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Thoughts, to me, are like raindrops. However, they are more significant then that because almost all of them contain substance, or at least the illusion of substance. So as a writer that is thinking all the time, the possibilities seem quite endless. Even while I have published nothing, I find that maybe itís the process Iíve gone through to be recognized that is truly hindering my actual writing. Sometimes itís not enough to just be good. Sometimes you want more. I feel like Iíve gone past that and now I can really enjoy the things that I love to do the most; the music, the people, the good things in this world and, most importantly, an endearing sense of optimism. I am not a god yet, with this mindset, I feel I can do anything. But before that, I had to experience unrequited love, the divorce of my parents, loneliness, depression, unrestrained anger, a psychotic breakdown, betrayal by those I thought to be my friends, and finally the death of my best friend. Itís only at points like that do you stop to wonder ďwhat am I doing?Ē and really look at the life you want to live. I donít want to resist authority, I want to overcome it through adaptation. I donít want to disappoint my parents, I want to avoid the mistakes they made. Above all, I want to be happy, and nothing makes me feel happier then being loved by those around me. I donít have to be loved by everyone. I wish had learned that a long time ago. Love is really the only thing worth living foróbut only to give. There is no capitalist monopoly on love. We give and we take. As I struggle to become a better person, I have to learn to stop being so angry at everybody and start becoming the person I want to be. Quoting Gandhi would be a very big clichť, yet it seems necessary. ďBe the change you wish to be in the world.Ē That is what I am. I am that change. Iím not perfect, but times are changing and it has to start somewhere. Might as well start with me.

Sometimes when I look at the way I act and how I treat people, I realize that my best friend Chuck was the model for it. Any improvements seen by others, all came from him.. I just wish he couldíve lived to see how I am now. Iím sure he would be proud. Maybe it was the fact that he was a caring, endearing person and that he lived his life on his own terms. There are many things to admire about him. He truly loved me, and I feel that now. Itís all I have of him, and Iíve got to hold onto it.



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Insert amusing anecdote here.



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The following comments are for "Sentimental Narrative"
by FinnMacCool





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