WILD AT HEART

For you...

What's Left Of Me - Nick Lachey

Watched my life pass me by
in the rearview mirror
Pictures frozen in time
are becoming clearer
I don't wanna waste another day
Stuck in the shadow of my mistakes
yeah

'cause I want you
and I feel you
crawling underneath my skin
like a hunger
like a burning
to find the place I've never been
now I'm broken
and I'm fading
I'm half the man I thought I would be
You can have
What's left of me

I've been dying inside
Little by little
Nowhere to go
But goin' out of my mind
In endless cirlcles
runnin' from myself until
You gave me a reason for standing still

'cause I want you
and I feel you
crawling underneath my skin
like a hunger
like a burning
to find the place I've never been
now I'm broken
and I'm fading
I'm half the man I thought I would be
You can have
What's left of me

Falling faster
Barely breathing
Give me somethin' to believe in
Tell me it's not all in my head

Take what's left of this man
Make me whole once again

'cause I want you
and I feel you
crawling underneath my skin
like a hunger
like a burning
to find the place I've never been
now I'm broken
and I'm fading
I'm half the man I thought I would be
You can have
All that's left
Yeah, yeah, yeah
What's left of me

I've been dying inside you see
I'm going out of my mind
Out of my mind
I'm runnin' in circles all the time
Can you take what's left
Can you take what's left
Can you take what's left
Of me
Can you take what's left
Can you take what's left
Can you take what's left
Take what's left of me

I dedicate this to someone I know...anyone may experience heartache at one point of their life.

0 Comments

Tough question

Between Sidney Bistrow from Alias and Jack Bauer from 24, which agent is the best?...I've been watching both series without fail and this is the prime question that keeps on filling my head.

Watched High School Musical 3 times! And I'm loving it! Favorite star from this movie would be Gabriella (Vanessa Anne Hudgens). Favorite song: Breaking Free.

I just love the song "What's Left of Me" by Nick Lachey. It's a very emotional song.

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Letting Go

The words came hard - but come they did, straight from the heart

My father shuffled his aged legs toward the chair and groped for the chair’s right arm.  He put on one sock and then rested.  Even though he’d lost his sight, he knew that the sock was tan.  Mother always put that colour in the upper right-hand corner of the top dresser drawer.  He was putting on the second when it happened.  “Sue! I’m sick!”

    & nbsp;   &n bsp;   Mother was just coming up the steps.  She saw his violent heaving.  When she got to him, he was slumped in the chair.  “Mickey, don’t leave me!” she screamed.

    & nbsp;   &n bsp;   Dad’s eyes were closed, his mouth moving.  She put her left ear against his lips.  “I won’t, Sue,” he murmured.  “I won’t.” Then his body slithered to the floor.

    & nbsp;   &n bsp;   “Mickey!” she called, sobbing.

    & nbsp;   &n bsp;   Traveling across the country to be with my parents, I dreaded seeing my father in the nursing home.  The doctor said Dad had suffered an abdominal aneurysm.  But he looked much better than I had expected.  He was clean-shaven, and the little bit of hair left around his head was neatly trimmed.  He smelled good.

    & nbsp;   &n bsp;   He was holding Mom’s hand now.  His contented expression reminded me of the way that he had made me feel when I was a little girl.

    & nbsp;   &n bsp;   “Do you remember when I was five years old and had that bad fall off my bike?” I was my mother quietly.  She nodded, smiled – and thought back, with me, to that summer night so long ago.  I had asked Dad to come outside and watch me ride my new bicycle.  I had on my pajamas, and leg caught in the bicycle into the house, washed my leg and reached for the big bottle of antiseptic.  I screamed.  He blew as hard as he could while he held tightly and swabbed the antiseptic up and down my leg.  He looked like a storybook picture of the old north wind in darkest winter.

    & nbsp;   &n bsp;   “He made me laugh even while I was crying,” I reminded Mom.  I felt warm and snug in the memory – and, in her soft wistful smile, I could see Mom did too.  She remembered it all.

    & nbsp;   &n bsp;   ‘Then he took you onto his lap, and you snuggled against his chest, Mom recalled.  “He told you about how little you were when you were born, about how you surprised everyone by coming two months early and the doctor saying that you’d never make it.  But you did.”

    & nbsp;   &n bsp;   For a long moment, my mother had a faraway look in her eyes, as she thought back to happier days.

    & nbsp;   &n bsp;   Now Dad looked so tired.  Mom stroked her cheek with the back of his hand as she spoke too quickly: “Mick, guess what…Miss Bertha at the bank is bringing you some of her homemade vegetable soup and Barry at the gas station wants me to change the oil and the paper boy insists he’s got a joke to tell you when you get home and…” Suddenly, Dad pressed his finger against Mom’s lips.  She hushed, waiting for him to speak.  When he did, it was with great effort.  “Sue,” he whispered.  “Don’t lose your nerve.” Then he fell asleep.  Mother searched his face, as if she wanted to tell him something.  But she said nothing.

    & nbsp;   &n bsp;   Late that night, over coffee at home, Mom and I talked more about Dad, about the old days, the seizure, what the doctors had said – and about the promise she had extracted form Dad when she thought he was dying.  She still didn’t want to be left alone.  “But I know he’s tired,” she said softly.  Suddenly her tears burst forth.  I reached out to hug her, but she quickly dried her eyes with her napkin.  Straightening her shoulders, she ordered me to get some sleep.

    & nbsp;   &n bsp;   The house was quiet when I woke up.  Mom had wanted me to rest, so she had gone to the nursing home without me.  Rather than wait for her return, I decided to catch the bus.

    & nbsp;   &n bsp;   As I approached Dad’s room, the orderly was bringing Dad’s luncheon tray out.  The food had not been touched.  The door was half open.  I peeked inside, almost afraid of what I might find.  Mom was leaning over Dad, holding his thin hands in hers.  Dad’s eyes were closed, and his whole body was still.  But Mom was pressing her cheek against his.  Her lips almost touched his earlobe, and there was a new soft light in her eyes.  She kissed his ear before she spoke.

    & nbsp;   &n bsp;   “It’s all right, Mick,” she said quietly.  “Don’t stay.  Please don’t stay for me.”

Condensed from Los Angeles Times

Lola D. Gillebaard