***PROFILE NEW"S, ***A SHOULD READ***XOXO Xhemil aka JIM***
Body: As some of you may know and for my friends that do not know, A couple weeks ago, ..MYSPACE decided it was going to DELETE my profile & I had to OPEN this profile in it's place, LOSING much hard work and memories of friends in comments now passed...After realizing @ HO MYSPACE what they were doing and the amount of friends mailing them to save my profile.....MYSPACE has decided to NOT DELETE MY ORIGINAL profile, and it has been SAVED....MY ORIGINAL profile if you would like to add me there,,..***
[email protected] ***,,.This PROFILE is no longer going to be in use..........See you all back again on my original profile...................I will leave this profile open for a few days ............................................................
..PEACE..."Old-Soul".......Xhemil aka JIM :-)
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e had that new book kind of smell. He was a story just waiting to be read, a voice just waiting to be heard. But instead what he was, was a dusty, musty book that sat on the shelf. The outside, decaying and beaten, the inside, untouched and new. His spine so faded and dull that one could barely read "Never Surrender" which had once been inscribed in graceful, golden letters. I really don't know what it was about him that unspeakably shunned him from the world. His look? His thoughts? His fears? What was it. Oh why did it bother me so? He was just another being searching for his "place in the world." What made him so important? I couldn't sleep. My questioning gnawed at me. What was it? My curiosity took control over me and I found myself in the midst of his presence inquiring to him of his solemnity. "I don't want to talk about it." That was all he pronounced before leaving me. "He's a druggie." "Oh, yeah. Isn't he part of a gang." "No, who is he?" "That nerd? No, not really." "He's in a cult, I think." So many responses to the simple question of "Do you know this guy?" Rumors overflowed in my head making my nights even more restless. Who was this guy? Not what was his name, but who or what was he? I will admit, though, I was somewhat scared of discovering this truth. But with out the truth the questions would only continue to tumble in my head. Full fledged in my coat of courage. I strutted right up to him the next day and asked him once more who he was. "Me? I'm nobody. But, who are you. I've seen you going about asked after me. Who are you to need to know who I am? Who are you to care about my tale?" "I am only a listener in search of a story." "Why my story? Are you a fan of the grim? Are you a philosopher of the evil?" "....I am only a seeker of stories." "Then let it be known that you brought this upon yourself." He was a page-turner of a book. One you couldn't set down for the story was so engaging. He was a man of terrible sadness and beautiful stories and one's of happier times and fond memories and many of love. You turn the pages and something other than words has you crying. It was not for him that you cried, but for yourself. He had suffered through so much; his story was worthy of suicide. But he kept going, he kept believing, he kept hoping. Why was he this way? Suddenly I found my words escaping my thoughts. "If I give up, I'll have lost my entire war. Each battle has only made me stronger. Each battle kept me fighting, "kept me living"... "But why don't you talk to anyone?... "Why are you such a loner?"..., "War & Sadness isn't pretty. I don't want to bring it to anyone if I can help it. ..........War & sadness has become my life. As I suppose it is yours as well." I lifted my tear-filled eyes to him. How did he know? How could he see it? "What do you do know?"... "I know that life is a battlefield. And I have become an expert general. Fighting is my best talent. Surrendering is my deepest fear. Everyone is in a battle called life. Some are longer and more painful. Some are shorter and less tragic. Some come out heroes. Some come out cowards seldom many come out with a smile. I will never let it be known that I have surrendered to the enemy. And neither should you." I never saw him ever again. I wonder where he went to and what happened to him. Was he ever really there. I'll never forget what he told me. And I'll never forget what he taught me. If someone like him could find the strength to live in this world, then I surely could. And maybe it is time to take this dusty old book off of the shelf... and share it with the world.
