“If you’re reading this, if there’s air in your lungs on this November day, then there is still hope for you. Your story is still going. And maybe some things are true for all of us. Perhaps we all relate to pain. Perhaps we all relate to fear and loss and questions. And perhaps we all deserve to be honest, all deserve whatever help we need. Our stories are all so many things: Heavy and light. Beautiful and difficult. Hopeful and uncertain. But our stories aren’t finished yet. There is still time, for things to heal and change and grow. There is still time to be surprised. We are still going, you and I. We are stories still going.”—
“You don’t destroy the person you love. What you did to me, wasn’t love. Love is knowing their freckles and reading their favourite books because it meant something to them and you want to understand what it was. Loving someone is finding traces of them everywhere even if they weren’t planted. You will always be the brightest star now. You will always be Vegas skies and country roads and family guy and sleeping with the windows open and this stupid tattoo on my arm and bosco sticks with Capri Sun and camel menthol silvers and talking in your sleep and lazy Monday mornings and you will always be who I reach for in the middle of the nite. Love is opening up and looking in and accepting and understanding. Love is not walking out on your sobbing, terrified girlfriend and love is not alterior motives and love is not rejection and fear and stubbornness. I loved you. I traced your hips and kissed your shoulders while you slept and I read things you could relate to in order to understand and I saw you in every piece of my day. I was crazy, passionate, in love with you. And I was the 3 year span you wanted to be with someone else.”—
You know, I would never actually say this- But I always think about what you said to me. I remember disagreeing with you so much to point where I was crying but you didn’t know I was. You had no idea. You had no idea I was on the floor of my bathroom crying, wishing that every text message was a lie.
but then I started to think about why you were right
you brought all the faults in me out into the open
painted an open canvas of all my cruelties and annuisances and faults.
Do I really want to be with someone that makes me feel like a clown
But I was. I still feel like I am. it’s the next day. It’s still November 1st right?