I once lent my friend a precious ring generations old, unfortunatly this proved to be the most fool hardy thing i would ever do. I proved to be great at finding things in my journeys of attempting to recover the tthing. This how i got my current job.
how do you conjugate this word in the past tense? lent? lended? i’m not entirely sure. it’s a strange word. sounds like a weak verb, though, not strong.
a hand. an arm, a leg. you can lend your whole being in any and every way… but be careful. don’t make the mistake I did, don’t let anyone take advantage of you. You are worth more than that.
The librarian lent me a book on how to maek friends with a table. Obviously it did not teach me how to spell, especially since it did have a chapter on lieking mudkips and making friends with them. But I thing I just want to be friends with my Companion Cube because he is very cute and will never threaten to stab me. He is my friend and I don’t want to kill him.
This is all I am lending to you, a moment in my life, a fraction of the continuum I will call my memory. For this moment, you can touch me, you can hold me, you can have everything that I am and was and ever will be. If there is one thing you can be sure of, its that for this second, I am nothing without you. And that tomorrow, I will be gone.
I lent you everything. My home. My car. My house. My family. But most importantly, I lent you my heart. Time and time again. But your own darkness, your own pain, your own insecurity, prevented you from ever seeing how much I cared. Who are you anymore?
“I’m lending you this against my better judgment you realize? The last time I lent anything to you I never saw it again.”
“I promise I will return it to you, scouts honor!”
Giving. Hoping to get back. Could be selfless. Often with fear behind the action… Dread that the receiver will damage your possession, but none the less… you lend.
Lending. So many mixed thoughts. It can be a gift, an act of love or of service to someone you care about. But it can also backfire. People may not pay you back or give you back your things. So there’s a matter of risk to it. It can be a beautiful act of service or a huge mistake. So be careful.
That frozen moment in time, when all agreed what was lent would return. If only were so easy to lend, therefore I never find myself lending. Experience has taught me to be extra picky.
Lending a shoe, lending a cup of sugar, lending at the bank. I am tired of thinking about finances, this class stresses me out. My paper is stressing me out, I should not have waited this long to begin working on it. I do not understand the point and I do not have any idea of what to write. ERRG What am I going to or supposed to write about
Lending hands and friends and I lent you all my books when we were seventeen and we built a fort out of your books and we hid ourselves in stories and lyrics and songs passed along on the backs of envelopes god knows we write our letters slow and send them even slower with more quotations than any real substance.
Let me have it.
No.
Just give it to me.
It’s mine.
But you’re mine.
Progressive thinker, aren’t you?
You know what I mean.
Do I?
Please. Let me.
What if you don’t give it back?
I’ll give it back.
How do I know?
Trust me.
…
Please.
So she splays her fingers and he laces his with hers and lending a hand has never seemed so wonderfully satisfying.
It’s taken you years to realize just what she has been unconditionally lending you: kindness, hope, maybe even love. Lending, but not quite giving. You just wish you had realized that she could take everything back before she actually did.
Lending money to people is risky business. If they decide that they don’t need to pay you back before the deadline, you might have to break a few kneecaps. Most people hire some muscle to take care of that stuff. Not Jimmy “The Bones” Malone. He lives his life by that age-old axiom: If you want something done right, you gotta do it yourself.
I’m lending you a piece of me. This you shall keep to remember me always, but I expect it back. Not because I’ll feel like you’ve stolen what is mine but because when I see what I gave up, you’ll be right there. You’ll be holding it, telling me that you took care of one of my million puzzle pieces. Every time that you leave, I will give you a piece of me to follow you.
here you are
lending an ear to my troubles
a sounding board for my frustrated heart
here I sit
abusing that which I love
for the sake of my fragile sanity
At first I was just lending her my jacket. I didn’t need it, but she was cold. Plus she looked adorable in it. Now, however, if I get it back then I will be completely heartbroken. It is now my gift to her. I don’t know when I’ll be able to see her again, and I’m hoping that as long as she has that jacket, she’ll remember how much I love her.
