Lifestyle

i killed myself once. i told the mirror i hated what i saw. i told the pen i hated what i wrote. i told my dreams that they were all obscene. i told my love that it didn’t belong, and i told my heart that it functioned all wrong. but i am still alive, hoping one day the mirror will forgive me, that one day the pen will come back home, that some day my dreams will regain power, that soon my love will engulf me whole, that my heart will one day begin to warm again. i killed myself once. but i got a second chance, to make amends with myself. to make sure that the next time i die, it’ll be after a life well lived, and that’s the way i hope to go.

When things break, it’s not the actual breaking that prevents them from getting back together again. It’s because a little piece gets lost - the two remaining ends couldn’t fit together even if they wanted to. The whole shape has changed.

Book of the day: All The Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr

Maybe love is a lot simpler than the complications of confusing thoughts and wild emotions everyone dreams about. Maybe love is as simple as finding someone that feels like home.

After you left, it was like everything just shattered to pieces

how do you know if you're in love and not just infatuated?

The minute that he told me: “I love you.” My heart cracked in half, and butterflies emerged from every maroon crevice. My lips glistened with joy, and my fingers quivered with electric excitement. Suddenly, I was lovable. After a decade of self loathing, he made me lovable. So when he left, I stood alone with the rain drenching my shoulders. My heart cracked open, and nothing but dust bunnies spilled over the edges. And it was in that moment, that I finally told myself: “I love you.” “I love you.” “I fucking love you.” I’d always been a woman searching for love. However, the love I needed did not lay in the hands of that boy. Instead, the love I needed most was my own. It was always right there. Always. I just never knew how to grab it.