I used to think that maybe they were cruel, those four words he spoke aloud on that last day. “I want to die.” But they weren’t cruel, they were confession. They were a hand reached out, one waiting to be grasped with loving firmness.
We’re all made up of deep rooted insecurities; that’s just a part of being a woman in the society that’s raised us. But let’s fight to change that.
How can this person ever truly love me when I can’t even love myself?
Behind every successful person is a path at least partly cemented with regret for what could have been, but ultimately never came to be because of a mistake that was made.
Don’t wilt, but bloom.
We need to start reminding ourselves, teaching each other, that endings are always going to happen. But that with endings come rebirths.
If something is your dream, it is always worth pursuing.
You’ll eventually find love that sticks, love that is mutual and promising. But take your time. Not everyone finds the love that finally feels right while they’re in their twenties.
Your own curiosity does not give you the right to weigh in on my sexuality. In any way. Ever.
Because love is what cements hope and passion into the space between two people, is what is able to fulfill realized expectations—ones of dedication and faithfulness and patience.