Excerpts From Life

At 25, I’m the woman my 15 year old self would’ve loved to be in the company of. The same woman my 20 year old self felt intimidated by. And the very woman my 23 year old self nearly gave up on, thinking she was too far fetched to reach. Growth is a strange and wonderful journey.

You ask people about love and you tell you about heartbreak.

Don't tell me this sucks for you too, a killer can't sue for the bruises on his knuckles or the blood on his shoes.

Loving someone is like moving into a house. At first you fall in love with all the new things, amazed every morning that all this belongs to you, as if fearing that someone would suddenly come rushing in through the door to explain that a terrible mistake had been made, you weren't actually supposed to live in a wonderful place like this. Then over the years the walls become weathered, the wood splinters here and there, and you start to love the house not so much because of all its perfection, but rather for its imperfections. You get to know all the nooks and crannies. How to avoid getting the key caught in the lock when it's cold outside. Which of the floorboards flex slightly when one steps on them or exactly how to open the wardrobe doors without them creaking. These are the little secrets that make it your home.

Whose name made you drink enough to forget your own?

You know when you're driving and it's pouring down rain, you drive under a bridge and everything stops. Everything goes silent and it's almost peaceful. Then you finally get out from under the bridge, and everything hits you a little harder than before. You were my bridge.

One day you’ll meet a girl who will talk about the world as if she’s lived a thousand lives and she’ll see things in such a different perspective that you’ll question everything you know. She’ll describe things in words you’ve never heard but they sound so beautiful coming out of her mouth that you’ll look them up and start using them yourself. She’ll be curious and have the wonder of a child and the phrase “curiosity killed the cat” will take on a new meaning. When people tell her things she doesn’t want to hear and it makes her heart break in half so you end up holding her and picking up the pieces. She’ll bring out a passion in you that no one knew you had and she’ll make you feel something you’ve never felt. She’ll hide her face when you see her with her hair up and no makeup and your voice will catch in your throats because she looks like the most beautiful woman in the world. She’ll act a little crazy and ignite a fire in your bones that burns so bad it makes you want to run for your life. Don’t. Don’t you fucking dare. Stare at her even if she’s so bright it burns, hold her close even though you’re terrified that if you touch her the wrong way she’ll break. Kiss her so hard that you see stars, trace the scars that litter her body, don’t let her be ashamed. She makes you feel vulnerable, and it will scare the living hell out of you. You’re not used to being out of control, let the new experience teach you lessons. It won’t make you a hero to leave because you think you’ll break her, you are doing her no favors by killing something that hasn’t yet been brought to life. So do not run. Do not run away from what scares you because you have the potential to be so much more than a coward who breaks her heart. Love her for as long as the universe allows, because if you don’t I swear you’ll regret it.

He called her beautiful as if it were her name. As if it was the single thing needed for a person to distinguish her in a line up of women. As if it summerized her entire existence.

Act my age? What the fuck is that, "act my age"? What do I care how old I am? The ocean is old as fuck. It will still drown your ass with vigor.

It took nine months to form your heart, do not let anyone break it in 15 seconds

He was a man of black and white. And she was color. All the color he had ever known.

You're right. Maybe 99 out of 100 people will disappoint you. But I think you find the magic of the world in that 1% margin of error.

I love thunderstorms. Because sometimes nature can’t handle the pressure. Because sometimes the sky explodes.

Loving you was the most exquisite form of self destruction.

You speak so highly of him,” he said to her, “Why do you do that? Why do you speak of him as if he put the stars in the sky when he did nothing but break you so god damn much that the cracks in your heart were practically visible through your eyes.” She laughed, “That’s the thing about love, isn’t it? You’ll let them get away with murder, even if it’s your own.

I know I'm not easy to love. I'm a chronic over-thinker, I overreact more than I should... and every once in a while, I might be a little insecure. But if I am in love with you, I can promise you wholeheartedly that you will be loved with so much passion and intensity that you'll forget what life felt like before I came along. You will always have someone in your corner. Maybe I'm not the best at being loved - but I like to think in pretty good at loving.