justanexistentialist

Just like our life, hmm? We appear and we disappear. And we are so important to some, but we are just passing through.

“and we come back to the same question in the end, what am i so angry about? and why, why does this uncertainty consume me so? i would like to know because i’m turning into someone i’m not sure of anymore and that’s worse than anger and fear put together.”

“Sometimes you are going to miss a person who was an almost to you. And feel sad because there is no name for that feeling. You just feel it in a way that makes you tired to your very bones.”

“Another text, sent. Don’t worry, I reason, it’s just empty interest. Except, empty interest isn’t doing either of us any favors. The sooner I stop keeping up the appearance that I’m ok being supportive and encouraging without seeing that in return, the better. You only miss what you don’t have and right now I’m giving you parts of myself you have not earned for a long time. It’s time you learned what missing that feels like.”

“I’ve been trying to swim less in alcohol lately because I want to actually feel. I’m tired of making my mind numb to the truth. I’m tired of making myself dizzy so that I can stand being around people who put my heart at war with sadness. For once, I want to exist and swim in bettering myself.”

“22 years old, afraid to grow up, searching to be held in a mother’s arms, but I cannot give him that.”

“Three months ago our bodies were so tangled up that our movements became as one but now we couldn’t even get near each other.”

“I think the hardest thing in the world is having to admit to yourself that you’re the one to blame for everything that’s wrong with your life. But the reason that it’s the hardest thing in the world is because it’s also the scariest thing in the world—because people don’t tend to live very long after they finally realize that the call is coming from inside the house.”

“City light consciousness; window mirror reflections; you do not know how much I miss the way your sleeves hang oversized upon your knuckles, or rather you do not know how much I long to hold them again.”

“I once met a girl whose words were laced with cigarettes and Johnnie Walker. She told me that boys are a forest fire that will always linger. “They will tell you they love you, but give it a few months or so, and they’ll extinguish the fire they put in you just to burn someone else.” she said.”

“We hold on so tightly, because we’re terrified of loss. We hold on till our hands bleed. And in that self-shattering persistence, we fail to see the answer: Just let go.”