If only this was a story written in words and not real life; if only I could state how my eyes locked back the tears every time they blinked looking at you; if only I could put down the warmth of my hands every time they were wrapped around yours.
The silliest decision was to handle it on my own, to not talk about it and to avoid taking meds. Being in your own hell is bad enough, I can’t imagine being called a whack job for no reason.
You’ll be the prettiest when you love yourself and embrace yourself. You’ll glow when you accept yourself and only then will you find peace.
For me, she is the sister I never had, the one I can share my darkest secrets with, open my book of miseries with, exchange clothes with, and give her everything that she’s ever wanted.
What still doesn’t make sense is that people don’t want daughters and they don’t approve of their son marrying another man, either.
The world is a strange place – it gives you everything you need and then it snatches it all away however it likes.
I can be really dumb sometimes, but it hurts when you point it out.
Again, you’re worth it and so are your tears.
It’s written in the stars, you know. Us. We’re meant to be. Ever since. And like every other thing in life, I’m ruining it too. Why, I don’t know.
So you’re telling me that calling someone fat to their face is offensive, but somehow telling skinny people to start eating is okay?