I’ve always protected myself when it comes to love. And maybe that’s the problem. By not letting myself get hurt now, it ripples into much bigger pain later.

I felt him in everything. And what I felt was too deep.

We always see our worst selves. Our most vulnerable selves. We need someone else to get close enough to tell us we’re wrong. Someone we trust.

The moon knows all of her secrets, a light that keeps her wide awake.

The greatest lessons you will ever learn; how to love someone without trying to own or belong to them, and how to let go gracefully of the things and the people that hurt you.

And for a second, it looked like they were in love. So I captured it, I took a photo so blurry, so fuzzy that not much could be seen. But the two of them, that’s all anyone needed to see. I took it, so that if one day they ever denied being in love, I could pull that photo from the depths, and perhaps they too would realize, that even if just for a second, they were in love, and unbearably so.

I now know that what I feel for you is a crime.

You know you’re in love with somebody when you wake up next to them, comfortable despite your breath smelling like the week-old water at the bottom of a vase, when you are terribly excited to see them, to talk to them again, having missed them after all that sleep.

I think there are odder, deeper, more angular thoughts in your mind than you have yet let come out.

I’m going slower this time, every word having meaning. the sun keeps shining and each day I keep feeling more and more alive. I am not here to start wars anymore, I just want to make peace with the shaky waters in my own mind. I’m not scared of being by myself, I’m not scared of being. I want to move through the winding rivers and find my place within the mountains. I want to keep being.

I still get very high and very low in life. Daily. But I’ve finally accepted the fact that sensitive is just how I was made, that I don’t have to hide it and I don’t have to fix it. I’m not broken.

I often feel like I want to think something but I can’t find the language that coincides with the thought, so it remains felt, not thought. Sometimes I feel like I’m thinking in Swedish without knowing Swedish.

There’s nothing wrong with boys wanting to be ballerinas and girls wanting to play football. What is wrong, however, is when you stand in the way of a child’s dreams.