I don’t get why it’s always better to leave things with anger, hatred and fires in our chests- everything must end in fights. Well after all, being angry and hurting people is easier than being vulnerable. I can’t afford to show my vulnerability.
To see someone commit suicide in you dream, highlights your concerns for that person.
I was eating at a restaurant, sitting outside facing an apartment just a few meters away. Then suddenly, he walked to the balcony of that apartment, climbed out of it, looked at me, said “We could be together” and then he threw himself. I heard people screaming from downstairs, I heard my own screaming, sobs, sobs, screams, sobs, more sobs, never ending sobs.
“Whoever it is you fall in love with for the first time, not just love but be in love with, is the one who will always make you angry, the one you can’t be logical about.”—The Passion by Jeanette Winterson (via thechocolatebrigade)
"If I tell you I miss you , can we always be together ? If I tell you I love you , can I keep you forever ? Pain is temporary , quitting is forever .”
I’m nostalgic that’s all. You know what happens when I think of my dad? I remember that day when we watched Meet Joe Black together and I cried in your arms cause I didn’t want anything to happen to my dad.
When I miss my dad, I don’t know who to talk to, cause no one really knows, no one really understands but you were there, you were there with me through it all. You understood, you’re the only one who really knows.
Oh well, oh well, oh well. This got me looking at our old blogs. Hmmm
Still I wonder how you are/ And what became of all of this/ Did you cry when winter’s hands/ Stole you from that fertile grave?/ Did your mother hold you dear/ To ease the burden of your pain?/ Swallowed out into the light/ Happy birthday
Still I wonder how you are/ And how you ever came to be/ I was nothing but a hole/ You nestled in and fell asleep/ Were you sad when you awoke/Torn away from fertile dreams?/ Didn’t want to wake you up/ I’m still sorry/ Happy birthday
Do you wonder how I am/ What ever became of me?/ Do you envision my thin face/ Where the beaten go to dream?/ I didn’t want to cut the cord/ You suck the life right out of me/ Do you regret choices you’ve made?/ I guess I was a mistake/ I guess I was a mistake/ I guess I was a mistake/ I guess I’m your big mistake/ Well, happy birthday anyway/ Happy birthday
I like to wonder why are we so afraid of stepping out of our comfort zone. Then I realize something, it’s not the stepping out that we’re afraid of, sometimes, we want to step out so badly, or even need to step out, but it’s the unknown that’s holding us back. We’re afraid of the possibility of outcomes, of what will change, of adjusting, of opening up, of what could be.
Then again, it’s the unknown that is actually driving us to want more, to want change. We’d think about the what-ifs and what could have been. Sometimes we think about how life would be now, if we didn’t make the decision that we made, if we took the other choice. What if… Then rush of different feelings will engulf you. Worry, regret, nostalgia, misery, resentment.
I like to think that the choices I didn’t make are moving on, living on it’s own somewhere out there with someone or something that they deserve more than me; it’s true, you don’t deserve someone like me, and I don’t deserve something like you. I hope you’re happy, I hope someday we’ll meet again; after all, you’re ever mine.
“Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back. That’s part of what it means to be alive. But inside our heads - at least that’s where I imagine it - there’s a little room where we store those memories. A room like the stacks in this library. And to understand the workings of our own heart we have to keep on making new reference cards. We have to dust things off every once in awhile, let in fresh air, change the water in the flower vases. In other words, you’ll live forever in your own private library.”—Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami
“Can it really be love if we don’t talk that much, don’t see each other? Isn’t love something that happens between people who spend time together and know each other’s faults and take care of each other?…In the end, I decide that the mark we’ve left on each other is the color and shape of love.”—Sweethearts by Sara Zarr (via bloodisthenewblackk)