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“I know it’s unfashionable, but I think there’s something worthwhile in asking someone to stay. In laying down your pride and saying, “you know what? my ego doesn’t matter anymore, because I’d rather lose an argument than lose you.” There is something in saying “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you close and I won’t let go.” If you love somebody so much that you’re willing to devote hours of your life every day to talk to them, to thinking about the things that they said, buying cute presents or making them food, or listening to entire albums that you know they love, is it really so difficult to swallow your pride and say “no, I can’t watch you leave. Stay. I want you to stay.” Is it really so impossible to cast aside your stubbornness; your, “leave if you want to, I won’t stand in your way” and replace it with honesty? Because if the truth is you want to beg, you want to cry, you want to say “goddamnit I have never ever felt this way about another person and I know if you leave you’ll leave behind an empty mess,” then that’s love, right? Some people are meant to go. It doesn’t matter what you say, they’ll be on the next train out of town. But some people are waiting for you to say you care too much to let them leave in silence. And if you let them go make sure you do it consciously. Pride means nothing in the long run.”

how dare you come back with your sweet words and poisonous touch after you told everyone you took something precious from me like a thief gleeful about his successful robbery as if it wasn’t something willingly given as if it wasn’t a gift you aren’t the person i thought you were and i regret letting you into my bed

I don’t want to lose you.’ His voice almost a whisper. Seeing his haggard expression, she took his hand and squeezed it, then reluctantly let it go. She could feel the tears again, and she fought them back. ‘But you don’t want to keep me, either, do you?’ To that, he had no response.

When he says He doesn’t love you anymore, Roll your shoulders back And look him in the eye Even when it feels like your ribs Are breaking inward, like spider legs. When he digs up old aches That he swore he forgave you for, Smile And ask him why he didn’t leave you sooner. Ignore the way the words feel like sandpaper Running all the way up your throat to your mouth. When he blames you For mistakes that wear his face, Do not scream. Do not cry. Tell him that there are boys Who would be proud to say they’d loved you. Tell him that in two years You won’t even remember his name And don’t let him see the way you can taste your own lie. When he leaves Ignore the howling in your blood And do not get up after him. Not even to lock the door. Do not, do not Do not. Smell his shirts when you box them up To give them back. Not one. Swear off dating when you realize You’re chasing ghosts that wear his smile. It’s okay to cry over him. It’s even okay to forgive him. But do not go back to him. If he did not know how to love you the first time, He won’t know how to do it the next.

“I think I’ll always be a romantic, you know? Someone could completely rip out my heart and walk away and I’d still be willing to believe in love again. They say hope breeds eternal misery, but really without hope, what else have we got?”

“Every person I’ve ever loved has some how become toxic to me. A living, breathing reminder of why I was always better off alone. I love too hard, too quickly and then sometimes I don’t love enough. I guess I’m just bad at love.”

I could not tell you if I loved you the first moment I saw you, or if it was the second or third or fourth. But I remember the first moment I looked at you walking toward me and realized that somehow the rest of the world seemed to vanish when I was with you.

“There are some things about myself I can’t explain to anyone. There are some things I don’t understand at all. I can’t tell what I think about things or what I’m after. I don’t know what my strengths are or what I’m supposed to do about them. But if I start thinking about these things in too much detail the whole thing gets scary. And if I get scared I can only think about myself. I become really self-centered, and without meaning to, I hurt people. So I’m not such a wonderful human being.”

Having a low opinion of yourself is not modesty. It’s self-destruction.

你一世都不會明白, you will never understand, 因為你不是我。 because you’re not me.

When he says He doesn’t love you anymore, Roll your shoulders back And look him in the eye Even when it feels like your ribs Are breaking inward, like spider legs. When he digs up old aches That he swore he forgave you for, Smile And ask him why he didn’t leave you sooner. Ignore the way the words feel like sandpaper Running all the way up your throat to your mouth. When he blames you For mistakes that wear his face, Do not scream. Do not cry. Tell him that there are boys Who would be proud to say they’d loved you. Tell him that in two years You won’t even remember his name And don’t let him see the way you can taste your own lie. When he leaves Ignore the howling in your blood And do not get up after him. Not even to lock the door. Do not, do not Do not. Smell his shirts when you box them up To give them back. Not one. Swear off dating when you realize You’re chasing ghosts that wear his smile. It’s okay to cry over him. It’s even okay to forgive him. But do not go back to him. If he did not know how to love you the first time, He won’t know how to do it the next.

I hope you think of me when she is pressing her lips against yours for the first time. I hope it brings you back to the time when I was in her position and you had yet to become familiar with how it feels to be loved by someone who you can actually touch and get away with the feeling after. I hope you think of me when you take her to your favorite places for the first time. When you tell her about your childhood memories of being too young to know that it would end faster than you thought. When you look at her after telling her about your embarrassing adolescence, I hope you think of me and how I only listened, while she is just waiting to talk and to top anything that has happened to you. When you bring her home to meet your parents, I hope you think about the first time your mother and I bonded over Beatle records and red wine when she tells your mother that she’s never heard of the Beatles, and that red wine gives her a headache. I hope you think of me when you see the disconnect in your mothers eyes from future thoughts of how it’s going to be harder than she thought to replace me in her heart with this new woman who doesn’t understand how to share others interests who have been through it all. When you make love to her for the first time, I hope you think of me. I hope you see my skin inside of her curves, and I hope you hear me moaning your name while she is silently waiting for it to be over so she can go home and call her friends to tell them about the way you pant like a dog when all you want is to be told that you look beautiful at your most vulnerable. I hope you think of me when you think of her because I want you to feel how I felt when you ended things too quickly between us because you thought that I deserved more, when really, what I deserved was your dedication and ideas of forever. I hope you think of me while your at the end of your bed, face in your hands, explaining to her why you can’t attach yourself to people, and that it’s not her but it’s you. It’s always been you, and no amount of new lovers will ever be able to change that trait about yourself. I loved you even when you didn’t know what being loved meant, and I will still love you when she tells you that she never loved you to begin with.