“There comes a point when talking about it doesn’t make you feel better anymore. You just live with your mouth closed and your walls up and your heart hidden because the last time you opened up to somebody they tore you up and then left. And now you’re scared of being vulnerable and soft because you bruise like a peach, but you’re becoming so cold and stony and hard. You won’t let anyone hold your hand because you’re scared that they’ll let go. You won’t let anyone touch you because you’re afraid of getting burned. You won’t let anyone kiss you because you’re terrified of getting addicted to the taste of their mouth. And every time somebody asks you if you’re okay, you say yes without looking into their eyes because you think that you have to. You think that your pain isn’t worth the words or the time or the attention. And that makes me so, so sad.”

““He’s not mine,” she said. “And I don’t think he ever will be.” “And maybe that’s a good thing because things are never how you imagine and having expectations only ever sets you up for disappointment.” “But I can’t help but wonder what lying in his arms would be like,” she told the sky, “I can’t help but imagine being close enough to feel his breath on mine and his skin on my skin.” She closed her eyes and felt the wind run it’s fingers through her hair, and imagined he was beside her. “He’s going to kill me you know,” she whispered to the moon,“he’s going to commit murder and the worst part is he won’t even know it.””

“She was also the most lonely and sad. She was a genius of sadness — immersing herself in it, separating its numerous strands, appreciating its subtle nuances. She was a prism through which sadness could be divided into its infinite spectrum. She was like a drowning person, flailing, reaching for anything that might save her. She addressed her world honestly, albeit hesitant at times, searching for something deserving of the volumes of love she knew she had within her.”

I never realized what a big deal that was. How amazing it is to find someone who wants to hear about all the things that go on in your head.

I’m someone who hardly ever lets their feelings out, who never talks about anything that is going on in their mind. I’m drowning in my own thoughts, emotions, I can always feel it, my mind is crowded, loaded with thoughts. I feel consumed. I’m always in a fight with my mind, I tell myself to stop stressing over everything, to stop thinking too much, to stop letting everything and everyone destroy me, but then I can’t. I’m too messed up to even try and think properly so I can finally be able to fix myself. And I know no one can fix me except myself. I believe there’s one thing inside me that is going to be both - the end of this, and the beginning of something magical, and I know, someday, I am going to figure it out.