No amount of physical beauty will ever be as valuable as a beautiful heart.

I guess the only time most people think about injustice is when it happens to them.

And I cried because
it was the best thing I ever had
and I lost it

"I’m still writing about you and you haven’t read a word

I don’t like this, I actually hate this 

because every hello ends with goodbye
I’ll write my way back to you



Sometimes suffering is just suffering. It doesn’t make you stronger. It doesn’t build character. It only hurts.

In my dream I know I am falling. But there is no up or down, no walls or sides or ceilings, just the sensation of cold and darkness everywhere. I am so scared I could scream. But when I open my mouth, nothing happens. And I wonder if you fall forever and never touch down, is it really still falling?

Sometimes, when it’s raining, I think about you. I think about you all the way over there, with all that ocean and all those years between us. I think about if you’re doing well, what your bedroom looks like, if you enjoy your job. I think about the times when there wasn’t any ocean between us and my time was your time. I think about when I knew the answers about you, because they were my answers as much as they were yours. Sometimes, when it’s raining, I wonder if it’s raining where you are too.

Tell me how much longer I need to wait for the answer I already know, to the question neither of us
want to ask

For so long, I felt like a walking open wound everywhere I went.

It seemed like you could know me. Like you could understand anything I told you. And the more we spoke, I knew why. The same things excited us. The same things concerned us. I wanted to tell you everything. And that hurt because some things were too scary. Some things even I didn’t understand. How could I tell someone—someone I was really talking to for the first time—everything I was thinking?

Sooner or later, you’ll learn that the only thing that lasts is love.

I saw you today.
I realized how far apart we’ve grown.
I know I should ask you how you’re doing,
but I can’t. I wish I could.
It occurred to me that we’re strangers now.
You don’t know me anymore,
much less want to.
Everything is so different now.

And what if I really thought some miracle would see us through? But what if the miracle was even getting one moment with you?

I sometimes think I enjoy suffering. But the truth is I would prefer something else.

I need a change from this burn out scene. Another time, another place, another everything.

Nobody ever gets to see what could have been.

Reading your words, what you wrote, how you were lonely sometimes and afraid, but always brave; the way you saw the world, it’s colors and textures and sounds, I felt—I felt the way you thought, hoped, felt, dreamed. I felt I was dreaming and thinking and feeling with you. I dreamed what you dreamed, wanted what you wanted—and then I realized that truly I just waned you.

You fall in love with a person because your subconscious likes something about their subconscious, and it isn’t until much later that you discover that the thing your subconscious liked was the fact that this person was built to hurt you in precisely the way you most fear.

You have no idea. No idea of what I feel about you. Of how much I care about you. Of how much I think you’re amazing and beautiful. Of what I think we could become. Of how much you make me happy and sad at the same time. Of how much you make me feel so alive. Of the butterfly riot that takes place in my stomach when you talk to me. of how much you make me worry and scared. You have no idea.

I want you to tell me about every person you’ve ever been in love with. Tell me why you loved them, then tell me why they loved you. Tell me about a day in your life you didn’t think you’d live through. Tell me what the word “home” means to you and tell me in a way that I’ll know your mothers name just by the way you describe your bed room when you were 8. See, I wanna know the first time you felt the weight of hate and if that day still trembles beneath your bones. Do you prefer to play in puddles of rain or bounce in the bellies of snow? And if you were to build a snowman, would you rip two branches from a tree to build your snowman arms? Or would you leave the snowman armless for the sake of being harmless to the tree? And if you would, would you notice how that tree weeps for you because your snowman has no arms to hug you every time you kiss him on the cheek? Do you kiss your friends on the cheek? Do you sleep beside them when they’re sad, even if it makes your lover mad? Do you think that anger is a sincere emotion or just the timid motion of a fragile heart trying to beat away its pain? See, I wanna know what you think of your first name. And if you often lie awake at night and imagine your mothers joy when she spoke it for the very first time. I want you tell me all the ways you’ve been unkind. Tell me all the ways you’ve been cruel.

I wish our hearts were made of something stronger than glass.

It is not your memories which haunt you. It is not what you have written down. It is what you have forgotten, what you must forget. What you must go on forgetting all your life.

The trouble is, you think you have time.

You know, if you really like someone, I think that you should keep them in your prayers. Even though the person might be impossible for you to be with.

His eyes were always streaming tears, like blood from a wound that can never heal

‘Love.’ Why I don’t like the word is that it means too much to me, far more than you can understand.

And it hurts so much to want something you can’t have.

I never knew how badly it could hurt to lose someone who was never really mine.

Sometimes, someone says something really small and it just fits into this empty place in your heart.

Stupid dreams. Even the good ones are bad, because they remind you how poorly reality measures up.

I will always deep down have some type of emotional feeling towards you. This feeing will most likely be love.

And maybe you don’t go to hell for the things you do. Maybe you go to hell for the things you don’t do.

Someday. That’s a dangerous word. It’s really just a code for ‘never

You cannot save people, you can only love them.

Sometimes I wish that I was the weather, you’d bring me up in conversation forever. And when it rained, I’d be the talk of the day.

I don’t know if I’ll ever get you out of my system, not completely. I have this feeling. That you’ll always be there. Here.

This is a difficult balance, telling the truth: how much to share, how much to keep, which truths will wound but not ruin, which will cut too deep to heal.

I hunger for your taste, your smell, the feel of your soul touching mine.

It’s just how it is sometimes. Things hurt, and they hurt for a long time.

There are years that ask questions and years that answer.

The wounded recognized the wounded.

I was never really insane except upon occasions when my heart was touched.

I know I’m going to see you soon. I’m going to see you and you’re going to completely, pointedly ignore me. And I’m going to feel a sharp pain in my chest, and it’s going to knock the wind out of me. I’m going to struggle not to notice you in my peripheral vision. I might just lose all the progress I’ve made. I know it’s going to hurt. But just maybe it’ll hurt you more.

Everything has been figured out, except how to live.

I’m glad to have my disappointment which is better than having nothing.

I get it now. I get it. The things you hope for the most are the things that destroy you in the end.

What becomes of words when they never find the eyes they were written for?

I want you always to remember me. Will you remember that I existed, and that I stood next to you here like this?

You think you know someone. But mostly, you just know what you want to know.

Often it is the most deserving people who cannot help loving those who destroy them.

My friends don’t seem to be friends at all but people whose phone numbers I haven’t lost.

I was not wounded in any part of my body, but I had never experienced such intense pain, such a ripping of the nerves, such an ache of the heart.

If you can wake up in a different place. If you can wake up in a different time. Why can’t you wake up as a different person?

I tell myself that I know you, and then when I think about it, I realize that I don’t.

Sometimes you imagine that everything could have been different for you, that if only you had gone right one day when you chose to go left, you would be living a life you could never have anticipated. But at other times you think there was no other way forward—that you were always bound to end up exactly where you have.

Love is about finding courage inside of you that you didn’t even know was there.

You can erase someone from your mind. 
Getting them out of your heart is another story.

No one has ever done anything so bad that they can’t be forgiven

Sometimes people let the same problem make them miserable for years when they could just say, “So what.” That’s one of my favorite things to say. “So what.

People don’t just disappear. Other people just stop looking for them.

People change. You got happier, I got sadder and I really don’t know which is more important.

Sometimes we’d never know what’s wrong without the pain. Sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same.

I couldn’t look at you and breathe at the same time.

Caring is not a mistake. But expecting someone to give back in return is wrong.

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