tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53283725292453037882024-02-19T14:31:20.383+08:00Amy Doby GalleryI am expressing my love for you in my paintings and my writings which are the two important things in my life.
It took a secret of my heart to remind me that there is always time enough to remember but there is never time enough to commemorate what we cherish, unlesss we pause to observe....Amirah Doblingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03111433436059697488noreply@blogger.comBlogger799125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328372529245303788.post-17613218447130966542011-09-25T08:07:00.002+08:002011-09-25T08:09:06.023+08:00How I Met Your Mother<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; ">My sons used to bug me about watching this sitcom called How I Met Your Mother. I never turned on the TV since Norbert's passing. However recently, during the Hariraya holidays, I went back to Penang and on one of those nights, I went to Batu Feringgi and decided to purchase 84 DVDs and that includes HOW I MET YOUR MOTHER series. The two boys bragged so much about it, so I have to get it.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; "> </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; "><br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; ">What I love about this show is ..... Shown in a series of flashbacks, a man tells his children the story of how, as a twenty something guy looking for love, he met and married the woman who would become his wife and their mom. The first season was kind of slow but it gets more and more interesting after the 2nd season. Now I am at 4th season and I can't help but laughed at the scene where Barney got his second tight slap from Marshall after he made them endure his one man show performance at the theatre. My second big laugh was when Lily thought that her house was haunted, where she jumped into Marshall's arms like a bunny rabbit when the photo frame fell.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; "> </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; "><br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; ">I cannot believe I have watched these DVDs one after another this long already. They have been very consistent in making people laugh. The cast have so much chemistry and every episode is so much fun! I think the script is really cool and very spontaneous that makes it so unpredictable. Now I am at the part where they all wanted to be NAKED MAN. I have to watch the whole season today. Luckily the clothes are washed, lunch is cooked, beds made, plants watered, and everything is in order...... Time to relax....</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; "> </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class=""><img class="photo_img img" src="http://a6.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc7/309533_10150313004062420_537612419_7869515_1825877422_n.jpg" alt="" style="border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; max-width: 493px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; " /><span class="caption"></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; ">P/S I never knew that I would really love the character played by Neil Patrick Harris as Barney Stinson - who was Doogie Howser (one of my favourite tv series those days, when I was living in the States). I think he acts well as a womanizer when he is homosexual. Andrea's remark was "Why are good looking men, gay?" :))))</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; "> </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; "><br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; ">I love this show!! It's one of the best sitcoms on the air, after FRIENDS and SEX and THE CITY. It justs gets funnier and funnier with each episode - I love it to bits!! Barney is the best on HIMYM and he's the reason I can't stop watching....</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; "> </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; "><br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; ">And Oh, I forgot to say that, like all sitcoms, I love the fashion the ladies were wearing and this HIMYM series, I can't help but focus my eyes to their necklaces.....</p></span>Amirah Doblingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03111433436059697488noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328372529245303788.post-4647874421532382512011-08-23T04:18:00.003+08:002011-08-23T04:21:40.683+08:00Love of Two Souls<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgevOzDTRGgVPS75xRiTCubDODGOv3kGlGZprPatp10mftoshAV1qU3xEQ4Y1F_EYfUvi3kfiDCxS2jkE76lbbbdZc01G07iIyLAStT3ekZ7q3ipuobWJl-dLjVIf3rIFOZ4jKRiMUs0iUZ/s1600/love_of_souls2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 159px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgevOzDTRGgVPS75xRiTCubDODGOv3kGlGZprPatp10mftoshAV1qU3xEQ4Y1F_EYfUvi3kfiDCxS2jkE76lbbbdZc01G07iIyLAStT3ekZ7q3ipuobWJl-dLjVIf3rIFOZ4jKRiMUs0iUZ/s200/love_of_souls2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5643777881268301986" /></a>
<br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span class="Apple-style-span"><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">I have no idea what to write about. I just finished a 3-hour non-stop painting and now taking a break. I can’t actually describe what I feel right now. Maybe it is because I am lonely. Maybe I am finding excuses to be like this because I don’t want to be alone. Why I value love as a necessity rather than a luxury, I do not know. Is this a realistic expectation?</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "> </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">
<br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">In all broken relationships, there is never one person to be blame. We all hurt people in our lives and once we accept responsibility for our past and regain humility, then we are able to fall in love again. I am a very loving person and I don’t want to specifically love a particular someone only. I want to love generally. I don’t want to date right now and have separated myself from intimate emotional and physical contact with a man so that I am aware of my hunger and passion and intimacy again. </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "> </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">
