FUMBLE

There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.

Don’t plant your bad days. They grow into weeks. The weeks grow into months. Before you know it, you got yourself a bad year. Take it from me - choke those little bad days. Choke ‘em down to nothing.

There’s nothing more intimate in life than simply being understood… And understanding someone else.

The problem with fake confidence is that, it’s flimsy. Like your words, and your smile. And when you take a hit, you fall apart. You realize that you were an empty nothing, just a girl who wanted to be so many things.

Sit quietly with yourself and know: you are big enough to hold all this pain inside you, and still have room for love.

I want to devour.

I am half child, half ancient.

The rain all but slams against the windowpanes. It’s almost as loud as the inside of my head, and for a moment I imagine being able to plug my aux cord into the sky and blasting the storm through my headphones. In the end, it’s just another pipe dream. I’ve had my fair share of those lately. What do you do when you feel your hope starting to die? What do you do when you realize that sometimes some things just don’t or won’t get fixed? It’s tiresome to watch the people you care about drive themselves into the ground. It’s painful to want to widen the distance between you in hopes of not being taken down with them. Tell me, what do you do when love isn’t enough?

Your relationship with yourself sets the tone for every other relationship you have.

The hole in my heart is so big, room enough for the sky to pass through holding Jupiter’s hand. I can fill it with a mountain. I can fill it with a name.

Just be whatever you are. Be it fully and constantly. As I see you, you are pure gold. Better, you are of some divine elixir mixed with clay. You don’t need to worry about “getting there.” You are there now, already and forever.