact. There are so many songs that I keep around, even though I can’t bear to listen to them, simply because they carry pieces of me (and people I have loved) in their chords.