<br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">In him, I have found increased possibilities. I am not looking for the best, for I find him to be ‘good enough’ for me. I want to commit myself to him and I want him to be exclusive when love starts to come. I want to commit myself to him because it brings the best of my qualities. I do not want meaningless sex. Casual sex numbs my heart and dulls my body. I just cannot make love to anyone that I don’t have feelings for because it leaves me in a state of confusion that can create more problems than it can solve. Love making involves and absorbs strong impulses.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "> </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">
<br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">I don’t have a ghost of my past partners. I am not going to compare him to my past lovers. I find him to be unique and I appreciate him for who he is with his own special qualities. I do not care for superficial activities – I love our deep conversations and find him to be very interesting. I am now on a love mission. I want to spread love …..</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "> </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">
<br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">My heart has never felt like this in a long time. I feel him to be very different. It is not just a mushy feeling, but more of a secure feeling – a correct feeling. Many times my lips want to say the three little words, yet I don’t really know how he is going to respond. In most relationships, the men always seem to take their time with their feelings. Maybe men are just not as emotional as women. I keep telling myself to go with the flow. Don’t want to smother him or ‘cramp his style’. </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "> </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">
<br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">Right now I do feel alive. I am ecstatic every time I think of him. I have butterflies all over again. The stomachache of passion and hope – I don’t know what life is going to throw at me but I am ready and willing to try everything with him. I cannot be wrong, because the feeling is strong. I know slowly, steadily, I am getting sucked into a whirlwind. He has made me so happy and has affected my very disposition, captured my heart like I never thought possible in a long time. I think this is turning into something so incredibly real.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "> </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">
<br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">I am legitimately falling deeper and deeper in love with him….</p></span></span>Amirah Doblingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03111433436059697488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328372529245303788.post-64030577907108362342011-08-17T02:49:00.003+08:002011-08-17T02:52:29.789+08:00I Am All HIS<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQKnx_wciHCti8NNGa6aOhPg4Ef86MT00f8Im6RPI3_7mjdY59KZABWTHbE1_9ZqfGYXaF1A1hN_4b5bs73G2JBIztVacG-fPKhAzzgNM90d5K3Ufy05c8DBt76Ve3ls1IjAm4dIOaAhUp/s1600/blue+eyes.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 143px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQKnx_wciHCti8NNGa6aOhPg4Ef86MT00f8Im6RPI3_7mjdY59KZABWTHbE1_9ZqfGYXaF1A1hN_4b5bs73G2JBIztVacG-fPKhAzzgNM90d5K3Ufy05c8DBt76Ve3ls1IjAm4dIOaAhUp/s200/blue+eyes.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641528079922912274" /></a>
<br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span class="Apple-style-span"><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">Dedicated to the bluest eyes.......</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "> </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">
<br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">He is my beloved. To my tender and yet strong feminine heart, he is. This is a powerful path. Sometimes, I think as if this is the only path to finding myself utterly exposed and surrendered. Tonight I surrender to my every joy, fear and shame. I cannot do it alone. I, by nature, yearn to reach the Higher Power through communion, through him, with him.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "> </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">
<br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">To be able to touch him fully makes me feel like I want to die. Die completely to my story, open to and embrace fully my shadow, both disturbingly dark as well as brightly golden. This is like one of the scariest thing I need to do in this life, and I know he can help me. Is he willing to do the same? Will he become my rock? Own and claim his highest masculine essence and expose his full self to me. I am a strong woman. This is the most priceless gift he can give me, give life. I am just as much under pressure as he is when we finally are there. Please love me, guide me, see me, open me, receive me and compassionately challenge me in all my brilliance and flaws to get that much close to him. The one and only. With him, we can become one.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "> </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">
<br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">I can see his strength and courage. I can see that he is guided and lovingly challenged to be his highest self. I admire a man who is willing to put himself through the lion’s den of learning and growing. I love it when he walks so upright and confident. I noticed that in him. He seems to inhabit his body much better than others. He is so handsome and has a strong back. A strong back is, to me, a sign of an open heart.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "> </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">
<br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">I love it when he takes care of his body by eating well and working out – whatever is appropriate for him. I love it when he knows and feel his body and that he lets me know that he will know and feel my body. I love it when he looks straight into my eyes, unafraid to look and be seen. I love the little things that he did. I love it when he allows me to get a little glimpse of the sweet crazy ways in which he might be seeing me. I also like it when he asked me what I like.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "> </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">
