just a broken g.

“I still look back on those evenings we spent together as the happiest part of my life, and I wanted it to go on forever.”

“And even if we never talk again, please remember that I’m forever changed by who you are and what you meant to me.”

I’d like it if you stayed.

“I mustn’t look at you too much, or I won’t be able to take my eyes off you at all.”

“People have a hard time letting go of their suffering. Out of a fear of the unknown, they prefer suffering that is familiar.”

“I want all of you, forever, you and me, everyday.”

“If you’re struggling and your people are just sitting there watching you struggle, they’re not your people.”

“I don’t want you to think I got through this undamaged, okay? But I’m learning to live with it. Because otherwise, the damage is all you are.”

sometimes i feel more like a house than a person with the way i decorate my body and my face to hide damaged walls and empty spaces; my heart is more like a door with changed locks because i've made multiple keys for people who walked all over me with filthy shoes, people who said they could live here, but they were just passing through. i hope my eyes are not windows, because i fear what the world might see—all of my flaws and insecurities on display like a coffee table or some shoddy love seat. sometimes i swear i left the oven on and forgot because my mind feels like a smoke detector with the way my apprehension never calms. i smell smoke, but i can't see it; i'm told things are never as bad as i make them, but every wildfire starts with a spark and it's easy to burn when you're a house made of straw.