DBalls

the forests grow back with patience, not rage;

I suppose one of the reasons we’re all able to continue to exist for our allotted span in this green and blue vale of tears is that there is always, however remote it might seem, the possibility of change.

For small creatures such as we the vastness is bearable only through love.

You ruin your life by tolerating it. At the end of the day you should be excited to be alive. When you settle for anything less than what you innately desire, you destroy the possibility that lives inside of you, and in that way you cheat both yourself and the world of your potential.

Stop cringing — at your future, at your failure, at yourself in the mirror — and stand up and look directly at who you are. Not who you should’ve been, but who you are now. Let that person in. Let her be as mediocre and wrong and shameful and sad and miserable and brilliant and hilarious as she wants to be, because she knows exactly what you need to feel good. She has plans for you. She wants to show you what comes next. She wants to take you into the future you’re dreading and say, “See? You never would’ve imagined this.

To be a real person among real things. My struggle and my danger lie in the fact that I cannot become real, that there are always things that deny me, events that go straight through me, more real than I am and as if I didn’t exist.

“Why should I be sad? I have lost someone who didn’t love me. But they lost someone who loved them.”