Worry

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It occurred to me this morning that we worry way too much about literally everything.  One hundred years after our death will they still be talking about our wardrobe or the car we drive or how clean we keep our house?  In a hundred years will anyone ask, were her fingernails always polished, did she do her hair every morning?  I don’t think this is the case.

 

Our most notable persons of antiquity are only remembered for something they did or gave to the world which was exceptional.  Rarely do we know if that person was a good husband or wife?  Whatever that means.  We do not know if they had good table manners or never swore.  We do not know if that suit they are wearing in the picture is borrowed from a friend with every other day being spent in well worn knickers and a ragged tee shirt.  We do not know if they were early risers except for that time they had a great idea at 5am, wrote it down then we assumed that all good ideas come at 5am. 

 

In a hundred years no one will be talking about the bad hair days or no make up or the day you lost your cool (well with the exception of going postal) at the grocery store with that stranger who cut into line. 

 

Today is a very good day to remember this.  Here we are on Valentines Day of 2014.  It is a perfect day for us to love ourselves and always remember that in 100 years there will most probably still be valentines day but what really do we know of the “saints” it is named after?  We know that they LOVED and that is all. 

 

Happy Valentines day…. be yourself and don’t worry about history… it is almost always kind (unless you decide to begin killing a lot of people then you deserve what history gives you).  Hugs

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About authorshonique

The morning dew creates strange imprints on gently crushed blades of grass with each step. Large Opal eyes adjust as a golden sun is just beginning to rise with a warmth unfamiliar upon her home world. With a cat like grace she stretches to experience some of the delicious sensations this human body will provide. Remembering her training, Daria quickly locates an old shirt which had been carelessly discarded to pull over the bronze, athletic body she had been assigned. He was near, his scent unmistakable, a barely perceptible smile crosses perfect lips. Crouching down she waits. He is hers, he just does not know it YET............ I really need to finish this story some day... sigh... it is a good one. authorshonique@gmail.com
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One Response to Worry

  1. susan says:

    omg ive been stalking on your page and i love reading all those…this one is beyond being beautiful 🙂

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