The words we bring to life on paper or from our lips, the timid and nervous confessions, the brittle anger that slips from our tongue, the lines of thanks, the good and the bad and the honest—this is what makes us real. This is what makes us connect to one another. This is what changes our lives.
You think you have the power to cure things. Like addiction or disease or irrational fears. (PSA: You can’t.)
I don’t want our love to be comfortable. For us to describe ourselves as fine, good, happy. Life is too short for good, fine, and happy.
Because you’ll never have to wonder where she is. (She’s right next to you.)
He doesn’t just make you feel comfortable.
To feel means that you are experiencing life. It means that you are allowing yourself to be a real person. A person with faults and flaws, expectations and emotions. A person that is capable of loving and forgiving, breaking and rebuilding, again and again.
If you find yourself wishing for someone else. If your days feel empty, like something’s missing, if you know that this woman isn’t who you’d want to marry one day, then let her go.
People so often confuse vulnerability with weakness. They believe that being vulnerable is being naïve, is standing on a ledge, closing your eyes, and falling, blindly into people and relationships. But what they don’t understand, is that being vulnerable is the strongest thing you can be.
You can be content with food, water, love, and exercise. Everything else is an unnecessary luxury.
I’m over the passive aggressive posts, the calculated captions, and the pictures of every single insignificant moment or memory, just for it to mean something. Just for it to be validated by someone else. Just for the 495 Instagram followers to tap their screen twice then move on.