You cannot change your journey if you are unwilling to move at all.
We can either try to change everything or just make the most of whatever time we have.
Love changes what is probable and makes unlikely things possible.
Is falling in love with someone’s story the same thing as falling in love with the person himself?
Why are some things easier to write than say?
It’s been so long since I’ve let myself feel anger that I don’t just feel it. It covers my mouth and I swallow it down, the taste sharp and metal as though I’m gnawing through foilware.
Everything I dream is something simple and plain and everyday. That’s how I know they are dreams. Because the simple and plain and everyday things are the ones that we can never have.
Remembering is part of thinking, but not all of it.
How can we appreciate anything fully when overwhelmed with too much?
Once you want something, everything changes. Now I want everything. More and more and more.
It’s not knowing how to write that makes you interesting, it’s what you write.
Some things are created to be together.
Red is the first color of spring. It’s the real color of rebirth. Of beginning.
I wonder if I will ever have the strength to hold onto something. Or if I will always be someone who destroys.
Now that I’ve found the way to fly, which direction should I go into the night?
This is a difficult balance, telling the truth: how much to share, how much to keep, which truths will wound but not ruin, which will cut too deep to heal.
I think of how perhaps the best way to fly would be with hands full of earth, so you always remember where you came from.
It is one thing to make a choice and it is another thing to never have the chance.
We could have been happy. I know that, and it is perhaps the hardest thing to know.
I love. The most reckless thing of all.