I’m sorry and thank you. These are the only words that mean anything when you are dying. Once you tear it all away, get to the core of what your life meant, all that is left is gratitude and apologies.
I never got to ask you what you were afraid of, what your dreams were, if you were happy.
You will tell her a poor research about human cells being replaced after seven years so that one day, I will leave no trace on your body.
You will fuck the hurt out of your skin and call it nothing because it is.
Give them the breakup that is real, so they will know, from then on, that the only time it’s over is when it has actually ended.
We’ve all been there. If you haven’t, you probably will at some point. That cute, competent and smart guy at your internship will make you look forward to coming to work every day despite the awaiting horrendous workload and deadlines.
You’ll learn these too.
I think there is nothing more terrible in this world than waiting.
What did you think your future was going to be when you were 13? Did you have dreams? Aspirations?
When your mother loses her mother, you are confronted with a terrifying truth, a truth that will shake you to the core: That one day you will lose your own mother. One day you might bury your own mother.