It was too beautiful that morning. Too peaceful. Too eerily quiet and reflective.
You’ve coasted along so long, assuming that all tasteless waters of life are normal. You forgot that if you jumped high enough or pulled back from the tide, you would feel different.
I told you love didn’t exist in my life. I had places to go and you couldn’t come with. You were okay with that. Maybe I shouldn’t have been.
I am everything a friend shouldn’t be.
With hundreds of movies on Netflix, why watch Tiger King when you can instead find something that doesn’t feel like wasted time?
Please don’t call me for a while. I need space.
When you gaze into her eyes, you’ll know. You won’t question, you won’t push, you won’t be frustrated. It will be so easy, transparent—everything we were not.
When you rush love, when you rush the time it takes to recover from previous heartbreaks and failures, you’re disservicing your ability to heal.
I love that you know, after all these years, that I refuse to stop believing in love.
What is a life without feeling too much, caring too much, hoping too much? Is that even a life at all?