I don’t like lending my books to people. They always come back a little worse for the wear, with bent pages, highlighting, and other signs of use. I never mark in my books, so this sort of thing tends to irritate me.
When David was lending Julie a hand last Saturday, he slipped and fell for her. It took him about one month to finally get a kiss. He loved kissing her beautiful lips.
She would lend them anything: pens, paper, white-out, her stapler. She never expected to get them back, but that brief moment where their fingers touched hers made it all worthwhile.
Lending time is all about the passing
of space to space
finding its hard earned time just falling
through time
through space
through passing glances
and failed romances
each falling due to its lent material
materials lending themselves to a new sense of space and time
waiting for one to fall through
so she can say,
“I lent that to you.”
Lending. When I think lending, I think lending a helping hand. (Or a toy.) Mostly I think volunteering though. You are lending your kindness to someone or something else and that means a lot.
I was lending a hand to a little boy who wanted to reach a box of Wheat Thins on a very tall shelf in the local grocery store when I saw Harry limping down the aisle. He looked much more leathery than before, as if the sun had taken his face out to a barbecue and marinated it was thick, sweet sauce. His pupils noticeably dilated even from a distance, but he seemed to recognize me.
“Well,” he said with a wispy laugh. “I didn’t think you’d still be here.”
lending is like when someone b0rrows money from a bank or friend with the intent of paying them back whether it be with interest or without. like borrowing things from others with the intent of returning them.
I don’t particularly like lending I never get back the books or dvds that I have lent out So lending has become a source of giving for me and I try to lend 10% of my income to those who don;t know the difference My computer does not allow periods can someone lend me some punctuation I’ll give it write (sp) back
I was lending a hand to my neighbor. He decided it was time. He was moving his house. I was wondering while you were laying in the tub. how far you would move to. Africa. Zimbabwe or France.
The first thing I thought of was LendingTree.com. How is that for consumerism? I guess now I’m thinking of The Merchant of Venice for obvious reasons. I don’t mean that in a racist way. Now I’m thinking of people lending their opinions.
lending library, sunburnt pages, wrinkling edges, yellow crisp and buzzing orange lights above, a large window amidst the shelves where I see someone from my neighborhood I know coming by to bring back a book.
You’ve never reached out your hand to me, I’ve always been the one to grab it as it swings lifelessly by your side. While you breathe in air, I’d breathe out disappointment. It doesn’t take much for thin hair to snap, for bridges to break, and for whispers to turn into echoes. It doesn’t take much at all.
I wonder, really, if what I’ve become is truly a result of making myself empty…for you, that is. I did it all for you, once upon a time. Sometimes I wish I had kept some of that feeling inside…maybe, just maybe, I’d still love you. Maybe I’d still love you if I hadn’t given it all away.
But I’m certain its for the better. As much as I miss being in love, I’m in a far better position to understand what it truly means. I’ve got the weight of the world, wide and wondrous, on my side. In a way, I learned everything from you. For that, I swear I will be grateful until the end of time.
I’ve already DONE this…is there a quota of posts per day? Or maybe, just maybe there is something more to write…something less dark, less hopeless…Sure, I’d lent nearly everything inside me, but I was able to grow as a result…to become empty, and then transform into something new. Surely, lending my all was hardly a bad thing, was it?
You weren’t the most subtle…I’ll tell you that much. I was always giving all to you…always lending, always wasting myself away…out of some foolish wish that I’d one day receive something in return…Is it too much to ask that you give some of that back? Was it? Will it be? We’ll have to see…for now, I’m all but empty. Because I lent to you.
I once lent my friend a precious ring generations old, unfortunatly this proved to be the most fool hardy thing i would ever do. I proved to be great at finding things in my journeys of attempting to recover the tthing. This how i got my current job.
how do you conjugate this word in the past tense? lent? lended? i’m not entirely sure. it’s a strange word. sounds like a weak verb, though, not strong.
hmm.
what has life lent you?
a hand. an arm, a leg. you can lend your whole being in any and every way… but be careful. don’t make the mistake I did, don’t let anyone take advantage of you. You are worth more than that.
