BOOK EXCERPT

the iphone you paid for with your father's credit card don't impress me. the Reeboks your uncle got you on your 20th birthday don't impress me. Your stupid starbucks hashtag, your Honda Civic, your fucking zara gucci bling bling don't impress me. tell me about the night when you stayed back at work, after everyone left, working on that one project that would get you that payraise. Tell me about the dark circles from not getting enough sleep, the fatigue, your skull splitting open from the core.. but you keep on pushing coz you have to get that new smartphone for your mother's birthday. Tell me about working through saturdays and the better part of sundays, coz before you left home, you promised your disapproving brute of a father that it's not his damn money that you want, if he wishes to buy your self respect. tell me about your hunger, your ambitions, your rebellious zeal to punch life in the face every time you are brought down to you knees. but most importantly, tell me about your struggle, what you're actually doing about it. other than that, you're just another privileged brat with hashtag hustle on your bio without the slightest fucking credibility to even pay your own phone bill.

“Life has little to do with what goes right, And so much more from what goes wrong. Live. Learn. Repeat.”

i hope you know that when you find what’s meant for you, the confusion will go away; the madness will make sense; the pain inside your heart will vanish and your happy ending will find you.

Because I could watch you for one minute and find a thousand things that I love about you.

Broken: A Love Story

“Sometimes I think of every moment we have ever shared. Sometimes I pick and choose the moments I wish I could burn or tear or rip apart with my shaking hands, and caress the others, cradling the warm, beautiful moments to my chest as I sigh with fond remembrance. But you can’t pick and choose. Because if you could, we wouldn’t be us. But would it be so bad to just forget? To have never loved at all?”

so what? yeah we all fucked up. and if being perfect was a prerequisite for love; we’d all be alone.

tell them about your nightmares, own your quirks. laugh; laugh a little too loud and somewhere i’ll be laughing a little too loud, too. fall apart and together all at once.

one day;

“we all have been there, your ancestors did in one variation or another. this is nothing that you or i have been solely victimized to. if anything, what i learned from the past is, that its normal. it’s bound to happen in one way or another or in one form or another. even when we’re feeling like all of our worst fears came true and there’s no reason for going on, i know this. nothing is eternally damaged. not even you.”

“But that’s you, you are dangerous, you could get me in trouble cause honey you, your love; it’s dangerous.”

“Some write to forget, some to write away their pain or to heal their scars, some just out of love, some of to get rid of boredom. Me? I write to forgive. To forgive you for what you have done. Cause darling, only when you forgive, you truly can move past and start living.”

I used to carve lines into my skin and watch the blood spill out. I used to cry myself to sleep and wake up more tired then I went to bed. I used to rock back and forth in the bathroom waiting for someone to notice how long i was inside. I used to take cold showers to remind myself that I was alive. I used to pray to god that he would let me die so I didn’t have to hurt anymore. Depression is not beautiful.