<br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">I love the clarity he brings. He is so aware of whatever there is, confusion, sadness, tension, aggression or simply joy – he is always a step ahead. I love it when he sees chaos and I am no longer worried or am ashamed of. I promise to do the same for him. I love it when he takes a little time to clean up, shave and dresses well. He doesn’t need expensive clothes, but when he takes time to be presentable, it makes me feel like he cares about how he wants to be seen and that I am mindful. I enjoy the way he looks, sexy and gorgeous. Remember, I like the way he smells too. Don’t be shy about looking and smelling hot. Own and adorn his beautiful body with handsome clothes and perfumes and lotions.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "> </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">
<br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">I love it when he looks into my eyes when he is with me. I love the sparkle in his naughty eyes. I love it when he can be gentlemanly but also not too prissy or monk-ish when it comes to letting me know what he desires, admires and adores – and what he cannot understand!</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "> </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">
<br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">I really like when he is present even for the one moment when he is making love to me. When we make love, remember that it is the most vulnerable place I go to. To let him into my body, my heart, my soul, my spirit so intimately. He respects this sacredness and be present there with me. Don’t be afraid of my request. Trust the moment and trust me. I will let him know gently for I promise that I am not criticizing him.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "> </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">
<br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">He is strong, sometimes showing up as arrogance. Don’t let it get too much into his head, because he might look as if he is too self-consumed with all the good work that he is doing and sometimes I feel like he is inaccessible and unapproachable. I like to practice some humility.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "> </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">
<br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">I beg him, to not ever hide me, lie to me or lie about me. If he is afraid to be seen in public with me, if he is too embarrassed or shy to proudly walk holding my hands and introduce me to his friends, just leave me. Don’t come back. As a woman, I yearn to be seen, not hidden in his own private world. When he hides me from his world which I long to proudly be a part of, he is hurting my self-esteem in a pretty brutal way. It will take a long time before I can feel worthy again. Truly, trust me that I can take care of myself. If he is not just that into me, and if I am not good enough for him, or if there is someone else, just let me know. Don’t worry about hurting me. I usually get over it and get on much quicker and with much joy if there is honesty.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "> </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">
<br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">I love it that we are unique being. We each have our own ways of kissing. It is a big thing. I love kissing. I may at times look ready and willing and wild and playful. Yet that does not mean that I am not shy. Please don’t get frustrated with me if I need more time. Please do not take it personally. I am opening up slowly, maybe not as quickly as he might like. Please understand that I may be very self conscious of the extra fold around my waist, the sagging breasts, my crooked nose, the darkness of my skin that sometimes bring up all sorts of cultural anxieties. Be patient with my neuroses. Patiently and softly invite me to love my flesh and my nudity, my blush and my dignity. Unabashedly and unashamedly bring his strong and genuine masculinity to me and to all areas of my life, which also transcending and including his own sensitivity. When he does this, he leaves me crazy hot and bothered. I need not say no more.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "> </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">
<br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">Help me bring my femininity and foster structure, direction and focus in my life. It is hard work to always have to radiate divine light. I cannot always do that. Oh how gorgeous he is – gorgeous embodiment of passion and spirit. Thank you for letting me feel his wide open heart that was broken. Just let give my strength and hold him in my arms. I trust the vastness of my being will dance around him like a wild woman and cry like a little girl. I trust the depth of my soul that is willing to challenge lovingly all shallowness. I also trust the depth of his soul is willing to challenge lovingly my shallowness. I trust everything that is in him as I fall on my knees before him. When I see him looking into my eyes, I know that I am profoundly proud to be HIS.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "> </p></span></span>Amirah Doblingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03111433436059697488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328372529245303788.post-47341271150261845822011-08-07T11:21:00.002+08:002011-08-07T11:22:19.385+08:00Birds of Paradise III<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXQ3dKTdtAdD2uwq457sFnLiNEgMFmxGKoCS5gU2-C3qCyWyM_qEJ9icWXmTBO1A-0qQPAtjmqZ7qYv4kLaDEFa3BIcguUYbFaMJ3dHJGXhPhj42s4ePxtekLpeU6DUs14p-dHsFv172sp/s1600/Birds+of+Paradise+III.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXQ3dKTdtAdD2uwq457sFnLiNEgMFmxGKoCS5gU2-C3qCyWyM_qEJ9icWXmTBO1A-0qQPAtjmqZ7qYv4kLaDEFa3BIcguUYbFaMJ3dHJGXhPhj42s4ePxtekLpeU6DUs14p-dHsFv172sp/s200/Birds+of+Paradise+III.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637949123949898770" /></a>Amirah Doblingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03111433436059697488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328372529245303788.post-53362198090830545802011-08-07T11:20:00.002+08:002011-08-07T11:21:09.812+08:00Birds of Paradise II<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6_OvGihp9vGlcSRyfBKZoIjGUSOYXJiYg-uQXAY0oGJ84kueCWKWZmXuaw011lxaOsJgP503XLNVfnPDdyrLPek8XXkWTgEdGiNn6a9uB3iMT5tX1Ml7LGhkrqsdGorEIYAWFZqPimzeL/s1600/Birds+of+Paradise+II.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6_OvGihp9vGlcSRyfBKZoIjGUSOYXJiYg-uQXAY0oGJ84kueCWKWZmXuaw011lxaOsJgP503XLNVfnPDdyrLPek8XXkWTgEdGiNn6a9uB3iMT5tX1Ml7LGhkrqsdGorEIYAWFZqPimzeL/s200/Birds+of+Paradise+II.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637948845469409362" /></a>Amirah Doblingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03111433436059697488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328372529245303788.post-42285756730623847282011-08-07T11:16:00.002+08:002011-08-07T11:20:10.596+08:00Birds of Paradise I<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiACGLHbOmzRimo8W_SSOW4Q0XT0gg_8ZTjrJKbe96Hk-gcksrWE8B8rY68Hy5bJdbzGhP22ZG_Cc4nChPLunzSiFeBFEmaSm5YFFjhIRuX2v-Yt4I0QCTg_KPEiVu_sx1Mtz306CffwOrK/s1600/Birds+of+Paradise+I.