We love those who fit the peculiar voids within us, our hollow wounds. We love to fill the spaces the old loves left behind

I said never apologize for how you feel. No one can control how they feel. The sun doesn’t apologize for being the sun. The rain doesn’t say sorry for falling. Feelings just are. 


We’re all lonely for something we don’t know we’re lonely for. How else to explain the curious feeling that goes around feeling like missing somebody we’ve never even met? 

And when someone takes my picture and they tell me to smile, I still think of you.

Sometimes I think the spaces between the stars are filled with your silence.

And nobody felt sad as long as we could postpone tomorrow with more nostalgia. 

Maybe it meant something. Maybe not, in the long run, but no explanation, no mix of words or music or memories can touch that sense of knowing that you were there and alive in that corner of time and the world. Whatever it meant. 

 You can be separate from a thing and still care about it.

And there was nothing to do except to wait and to hurt. 


Something still exists as long as there’s someone around to remember it, right? 


Yet you still value the things you’ve lost the most. Because the things you’ve lost are still perfect in your head. They never rusted. They never broke. They are made of the memories you once had, which only grow rosier and brighter, day by day. They are made of the dreams of how wonderful things could have been and must never suffer the indignity of actually still existing. Of being real. Of having flaws. Of breaking and deteriorating. Only the things you no longer have will always be perfect. 

Memories begin to creep forward from hidden corners of your mind. Passing disappointments. Lost chances and lost causes. Heartbreaks and pain and desolate, horrible loneliness. Sorrows you thought long forgotten mingle with still-fresh wounds. 

There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds. 


Can you hate someone for what they have done, but still love them for whom they had been? 


I can take a lot of pain without falling apart. I’ve had to learn to do that. But it was hard, today, to keep peddling and keep up with the others when just about everyone I saw made me feel worse and worse. 

In Greek, “nostalgia” literally means “the pain from an old wound”. It’s a twinge in your heart, far more powerful than memory alone. This device isn’t a spaceship, it’s a time machine. It goes backwards and forwards, it takes us to a place where we ache to go again. 

I was always holding onto people, and they were always leaving. 


And then you try to remember at what point it all began. And you discover it started before you thought. Long before. And at that moment you realize things happen once. And no matter how hard you try, you’ll never feel the same again. 

There are certain people who come into your life, and leave a mark… Their place in your heart is tender; a bruise of longing, a pulse of unfinished business. Just hearing their names pushes and pulls at you in a hundred ways, and when you try to define those hundred ways, describe them even to yourself, words are useless. 

I know what it’s like to squander all your hours and all your tears and all your heart on something which turns out to be… nothing. 

I looked at everyone and wondered where they came from, and who they missed, and what they were sorry for.

And now I have to stop. Because every time I remember this, I have to cry a little by myself. I don’t know why something that made me so happy then feels so sad now. Maybe that is the way it is with the best memories. 


The truth was, history repeated itself on a daily basis; mistakes were made over and over. People were haunted by what they had done, and by what they hadn’t had time to do. 


I know it is a bad thing to break a promise, but I think now that it is a worse thing to let a promise break you. 

But if you knew you might not be able to see it again tomorrow, everything would suddenly become special and precious, wouldn’t it? 

She was the kind of person who took care of things by herself. She’d never ask anybody for advice or help. It wasn’t a matter of pride, I think. She just did what seemed natural to her. 

There’s nothing worse than waiting and not knowing what’ll happen to you. Your own imagination can be crueler than any captor.

Just because you didn’t speak the facts out loud didn’t erase their existence. Silence was just a quieter way to lie. 

If only we could see the endless string of consequences that result from our smallest actions. But we can’t know better until knowing better is useless.

Everyone has their weak spot. The one thing that, despite your best efforts, will always bring you to your knees, regardless of how strong you are otherwise

He found himself still with too many questions and not enough answers. 


Or maybe it’s just that beautiful things are so easily broken by the world. 


I always hated when my scars started to fade, because as long as I could still see them, I knew why I was hurting. 


But the thing about remembering is that you don’t forget. 


Your past is always your past. Even if you forget it, it remembers you. 


I was trying to replace something I’d come to care about very much with something pretending to be as important. 


A couple of times in your life, it happens like that. You meet a stranger, and all you know is that you need to know everything about them. 

People are all over the world telling their one dramatic story and how their life has turned into getting over this one event. Now their lives are more about the past than their future. 






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