I have to stop writing about a ghost
I play pretend with my mind and entertain thoughts of happy ever after. Some nights I pretend I’m worth it.
"We are dying from overthinking. We are slowly killing ourselves by thinking about everything. Think. Think. Think. You can never trust the human mind anyway. It’s a death trap."
— Anthony Hopkins (via stay-ocean-minded)
repeat until convinced.
"Never regret thy fall,
O Icarus of the fearless flight
For the greatest tragedy of them all
Is never to feel the burning light."
"We have wasted too much she and I and others like us. Wasted far too much. We have to hold on to what we have left. Fight for it. Cherish it. Try to survive it. Try to love it. I would have followed her. I’m going to hold on to her. I will fight for her. Cherish her. Try to survive myself. Try to survive myself so that I can love her."
— James Frey (via fables-of-the-reconstruction)
I feel okay, but I have to stop crying for every little thing that makes me feel weak.
Everything makes me feel weak.
The morning after is almost always kinder. It’s almost always calmer. It’s a reminder of all the things you did, of all the things you wished to forget, of the wishes and hopes you want to fulfill. It’s that first thirty minutes you spend staring (or at least trying from your hard-to-open puffy eyes) at your bedroom ceiling thinking of all the whys and what ifs, reprocessing whatever kind of dreams and messages occurred in your sleep, checking up your phone just hoping. maybe. maybe.
Maybe what? You get that message that you wanted?
You get that like or favourite you always hoped for?
or by some stroke of luck you see missed calls?
That additional ten minutes you spend in disappointment and regret because of what had transpired, realizing that you can’t spend forever in that state so might as well shed a few more tears. Let it out of your system. Finally concluding that you musn’t, MUSN’T drink that way too much again.
And while you tell yourself that, you know one day it will happen again, and it’ll be okay. Because you know deep inside it’ll get better. Because more than anything, the morning after is a reminder that sometimes you won’t make it, and that is okay. It should be okay. All you’ve gotta do it pick yourself up, dust it off, and be stronger.
I deny having anything to do with that SF post.
I don’t roll that way. and I don’t think that way either.
This is too raw, I can’t even post it anywhere else but here. ALL THE FEELS.
"And then we are confronted with the reality that none of this was ever guaranteed, and we only gave up on the thrill of our dreams because we were too afraid to see what else was possible. We convinced ourselves that we were investing in something, when all we were doing was excusing our cowardice."
"It’s no good trying to get rid of your own aloneness. You’ve got to stick to it all your life. Only at times, at times, the gap will be filled in. At times! But you have to wait for the times. Accept your own aloneness and stick to it, all your life. And then accept the times when the gap is filled in, when they come. But they’ve got to come. You can’t force them."
— D.H. Lawrence, Lady Chatterley’s Lover (via fables-of-the-reconstruction)