<?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-757766437948872005</id><updated>2012-02-16T19:25:19.015-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I hope she reads this ...</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leveret.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/757766437948872005/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leveret.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Leverett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06116650815071554436</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>2</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-757766437948872005.post-3530385547168912386</id><published>2007-11-06T20:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-06T20:52:21.387-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>HAHAHA. I'm such a fucking idiot, lol. Everything's so much better, hahaha. Man, am I fucking stupid, hope she never reads this. I finally told her I love her on vent without being scared of her not saying anything AND GUESS WHAT, she said it back and even said it again before leaving. &lt;3&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/757766437948872005-3530385547168912386?l=leveret.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leveret.blogspot.com/feeds/3530385547168912386/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=757766437948872005&amp;postID=3530385547168912386' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/757766437948872005/posts/default/3530385547168912386'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/757766437948872005/posts/default/3530385547168912386'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leveret.blogspot.com/2007/11/hahaha.html' title=''/><author><name>Leverett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06116650815071554436</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-757766437948872005.post-3603516408298334439</id><published>2007-11-05T18:17:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-05T18:25:14.185-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>So, I was writing this the other day when just listening to this fucked up song which for some reason; made me think .. a LOT. I just lay on my table, eyes closed and wrote this. Fixed it up to look the way it was afterwards, haha. I haven't written a fucking poem in about two years, the last time I wrote shit was when I was an idiot; full of bullshit emotions, hahaha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't think it's the same now, completely different person; well, I'd like to think. It's just funny that I can write so much more freely and what I hope to think, is much better things. I guess she means more to me than I even thought.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A singular being brought with another&lt;br /&gt;to hear the words one lives for&lt;br /&gt;to see the dreams of another&lt;br /&gt;crushed with three words&lt;br /&gt;to see the dreams&lt;br /&gt;of another man&lt;br /&gt;be brought&lt;br /&gt;to the&lt;br /&gt;light&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I spent a week, a fucking WEEK thinking about how I just don't understand. Why is it that I'm filled with all this shit that a guy is not supposed to feel? I'm not being sexist here, but fuck, I know I'm not supposed to do this. This is what the girl usually does, haha, I feel like I'm being played.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've never asked anything of her, nothing really, I just wish she would say three words: I love you, well, four: I love you too. That's all I really need, you know? For her to say that to me when I say I love you, or for her to say I love you first. Whenever we're talking and she says I love you before she leaves, man, it just makes my day. It makes me feel so fucking happy (tho I don't know what happiness is and that's a different story) this is what it should be. When I laugh with the buzz of love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If she told me 'I need you' or just 'I just want to talk to you .. about anything'. I just want to be .. wanted, you know? To be fucking loved, haha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm just confused as to if she loves me or not. I'm scared to say, Love you, bye! When we're in a crowd because man, I'm scared to death she'll just say 'bye' and leave without saying she loves to me. I dunno, it's just a fear, fuck, I have a fear?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dunno what to do anymore, to be honest. I really love her, I love her more then anything, I'm young but I'm not a fucking idiot. I know what I feel, more then others, I'm not naiive nor do I really 'not' know what things are. I can positively say this is love. Posafuckingtively.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need a job, I want a job; why? So I can buy her shit, not for me, not one part of me wants more then $200 for a couple months to buy some clothes, everything else I'd spend on her. She's all I need.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't want to break up with her, I'd hate to do that, even if I thought I could, I'd be the one who got fucked in the end. I don't think I could take a breakup, hahaha. The problem is, It's not the same as a month ago, two months ago. Tho, I guess it shouldn't be, but I'd think it'd get better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fucking shit, this is why I'm atheist. God just fucks you over if he exists, he's an asshole. Fuck. You. God.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Man, I love her. I fucking love Taisha so much. Huge risk is saying her name, but I guess a tiny part of me wants her to find this and not tell me. I dunno, damn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm writing a fucking block. A BLOG, LOL. Man, I'm pathetic.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/757766437948872005-3603516408298334439?l=leveret.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leveret.blogspot.com/feeds/3603516408298334439/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=757766437948872005&amp;postID=3603516408298334439' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/757766437948872005/posts/default/3603516408298334439'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/757766437948872005/posts/default/3603516408298334439'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leveret.blogspot.com/2007/11/so-i-was-writing-this-other-day-when.html' title=''/><author><name>Leverett</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06116650815071554436</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
