Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien � � � Friday, Oct. 31, 2003 * 20:12

I'm thankful for my life; I'm thankful that someday, I will die.

I'm thankful for my senses, for the way chocolate tastes with peanut butter, for the way fresh hay smells, for the way my hair floats around my face when I dive deep under the water, for the way Edith Piaf's voice rolls off of her tongue, 50 years ago, and into my ears, making me sad that I cannot also live the life of a martyr that she so gracefully did.

I'm thankful for the memories I have, of a Christmas morning bringing a gift of a beautiful, unexpected doll, of the first time I kissed Justin, of the day I ran away from home for 4 hours in 3rd grade and lost my shoe in a mud puddle.

I'm thankful for the way I can throw my voice sometimes, for the fact that I have grown to live past the age of 20, for my cats' supplicating meows, for IKEA, for Rachmaninoff, for Earl Grey in the afternoon, for the poetry of Charles Baudelaire in the evening by candlelight, for Mercy Street, for children with blond hair, for the German language, for Audis, for music libraries, for pomegranates, for women named Beatrice, for men named Ragnar, for Doctor Zhivago, for life, for sadness and happiness combined, for everything that makes my life what it is today.

I'm thankful for the whole of existence, even if sometimes, I am more scared than at ease, and even if I sometimes wish everything would go away; I am glad for everything that is and will be.