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiACGLHbOmzRimo8W_SSOW4Q0XT0gg_8ZTjrJKbe96Hk-gcksrWE8B8rY68Hy5bJdbzGhP22ZG_Cc4nChPLunzSiFeBFEmaSm5YFFjhIRuX2v-Yt4I0QCTg_KPEiVu_sx1Mtz306CffwOrK/s200/Birds+of+Paradise+I.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637948582082073906" /></a>Amirah Doblingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03111433436059697488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328372529245303788.post-17612030829231780682011-08-07T11:06:00.001+08:002011-08-07T11:12:25.244+08:00Forgetful Me<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhnk39lN9QDC3NybThbtYBL29vI_hOytk3AJHU2ImpaJNqHaU-UCS98sYjrxZzaexoCvNLum3FTbtuQzJWP972YFZwLe0oIfkvHYFEBdxqmglkdH0XaoZq0BXF0anvp6WyNY31hSrVsoJS/s1600/Zaini+%2528Sayang%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhnk39lN9QDC3NybThbtYBL29vI_hOytk3AJHU2ImpaJNqHaU-UCS98sYjrxZzaexoCvNLum3FTbtuQzJWP972YFZwLe0oIfkvHYFEBdxqmglkdH0XaoZq0BXF0anvp6WyNY31hSrVsoJS/s200/Zaini+%2528Sayang%2529.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637946605380752674" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span class="Apple-style-span"><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">I was talking to my best friend this morning about my lack of memory recently. She said that I am menopausing as that is one of the symptoms. I know that this lack of memory thing is not legendary in my family. Come on, I am not even 51 yet – how can that be? I’d like to point a finger at something, but age is definitely not the culprit in this case. Then, I would like to blame it on the fact that I had too many things on my mind. That would be a lie too because my daughter and my life is totally not hectic at all. So what is it?</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "> </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">Because of my forgetfulness yesterday, my best friend is going to give me a ‘sekeh’ on my head the next time she sees me. I babbled to my best friend about everything. I do. It gives me a bit of revengeful satisfaction to tell you a little bit about her. I do think a lot about her personally and how bossy and protective she is. She acknowledges what I say and listens to me. Generally she agrees and laughs to my needs, my weirdness and my complaints.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "> </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">We always laugh together whenever we talk. She tells me that she enjoys me. I am quite entertaining, you see! We are so attached to each other because we are alike but we are also the opposites of each other. While it is possible for me to forget almost anything, she is capable of remembering just about everything. But yesterday was a disaster. Because of my lack of memory, I have caused my boyfriend a world of grief. I do feel bad about that. He was so sweet and understanding! I knew then that he must really love me. Thank God for true love.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "> </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">This morning, I am humbled and embarrassed by my perpetual forgetfulness. But, you see, it’s human nature. I know, I am so getting old but I hope I don’t forget lots of important stuff after this. Maybe my brain is trying to digest the important stuff only. What I’m afraid is to forget the most basic things because I had to remember what my brains classified as significant.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><br /></p></span></span>Amirah Doblingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03111433436059697488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328372529245303788.post-5341166972938826142011-08-02T13:05:00.002+08:002011-08-02T13:07:27.228+08:00Love You Just The Way You Are - Billy Joel<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDIW6AlpOw3C26zEHJruksri9VVa37pJF5MEatUSzkcU9Dtj_guOsyMbswy3ZlLl5vo4WLvEoAhJFGGLGFlRX_rnSjs0SpuXL1ODQJGx-feV7_ah2FXKqBHCjRJhFuglyV3kLNtPY13ybD/s1600/Rudy+2.jpeg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 192px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDIW6AlpOw3C26zEHJruksri9VVa37pJF5MEatUSzkcU9Dtj_guOsyMbswy3ZlLl5vo4WLvEoAhJFGGLGFlRX_rnSjs0SpuXL1ODQJGx-feV7_ah2FXKqBHCjRJhFuglyV3kLNtPY13ybD/s200/Rudy+2.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636120713062168930" /></a><br /><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-line-height-alt:9.0pt; vertical-align:baseline"><span style="font-family:"Arial","sans-serif"; color:#424241">I have always been a person who knows who I am, and I am sure you feel the same way too about yourself.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I always say, I should be myself, because everyone else is taken and that if I try to be someone else, it usually doesn’t get me very far.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-line-height-alt:9.0pt; vertical-align:baseline"><span style="font-family:"Arial","sans-serif"; color:#424241"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-line-height-alt:9.0pt; vertical-align:baseline"><span style="font-family:"Arial","sans-serif"; color:#424241"><br /></span></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-line-height-alt:9.0pt; vertical-align:baseline"><span style="font-family:"Arial","sans-serif"; color:#424241">We all must try to unlearn things about ourselves.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>In order to do so, we must recognize what we truly feel deep down inside of us and try to accept and be truthful about it.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Sometimes during the process we find out that it can be disheartening when we find the truth about ourselves.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Our inner compass will never lie.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We are all capable of being true to what we believe in.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Capable of being a good self because our true nature – we are all born pure, clean and good.