Of all the things that have happened tonight, that’s what affects me most. The way he so effortlessly drops his bags to catch her. I don’t have much reference since Neil was my one serious boyfriend, though I know he never would have dropped his bags to catch me lest something broke. That causes an ache deep in my chest. To know that there are guys willing to drop their shopping bags to catch their girl. And I want someone to love me that effortlessly.
You are worth loving. They just don’t have any love to give. Forgive them, Margo.
But you are very good at passion. And if you have enough passion, you can almost learn to do anything well.
I cannot hate the dream; the dream woke me up.
No one wants to carry someone when they’re heavy from life. I read a book about that once. A bunch of drivel about two people who kept coming back to each other. The lead male says that to the girl he keeps letting get away. I had to put the book down. No one wants to carry someone when they’re heavy from life. It’s a concept smart authors feed to their readers. It’s slow poison; you make them believe it’s real, and it keeps them coming back for more. Love is cocaine.
I’d do it again just to show you I’d do it.
Do we create our own heroes and then kill them with the truth?
But the truth of the matter – as I’ve come to understand it – is that people will ignore every warning sign when blinded by their thirst for something. It’s better to not be thirsty.
Embrace the lows so that you can more effectively enjoy the highs.
We are all pretenders in life, finding a patch of humanity that we relate to, and then embrace it.
My mother is beautiful in the same way that a storm is beautiful. She is wild and destructive, and in the middle of her fury you feel her God given right to destroy.
People – our dads, our moms, our friends – they are so broken they don’t even know that most of what they do reflects that brokenness. They just hurt whoever is in their wake. They don’t sit and think about what their hurt is doing to us. Pain makes humans selfish. Blocked off. Focused inward instead of outward.
No one tells you that it hurts this much to be a grown-up. That people are so complicated they end up hurting each other to self preserve.
I wondered if someone who had fire in their soul would have smoke coming out of their mouth.
Come back to me. Come back. Come.
Art is the blood that comes from a wound. You can’t let it scab; let it keep bleeding. Let it bleed until you have enough blood to paint with.
You can love someone your whole life and not know why. You can even live with it.
It never passes, and it never pauses. It’s like a fist clutched around my heart, squeezing all day long.
Then I feel more desperate. People die. We are not permanent. We have to hurry if we want things.
Darkness is all I’ll ever know; maybe the key is to make poetry out of it.