Thursday, October 30, 2008

You and Me

If you are the western horizon, and I am the Sun, I don't want to ever bear another nightfall.
For I know that I will surely see you again,
But it feels like forever until my sunset turns into another sunrise.

If you are a garden and I am the seasons,
I hope to never lay my cold hand of winter upon your cheek.
Your beauty is seen by all and I don't want to be the reason it withers.

If you are a kingdom and I am a rivaling country, I hope to never reach your gates with cries of war,
You have built great things around you and only someone foolish would hope to tear it down.

I hope you are like a chick, and I, a mothering bird.
I hope to nurture, feed, and encourage you.
When I push you from the nest, know that I believe in you and want you to succeed...Because I love you.

I hope you are like a wise grandfather and I, like an innocent child.
Show me your ways, how to do what's right, and enjoy life because I want to grow to be just like you...Because I love you.

Whatever we are and become, I hope we stay true to ourselves and learn from each other along the way.
When you stumble, I hope my hand is the one you reach for. When I laugh, I hope it's because you made it happen.
When we travel down the road, I hope we're headed in the right direction, together.

I don't want to be the sun while you, a horizon. I don't want to be the seasons coupled with a bountiful garden. And I don't want to be a neighboring country that's envious of your kingdom.

I want to be, you and me, forever a we...Because I love you.

© 2008 Lauren Dickerson

Sunday, October 5, 2008


On the phone, Dr. Andrews had tried to sound calm. Most patients wouldn’t have been able to decipher such anxiety in the physician’s voice, but after being a patient of Dr. Andrews for nearly fifteen years, Tony could tell something was wrong.

The door opened. A small figured nurse called to a Ms. Ashland. Tony saw a young mother holding a child, asleep, in her arms. The girl couldn’t have been older than twenty-five Tony was sure. She reminded him of his own daughter. Small framed, high cheekbones, and dark brown hair; she was beautiful. He felt queasy all of a sudden.

As he waited for his name to be called from the tiny nurse, he tried to remember the last time he had seen his daughter. Surely it wasn’t two winters ago. He thought back. Yes, it must have been; this past Christmas she only sent a card which read: Dad, I can’t make it this year but I hope you have a great one. Gabe says hello. Love -Jackie.

He had been so happy to receive anything at all from her that he had totally negated the fact that she hadn’t mentioned the gifts he sent weeks in advance, just to be sure she received them in time for the holidays.

“Mr. Bingham, the doctor will see you now.”

© 2008 Lauren Dickerson

in the works

DISCLAIMER: I realized recently that this is the perfect place to share my I deleted all of my previous posts. I need to start over and have a fresh outlook on things. As for my projects...they are incomplete, and as far as I'm concerned, they are terrible. Nothing will ever be good enough and that is the sad truth. Please read them with an open mind but I also would love some constructive criticism.

Also, they are excerpts and are in no particular order. I appreciate everyone that takes the time to read them!