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-line-height-alt:9.0pt; vertical-align:baseline"><span style="font-family:"Arial","sans-serif"; color:#424241"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-line-height-alt:9.0pt; vertical-align:baseline"><span style="font-family:"Arial","sans-serif"; color:#424241"><br /></span></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-line-height-alt:9.0pt; vertical-align:baseline"><span style="font-family:"Arial","sans-serif"; color:#424241">We all know at least one bitter, negative person. My theory is that most bitter people are not being true to themselves. My guess is that somewhere along the way, they took a wrong turn they’ve always regretted, and they take out their disappointment on others. The last thing you want is to be bitter, but the second-last thing you want is regret. No one wants regret - so I say, make active decisions, move forward, show people you care about them.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-line-height-alt:9.0pt; vertical-align:baseline"><span style="font-family:"Arial","sans-serif"; color:#424241"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-line-height-alt:9.0pt; vertical-align:baseline"><span style="font-family:"Arial","sans-serif"; color:#424241"><br /></span></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-line-height-alt:9.0pt; vertical-align:baseline"><span style="font-family:"Arial","sans-serif"; color:#424241">Showing yourself to me is being risky (this maybe how you are feeling).<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Don’t be afraid of what is to come because in the long run, only you know you are capable of being a good person.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Only you can find the way to pursue the life you’ve always wanted.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>No one can make that decision for you.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Just be yourself, whoever you are today and forever, I will be here to love you for what you are.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></p>Amirah Doblingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03111433436059697488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328372529245303788.post-71575753147149972792011-07-10T12:40:00.003+08:002011-07-10T12:47:55.188+08:00In Loving Memory<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj242f-3FrrzOcWb5fyxY33WRPeVfwZArU1eDWRRjaaeuj_CWO8EejeaNUr9_RRyr3iDOV4yGWP-wmRFgZMtZFme3-ArkaM4KCAFMy7ThBSk8p3_eKKPk_w7BH84bM6L-rS8YAOOrwr31uS/s1600/167109_499288006865_559311865_5938708_5914521_n.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj242f-3FrrzOcWb5fyxY33WRPeVfwZArU1eDWRRjaaeuj_CWO8EejeaNUr9_RRyr3iDOV4yGWP-wmRFgZMtZFme3-ArkaM4KCAFMy7ThBSk8p3_eKKPk_w7BH84bM6L-rS8YAOOrwr31uS/s200/167109_499288006865_559311865_5938708_5914521_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5627579922742856962" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; ">I met my man seven years ago. He was the only person that understood me and loved me more than ever. I understood him and loved him more than I'll ever be able to express. Norbert died at home as he wished, in my arms. He lasted 3 months in ICU and only one night at home. I guessed he already made his decision to part from us and wanted me to be there at his side, to accommodate his 'comfortable' death. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; "> <span jsid="text">I actually thank God for the experience of having gone through the death process or my best friend and husband for it was profound. Through this experience of having watched my best friend draw his last breaths, I know how precious life really is.</span></span></span><div><div><div></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; "><span jsid="text"><br /></span></span></span></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; "><span jsid="text"><br /></span></span></span></div>Amirah Doblingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03111433436059697488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328372529245303788.post-580480015050111412011-07-06T23:19:00.002+08:002011-07-06T23:20:34.409+08:00Birds Of Paradise<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY4pHjUEcVckhvH52FwPxN7pl6SFBK3lGx_Kfvd1Rrlr_4rxOh5Mizd08il1a0wwN17kBqdzmy4lvqYyq2wDVAqFw3RZpoBS3aDw7PWaV6oPEpOyNaf80_ntbYL6C1LyVz5wPUVXsOWen4/s1600/Birds+of+Paradise.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 149px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY4pHjUEcVckhvH52FwPxN7pl6SFBK3lGx_Kfvd1Rrlr_4rxOh5Mizd08il1a0wwN17kBqdzmy4lvqYyq2wDVAqFw3RZpoBS3aDw7PWaV6oPEpOyNaf80_ntbYL6C1LyVz5wPUVXsOWen4/s200/Birds+of+Paradise.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626259492917357122" /></a>Amirah Doblingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03111433436059697488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328372529245303788.post-59398690034880943542011-06-24T12:48:00.003+08:002011-06-24T12:51:55.768+08:00Enchanted Forest II<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1riI6K8Pi-ys4wlFZBy2-RYQgZ3tNU2YR4HpkfqVwjmYqdLymxI_JlIM2S_NXX6coT5zD-C3uRHo1UbzdN6Tp3Fsm5ngh2I8NfRQ-IrUpx87PyuzmniQd-ITFMHGgMoB9Kxe2780x8T7Y/s1600/Enchanted+Forest.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 149px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1riI6K8Pi-ys4wlFZBy2-RYQgZ3tNU2YR4HpkfqVwjmYqdLymxI_JlIM2S_NXX6coT5zD-C3uRHo1UbzdN6Tp3Fsm5ngh2I8NfRQ-IrUpx87PyuzmniQd-ITFMHGgMoB9Kxe2780x8T7Y/s200/Enchanted+Forest.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621643864784414258" /></a>Amirah Doblingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03111433436059697488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328372529245303788.post-80736466636843554372011-06-20T20:42:00.001+08:002011-06-20T20:45:17.745+08:00Old Soul & A Young Man<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4aU7VnVyGH1WBz1_eIAFXubKLcJUG0hLzOGEZSLQY7UJyAW58arTJNpxUgtRrboOZrkYTzl4JKRqvmKMMdscUr_3Yzq6cP06Orjs12MR4PdmfT4TCZdTFZ92lQigHph8JVPzwORb1gO3q/s1600/Soul-Connection2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4aU7VnVyGH1WBz1_eIAFXubKLcJUG0hLzOGEZSLQY7UJyAW58arTJNpxUgtRrboOZrkYTzl4JKRqvmKMMdscUr_3Yzq6cP06Orjs12MR4PdmfT4TCZdTFZ92lQigHph8JVPzwORb1gO3q/s200/Soul-Connection2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620282090610409938" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">Many men would like to have a young woman as their partner. Many women too nowadays feels that they can afford to have a young male partner as more women takes care of their body better than our mothers used to.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "> </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">As for me - I am an old soul. I don't think I can ever have a young man as my lover or partner as I feel that he will always challenge me through his incapacity to relate to the higher plane of existence that I have reached.