The librarian lent me a book on how to maek friends with a table. Obviously it did not teach me how to spell, especially since it did have a chapter on lieking mudkips and making friends with them. But I thing I just want to be friends with my Companion Cube because he is very cute and will never threaten to stab me. He is my friend and I don’t want to kill him.
There is no such thing as an honest bank. Nowadays the only way to get a loan is to prove that you don’t need one.
This is all I am lending to you, a moment in my life, a fraction of the continuum I will call my memory. For this moment, you can touch me, you can hold me, you can have everything that I am and was and ever will be. If there is one thing you can be sure of, its that for this second, I am nothing without you. And that tomorrow, I will be gone.
I lent you everything. My home. My car. My house. My family. But most importantly, I lent you my heart. Time and time again. But your own darkness, your own pain, your own insecurity, prevented you from ever seeing how much I cared. Who are you anymore?
“I’m lending you this against my better judgment you realize? The last time I lent anything to you I never saw it again.”
“I promise I will return it to you, scouts honor!”
Lending what? Your heart? Your self? Your soul?
“Lending a helping hand” means nothings anymore. People only do things for their own selfish wants.
Giving. Hoping to get back. Could be selfless. Often with fear behind the action… Dread that the receiver will damage your possession, but none the less… you lend.
Lance livestring liked lending lost people rides in his Lincoln limo.
Lending. So many mixed thoughts. It can be a gift, an act of love or of service to someone you care about. But it can also backfire. People may not pay you back or give you back your things. So there’s a matter of risk to it. It can be a beautiful act of service or a huge mistake. So be careful.
That frozen moment in time, when all agreed what was lent would return. If only were so easy to lend, therefore I never find myself lending. Experience has taught me to be extra picky.
My friend is lending her hat to me -wheeee
and now my shoes are off my feet
this is gonna be too twee.
Lending a shoe, lending a cup of sugar, lending at the bank. I am tired of thinking about finances, this class stresses me out. My paper is stressing me out, I should not have waited this long to begin working on it. I do not understand the point and I do not have any idea of what to write. ERRG What am I going to or supposed to write about
Lending hands and friends and I lent you all my books when we were seventeen and we built a fort out of your books and we hid ourselves in stories and lyrics and songs passed along on the backs of envelopes god knows we write our letters slow and send them even slower with more quotations than any real substance.
Let me have it.
No.
Just give it to me.
It’s mine.
But you’re mine.
Progressive thinker, aren’t you?
You know what I mean.
Do I?
Please. Let me.
What if you don’t give it back?
I’ll give it back.
How do I know?
Trust me.
…
Please.
So she splays her fingers and he laces his with hers and lending a hand has never seemed so wonderfully satisfying.
It’s taken you years to realize just what she has been unconditionally lending you: kindness, hope, maybe even love. Lending, but not quite giving. You just wish you had realized that she could take everything back before she actually did.
loaning my money
Lending money to people is risky business. If they decide that they don’t need to pay you back before the deadline, you might have to break a few kneecaps. Most people hire some muscle to take care of that stuff. Not Jimmy “The Bones” Malone. He lives his life by that age-old axiom: If you want something done right, you gotta do it yourself.
I’m lending you a piece of me. This you shall keep to remember me always, but I expect it back. Not because I’ll feel like you’ve stolen what is mine but because when I see what I gave up, you’ll be right there. You’ll be holding it, telling me that you took care of one of my million puzzle pieces. Every time that you leave, I will give you a piece of me to follow you.
here you are
lending an ear to my troubles
a sounding board for my frustrated heart
here I sit
abusing that which I love
for the sake of my fragile sanity
At first I was just lending her my jacket. I didn’t need it, but she was cold. Plus she looked adorable in it. Now, however, if I get it back then I will be completely heartbroken. It is now my gift to her. I don’t know when I’ll be able to see her again, and I’m hoping that as long as she has that jacket, she’ll remember how much I love her.
I don’t like lending my books to people. They always come back a little worse for the wear, with bent pages, highlighting, and other signs of use. I never mark in my books, so this sort of thing tends to irritate me.
When David was lending Julie a hand last Saturday, he slipped and fell for her. It took him about one month to finally get a kiss. He loved kissing her beautiful lips.
She would lend them anything: pens, paper, white-out, her stapler. She never expected to get them back, but that brief moment where their fingers touched hers made it all worthwhile.
Lending time is all about the passing
of space to space
finding its hard earned time just falling
through time
through space
through passing glances
and failed romances
each falling due to its lent material
materials lending themselves to a new sense of space and time
waiting for one to fall through
so she can say,
“I lent that to you.”
Lending. When I think lending, I think lending a helping hand. (Or a toy.) Mostly I think volunteering though. You are lending your kindness to someone or something else and that means a lot.
I was lending a hand to a little boy who wanted to reach a box of Wheat Thins on a very tall shelf in the local grocery store when I saw Harry limping down the aisle. He looked much more leathery than before, as if the sun had taken his face out to a barbecue and marinated it was thick, sweet sauce. His pupils noticeably dilated even from a distance, but he seemed to recognize me.
“Well,” he said with a wispy laugh. “I didn’t think you’d still be here.”
to give to someone to use for a period of time
and then you have to give back to the person who landed it to you
lending is like when someone b0rrows money from a bank or friend with the intent of paying them back whether it be with interest or without. like borrowing things from others with the intent of returning them.
I don’t particularly like lending I never get back the books or dvds that I have lent out So lending has become a source of giving for me and I try to lend 10% of my income to those who don;t know the difference My computer does not allow periods can someone lend me some punctuation I’ll give it write (sp) back
lending a rescue was what god had to do to save me
never can i show god how appreciative i am
I was lending a hand to my neighbor. He decided it was time. He was moving his house. I was wondering while you were laying in the tub. how far you would move to. Africa. Zimbabwe or France.
The first thing I thought of was LendingTree.com. How is that for consumerism? I guess now I’m thinking of The Merchant of Venice for obvious reasons. I don’t mean that in a racist way. Now I’m thinking of people lending their opinions.
lending library, sunburnt pages, wrinkling edges, yellow crisp and buzzing orange lights above, a large window amidst the shelves where I see someone from my neighborhood I know coming by to bring back a book.
You’ve never reached out your hand to me, I’ve always been the one to grab it as it swings lifelessly by your side. While you breathe in air, I’d breathe out disappointment. It doesn’t take much for thin hair to snap, for bridges to break, and for whispers to turn into echoes. It doesn’t take much at all.
I wonder, really, if what I’ve become is truly a result of making myself empty…for you, that is. I did it all for you, once upon a time. Sometimes I wish I had kept some of that feeling inside…maybe, just maybe, I’d still love you. Maybe I’d still love you if I hadn’t given it all away.
But I’m certain its for the better. As much as I miss being in love, I’m in a far better position to understand what it truly means. I’ve got the weight of the world, wide and wondrous, on my side. In a way, I learned everything from you. For that, I swear I will be grateful until the end of time.
I’ve already DONE this…is there a quota of posts per day? Or maybe, just maybe there is something more to write…something less dark, less hopeless…Sure, I’d lent nearly everything inside me, but I was able to grow as a result…to become empty, and then transform into something new. Surely, lending my all was hardly a bad thing, was it?
You weren’t the most subtle…I’ll tell you that much. I was always giving all to you…always lending, always wasting myself away…out of some foolish wish that I’d one day receive something in return…Is it too much to ask that you give some of that back? Was it? Will it be? We’ll have to see…for now, I’m all but empty. Because I lent to you.