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "> </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">I have a feeling that whatever may encounter between a young man and old me will result in hurt and confusion. I want a soulmate who is one that is as old as I am, because I think a young man will find it hard to live up to my spiritual expectations.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "> </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">I may feel like I like him a lot, that I may love him, but somehow we are not reaching a common ground between us. This young man still needs to make the same mistakes, before getting to a higher level of spirituality and that is why for an old soul like me, it would be impossible to find a soulmate in a young person.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "> </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">I am always and still is in search for a soul that is the same age or older than me.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "> </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">Sorry to disappoint all those out there!</p></span></span>Amirah Doblingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03111433436059697488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328372529245303788.post-53876623593891521232011-06-17T23:43:00.000+08:002011-06-17T23:44:14.371+08:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimMYYAPVi_A7VYTedNe5IiR-zNQljp4Qg67l1-o3mRPPtt4qvFp6gGe9wvlRtGvV4rUVwSBENHOzTl05e6OACIR3oSJcOJ7bT9ce4EyI_-4EfbgzSu-KEE3OnGb2LQrwfOfngXJK4bhVia/s1600/forgiveness.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 198px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimMYYAPVi_A7VYTedNe5IiR-zNQljp4Qg67l1-o3mRPPtt4qvFp6gGe9wvlRtGvV4rUVwSBENHOzTl05e6OACIR3oSJcOJ7bT9ce4EyI_-4EfbgzSu-KEE3OnGb2LQrwfOfngXJK4bhVia/s200/forgiveness.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5619215006091900658" /></a>Amirah Doblingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03111433436059697488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328372529245303788.post-69675742760537654752011-06-17T23:40:00.001+08:002011-06-17T23:43:15.850+08:00I Have Forgiven<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh38LEKgkmmtyL5M13pjtl5vpQIzTdFELlO3Tim_vDz00qxSqZulWzBddYclwnqoJ9Y4VL4y-cZiCVOlFdYw4XOAOErZ1VGGa3EzTSn9bXW5MvXpR6Iho3TuL0vvjTdjw-VSINhWQd8qchC/s1600/forgive.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 166px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh38LEKgkmmtyL5M13pjtl5vpQIzTdFELlO3Tim_vDz00qxSqZulWzBddYclwnqoJ9Y4VL4y-cZiCVOlFdYw4XOAOErZ1VGGa3EzTSn9bXW5MvXpR6Iho3TuL0vvjTdjw-VSINhWQd8qchC/s200/forgive.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5619214524568316210" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10px; line-height: 15px; "><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; ">I slept with thoughts of you in the strangest way that I have ever felt in my life. Those days I closed my eyes with the confidence that I had you completely, entirely, but now left me with sadness and anxiety. Here I am again, writing something for you, like how I have always been, but this one, today will be different.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; "></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; "><br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; ">I loved you, I think I always will. I made myself miserable because I do not want to let go of that feeling, of that much love I have inside my heart for you. I've gone through a whirlwind of emotional torment, a phase of not knowing what I will be, but wanting only one thing, and it's you.</p><div><br /></div></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; "><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; ">I wanted you for the rest of my life, and dreamed about doing everything together when we have the chance, but I realized, that we never really want these things.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; "> </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; "><br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; ">Now I plan alone. At this very moment I'm setting myself free, to that much love I have from you, to that agony I went through waiting for you, burning that thin strand of hope that I have clinged to the moment you trashed me. This doesn't mean that I will forget you. I'll just stop mentioning your name and everything about you. From this day onwards I will live again. I will do my best to regain the life I have lost with any man who deserves to be loved for the rest of his life.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; "> </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; "><br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; ">We have given each other enough time. I have given you all my love, and I'm sure I will love again. And when I love again, I will look back at all of these things and know somehow I do have fond memories of you. There should not be goodbyes for goodbyes mean forever not looking back. I am sure one day we will meet.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; "> </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; "><br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; ">I have forgiven you, so you have to forgive me......please...!!!</p></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; "><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; "><br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; "><br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; "><br /></p></span>Amirah Doblingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03111433436059697488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328372529245303788.post-61134686081242396402011-06-17T22:54:00.001+08:002011-06-17T22:55:33.529+08:00Slice of Emotions<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw9sfRLV6sWOo8b3IwKpjCMARh1uAPtZqIfWwnZ8tS_bhMqEIKThQNMDjVY2KGuuPjCV6zkWWpASXFAXojO0Gjh3QuaPsB3FrKYDvbPkZXHHDDrl9JefLa-8QuTwEkNyf_j6jnW699qv3C/s1600/Slice+of+Emotions.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw9sfRLV6sWOo8b3IwKpjCMARh1uAPtZqIfWwnZ8tS_bhMqEIKThQNMDjVY2KGuuPjCV6zkWWpASXFAXojO0Gjh3QuaPsB3FrKYDvbPkZXHHDDrl9JefLa-8QuTwEkNyf_j6jnW699qv3C/s200/Slice+of+Emotions.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5619202443809852914" /></a>Amirah Doblingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03111433436059697488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328372529245303788.post-28297884337613151822011-06-17T22:52:00.001+08:002011-06-17T22:54:01.164+08:00Waves of Emotions<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTykPtW8gE5AQC8eUi-FN9svmSxqWZfES8dOTc-FhTc4eAcqu7eqv6jO7omCYJ7bfhNDmi6RVwGDq-WTJxI5xmsng9ANCiCMxPyp_rKQRsTEuTXc_EL88dTA0HwgEYPP3QzyYe8kv9LNMb/s1600/Waves+of+Emotions.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTykPtW8gE5AQC8eUi-FN9svmSxqWZfES8dOTc-FhTc4eAcqu7eqv6jO7omCYJ7bfhNDmi6RVwGDq-WTJxI5xmsng9ANCiCMxPyp_rKQRsTEuTXc_EL88dTA0HwgEYPP3QzyYe8kv9LNMb/s200/Waves+of+Emotions.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5619202044490536866" /></a>Amirah Doblingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03111433436059697488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328372529245303788.post-10307174856442290162011-06-17T00:18:00.002+08:002011-06-17T00:20:15.822+08:00Rained of Emotions<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU7PaSltdnMvCI_v7fvkOMP3Co-ywasXY0juJBw0gpR4KIU7U2M0MFLIJ3GCtSnaC-2u8M0LuFaud7V7gsrh0F3BBLxV3dao5A3qttddTC6s7-UTR9u1iBTtjAuGkAaEtaF0YKXzaSzcld/s1600/Rained+of+Emotions.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU7PaSltdnMvCI_v7fvkOMP3Co-ywasXY0juJBw0gpR4KIU7U2M0MFLIJ3GCtSnaC-2u8M0LuFaud7V7gsrh0F3BBLxV3dao5A3qttddTC6s7-UTR9u1iBTtjAuGkAaEtaF0YKXzaSzcld/s200/Rained+of+Emotions.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618853188428180626" /></a>Amirah Doblingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03111433436059697488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328372529245303788.post-89188371469784948422011-06-17T00:16:00.002+08:002011-06-17T00:17:28.609+08:00Ruined by Emotions<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif-b_cPa4JNusiEWB4YV_xEmJDec3_rapKjVqShqyPllWDjsD5JtyRJHOmBbZnpPMS17RfqlHWHZBAQ62I7kPPjCqZyzZtGuOdkUQHSjafUIff9qB5VALyZpEKh6D_r7BQTrrXYuqFE29F/s1600/Ruined+by+Emotions.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif-b_cPa4JNusiEWB4YV_xEmJDec3_rapKjVqShqyPllWDjsD5JtyRJHOmBbZnpPMS17RfqlHWHZBAQ62I7kPPjCqZyzZtGuOdkUQHSjafUIff9qB5VALyZpEKh6D_r7BQTrrXYuqFE29F/s200/Ruined+by+Emotions.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618852471429683298" /></a>Amirah Doblingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03111433436059697488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328372529245303788.post-16733267570282476812011-06-17T00:15:00.002+08:002011-06-17T00:16:15.883+08:00Was A Bed Of Roses<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZlhvclxigu3Vmg4MN7Sl55A9tiYizfvRJyOkf7FukGVZi-5vYro7TZ8Ue5TbkfPnl6k_UdQvgSVIdhmWBJWUJHTzYHgjdUS7fEKCQ1owwzLSBno7z9N3bmVpilw9QPx6DCglD4gHoCMrM/s1600/Was+A+Bed+Of+Roses.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZlhvclxigu3Vmg4MN7Sl55A9tiYizfvRJyOkf7FukGVZi-5vYro7TZ8Ue5TbkfPnl6k_UdQvgSVIdhmWBJWUJHTzYHgjdUS7fEKCQ1owwzLSBno7z9N3bmVpilw9QPx6DCglD4gHoCMrM/s200/Was+A+Bed+Of+Roses.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618852141489433810" /></a>Amirah Doblingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03111433436059697488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328372529245303788.post-28823843887634903712011-06-17T00:11:00.001+08:002011-06-17T00:15:15.189+08:00Burst by Emotions<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh97TNxm6r2j3KzcCW_gOk77gWtVAFJvkSf0AJnYgGzhiooDuFa9dw9H9fldMua0GUdDUSX0bARURJXFuR39EVHEYaQq57Dkd18MD3ij5eIw9aspKsgoj4LaMPL8ShDpBmEMgkUvuOKJLNE/s1600/Burst+of+Emotions.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh97TNxm6r2j3KzcCW_gOk77gWtVAFJvkSf0AJnYgGzhiooDuFa9dw9H9fldMua0GUdDUSX0bARURJXFuR39EVHEYaQq57Dkd18MD3ij5eIw9aspKsgoj4LaMPL8ShDpBmEMgkUvuOKJLNE/s200/Burst+of+Emotions.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618851779915059794" /></a>Amirah Doblingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03111433436059697488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328372529245303788.post-71606896546930110332011-06-16T20:44:00.004+08:002011-06-16T20:50:38.460+08:00It Snowed<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOCUqGs2RkOlnSNOUn9Fv6mjgfZsoBqc6a6IRp_p7Gbk4q7YZBoUl_5Ll4Wye4RA_0W-ihVlIsfvkuvn9bRuivL1trcCee8fD0qw-f2wVMyP4SuYAv8GbYn9CaWSZBaWfvAudiZepjrgHB/s1600/It+Snowed.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOCUqGs2RkOlnSNOUn9Fv6mjgfZsoBqc6a6IRp_p7Gbk4q7YZBoUl_5Ll4Wye4RA_0W-ihVlIsfvkuvn9bRuivL1trcCee8fD0qw-f2wVMyP4SuYAv8GbYn9CaWSZBaWfvAudiZepjrgHB/s200/It+Snowed.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618797870948964930" /></a><div><span style="font-family: Century, serif; color: black; " >Love is so deeply a part of me, so far beyond definition and description. For you love is so elusive as you only halfheartedly seek it. You will know and understand love only if you engage in a very personal search of heart and mind and soul which leads to the very essence of your being. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Century, serif; color: black; " ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span style="font-family: Century, serif; color: black; ">Do you understand life? For life is love. I can't make you understand</span><span style="font-family: Century, serif; color: black; "> love. You </span><span style="font-family: Century, serif; color: black; ">alone must be willing to take the inward journey. I will repeatedly urge you to do so, for nothing can take the place of that understanding.</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top:0in;margin-right:.5in;margin-bottom:0in; margin-left:.5in;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri;mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family:Calibri;color:black" ><o:p></o:p></span></p><div><br /></div></div>Amirah Doblingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03111433436059697488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328372529245303788.post-16452127590719675562011-06-16T20:43:00.001+08:002011-06-16T21:02:43.378+08:00It Rained<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir3eHTDZPyAD9MgIrsaqw1kDdLGWrhV_9ozvMin-H_soSolm9heb1QIXSt8cuxs7hcfwPgEy3CnXIv-d0Md8UgpfM9CvUUcaBKGqBFRxYO_M2QsrJPJh5yykxX3-SYd0TOSLv0vliZIwuF/s1600/It+Rained.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir3eHTDZPyAD9MgIrsaqw1kDdLGWrhV_9ozvMin-H_soSolm9heb1QIXSt8cuxs7hcfwPgEy3CnXIv-d0Md8UgpfM9CvUUcaBKGqBFRxYO_M2QsrJPJh5yykxX3-SYd0TOSLv0vliZIwuF/s200/It+Rained.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618797569069855762" /></a><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Century, serif; font-size: 19px; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Century, serif; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >You think you already know what love is, when in fact you don't. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Century, serif; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Century, serif; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >Sometime during our lives the majority of us will believe we have found true love, even though we have not. Many of us will go to our graves believing we have loved, when we never loved at all.</span></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top:0in;margin-right:.5in;margin-bottom:0in; margin-left:.5in;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span style="font-size:14.0pt; font-family:"Century","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family:Calibri;color:black"> </span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri;mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family:Calibri;color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div><br /></div></div>Amirah Doblingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03111433436059697488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328372529245303788.post-88550902084070157932011-06-16T20:42:00.002+08:002011-06-16T21:06:51.361+08:00It Shined<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6RYujA3PxGVoaIrvMSbdqjec5ebvnSybQW84KvD3naArv4xprRTNA5VS1iauKhirVAePRTbYu2AG2C_H17Pzale87oX4D4roOnUXmcmh-fN0XKLA5foJMTg6K4cbRYZIfWpD8XlKLhmo-/s1600/It+Shined.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6RYujA3PxGVoaIrvMSbdqjec5ebvnSybQW84KvD3naArv4xprRTNA5VS1iauKhirVAePRTbYu2AG2C_H17Pzale87oX4D4roOnUXmcmh-fN0XKLA5foJMTg6K4cbRYZIfWpD8XlKLhmo-/s200/It+Shined.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618797344223851282" /></a><div><span style="font-size:14.0pt; font-family:"Century","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family:Calibri;color:black"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span style="font-family: Century, serif; color: black; ">It is very easy to stop short of understanding love. The idea of pure, real</span><span style="font-family: Century, serif; color: black; "> love, </span><span style="font-family: Century, serif; color: black; ">is so alien to our experiences, so foreign to the world we live in, we subconsciously, and even consciously, reject it as a non-existent fantasy. Yet it does exist. Because we seldom, if ever, witness such love does not mean it is less than real. Because the experiences of our past and the realities of our daily existence attack love does not mean it is a fantasy. Our doubts and fears, desires and temptations, weaknesses and longing to "live", cannot change the fact that pure, true, real, love exists, and that people can love one another.</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top:0in;margin-right:.5in;margin-bottom:0in; margin-left:.5in;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;mso-bidi-font-family:Calibri;color:black" ><o:p></o:p></span></p><div><br /></div></div>Amirah Doblingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03111433436059697488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328372529245303788.post-72378660525231879582011-06-16T16:17:00.003+08:002011-06-16T16:21:29.808+08:00Kayla & Oma<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVSIZ7Xlc7Hknq67rQ8ejQdm0GVwH2MvpAup5huo_iMcrPrSDXQlytqNjFSFj6El4Lebc_fAh6DGqTVz9PPACVwcYF3KfmQztbCerimw-aoy5q7-FLYsvBM49deQbvdaWBvmHNGTYqeoII/s1600/Kay3.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVSIZ7Xlc7Hknq67rQ8ejQdm0GVwH2MvpAup5huo_iMcrPrSDXQlytqNjFSFj6El4Lebc_fAh6DGqTVz9PPACVwcYF3KfmQztbCerimw-aoy5q7-FLYsvBM49deQbvdaWBvmHNGTYqeoII/s200/Kay3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618729619415903378" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjVQVCn3JrUFCjnwLC1X0FlHSYrlcB9zFieC-NLke9p5DrBETj__sRMNOGbDj2ho6ELBeP9U8vdyLuXNAaZ4JNYD83JodsKjL0gYdrO041MGnkE2KXeg05x65uVDNgzGKyl7YyVvGOHFWE/s1600/Kay2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjVQVCn3JrUFCjnwLC1X0FlHSYrlcB9zFieC-NLke9p5DrBETj__sRMNOGbDj2ho6ELBeP9U8vdyLuXNAaZ4JNYD83JodsKjL0gYdrO041MGnkE2KXeg05x65uVDNgzGKyl7YyVvGOHFWE/s200/Kay2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618729520941597762" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMtDFNOgYWjzFdEsndexUDNAC8Q1V0LhC0OttQUMCxcvo_l4Fpk6ABxGy0PLUdw2F07_qatujr0gh3joZW4mZrXpCDDwt7AKR3j7SuMiiU9Q9IuhOtAQ6ZJFh_hGpXc50ypV4JuY7Sc_y3/s1600/Kay.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMtDFNOgYWjzFdEsndexUDNAC8Q1V0LhC0OttQUMCxcvo_l4Fpk6ABxGy0PLUdw2F07_qatujr0gh3joZW4mZrXpCDDwt7AKR3j7SuMiiU9Q9IuhOtAQ6ZJFh_hGpXc50ypV4JuY7Sc_y3/s200/Kay.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618729422951386306" /></a>Amirah Doblingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03111433436059697488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328372529245303788.post-87316294086606729772011-06-14T22:56:00.002+08:002011-06-14T22:59:36.335+08:00Everlasting Love<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy4XZaugzn3IGloc5inpYTHRhPW8iDgq8sz-C2Uc1zWRidu-biGhG0yPoGo1xmqcH24NlbY1LlG7cscseQ9n0yQ1KFfsL5XecpgeryOsVvSkqd9cj__Nng-E6fDMGgMQaEesxVsa85R8qK/s1600/work.4472308.1.flat%252C550x550%252C075%252Cf.everlasting-love.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy4XZaugzn3IGloc5inpYTHRhPW8iDgq8sz-C2Uc1zWRidu-biGhG0yPoGo1xmqcH24NlbY1LlG7cscseQ9n0yQ1KFfsL5XecpgeryOsVvSkqd9cj__Nng-E6fDMGgMQaEesxVsa85R8qK/s200/work.4472308.1.flat%252C550x550%252C075%252Cf.everlasting-love.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618089916321166210" /></a><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Century, serif; ">I thought about the love that I have found when I searched my heart, my mind and my soul.<span> </span>I gave the love to you, and in return want to be loved.<span> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Century, serif; ">If you truly understand love, you will understand that true love can exist between us.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Century, serif; " ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Century, serif; ">The love I found in my heart, my mind and my soul is far more than a physical attraction or magical moments.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It is the ultimate joyful relationship between us where I care as much for you as for myself.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Century, serif; ">If you understand love, you know it is the deepest commitment you can ever give me.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Century, serif; " ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Century, serif; " >If we had loved each other, the look in each other’s eyes would not fill with lust but only love.<span> </span>When our hands touched, we do not feel desire but filled with deep feelings of love.<span> </span>When we are together we know that our love will not fade and will truly last a lifetime....</span></div>Amirah Doblingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03111433436059697488noreply@blogger.com0