This is from my friend’s facebook, I’m told it’s just a bunch of quotes, but I love how it flows. Warning: Some sort of bad language.
“I would sure love believing in something that’s never leaving.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that you are there – in everything I am, in everything I’ve ever done – and looking back, I know that I should have told you how much you’ve always meant to me.
we all carry these things inside us that no one else can see. they hold us down like anchors, they drown us out at sea.
On the outside, you know you’re not that same naive kid anymore. You’ve been through too much too fast, but deep down, at your core, there will always be a part of you that rejects reality, that is eternally hopeful.
I guess that’s what happens in the end, you start thinking about the beginning.
There’s nothing like the deep breathing after laughing that hard. Nothing in the world like a sore stomach for the right reasons.
I like living. I have sometimes been wildly, despairingly, acutely miserable, racked with sorrow; but through it all I still know quite certainly that just to be alive is a grand thing.
After a while you can make yourself believe in almost anything. So I’m making myself believe in you
It’s laughing with your friend at a time when you shouldn’t. It’s the sweat in your palms wanting to know someone you see and the pit in your stomach when they actually see you. It’s being touched by hands that aren’t your own. It’s the thrill of an escape that almost wasn’t. It’s the embarrassment you feel, naked for the first time. It’s helping a friend find something they lost. It’s a smile, a joke, a song. It’s what someone does that they like doing. It’s what someone does that they like remembering. It’s the thinking of things you may never do and the doing of things you may never have thought. It’s the road ahead and the road behind. It’s the first step and the last and every one in between, because they all make up the good life.
The saddest people I’ve ever met in life are the ones who don’t care deeplyabout anything at all. Passion and satisfaction go hand in hand, and withoutthem, happiness is only temporary because there’s nothing to make it last.
I’m always a mess. I can never keep my own secrets. I laugh too hard at stupid things. My favorite songs can make me cry. I always watch for 11:11, but miss it more than I notice it. I live in the past, in the memories I have with the people I love. I hate thinking about reality and I’m so homesick that it’s not even funny. But not homesick in a missing my house kind of way, maybe it’s more like heartsick for all the things that I can’t get back. It’s hard for me to define myself, I guess I’m just a cliche. The girl who loved too hard and didn’t get anything in return. I don’t want to be the heroine in some tragic love story.
Sometimes I wish I hadn’t been in such a hurry to move forward. There comes a point when it becomes impossible to go back.
I’m bold and angry and tortured and tremendous and I notice when someone has changed their hair part, or when someone is wearing two very distinctly different shades of black or when someone changes the natural temperament of their voice on the phone. I don’t give out empty praise. I’m not complacent or well-adjusted. I can’t spend fifteen minutes breathing and stretching and getting in touch with myself. I can’t spend three minutes finishing an article. I have no sense of direction and I can’t sleep at night because I feel that there is so much to do and fix and change in the world, and I wonder every day if I am making a difference and if I will ever express the greatness within me, or if I will remain forever paralyzed by muddled madness inside my head. I’ve wept on every birthday I’ve ever had because life is huge and fleeting and I hate certain people and certain shoes and I feel that life is terribly unfair and sometimes beautiful and wonderful and extraordinary but also numbing and horrifying and insurmountable and I hate myself a lot of the time. The rest of the time I adore myself and I adore my life in this island and in this world we live in. This huge and wondrous, bewildering, brilliant, horrible world.
In a way, it was sort of depressing, too, because you kept wondering what the hell would happen to all of them. When they got out of school and college, I mean. You figured most of them would probably marry dopey guys. Guys that always talk about how many miles they get to a gallon in their goddamn cars. Guys that get sore and childish as hell if you beat them at golf, or even just some stupid game like ping-pong. Guys that are very mean. Guys that never read books. Guys that are very boring.
I could write novels about pain. Not the kind of pain you get when you break your arm, but the kind that makes your broken heart go into your throat, so that it takes all of your energy and concentration to breathe. The kind of pain that makes you want to scream & sob at the same time. The kind of pain that makes you want to hurt everyone around you because you’re suffering & they’re not, because they can breathe without feeling guilty & hold a normal conversation without breaking down into fits of tears or rage. A pain that bites it’s toungue and nods acceptingly when asked if okay.
I don’t want to get to the end. Or to tomorrow, even, and realize that my life is a collection of meetings, and pop cans, and errands, and receipts, and dirty dishes. I want to eat cold tangerines, and sing out loud in the car with the windows open, and wear pink shoes, and stay up all night laughing, and paint my walls the exact color of the sky right now. I want to sleep hard on clean white sheets, and throw parties, and eat ripe tomatoes, and read books so good they make me jump up and down.
I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life.And I am horribly limited.
Hell, I am young. I am free. My teeth are clean.The sun shines. To hell with everything else.
these are things that i don’t understand: how infinite is space, & who decides your fate. why everything will dissolve into sand. how to avoid defeat, when truth & fiction meet.why nothing ever turns out the way you plan.
People don’t want their lives fixed. Nobody wants their problems solved. Their dramas. Their distractions. Their stories resolved. Their messes cleaned up. Because what would they have left? Just the big scary unknown.
You are who you are when you’re not wearing wordsYou are who you are when nobody’s looking.
I don’t know…It’s like she’s incredibly lonely. But too scared of getting close to anyone at the same time.
I think your heart will grow back bigger. You know once it gets the shit beaten out of it.
I would rather be ashes than dust; I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dryrot. I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet. The proper function of man is to live, not to exist. I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them. I shall use my time.
Don’t edit yourself. I don’t want the half version, the kind you use to make parents adore you. I want you. I want the flaws, the stuttering, the cursing, and the clumsiness. I want it all. I want your bloopers and laughs. I want the awkward…everything. I want your goofy. I want your anger. I want to fight with you. And you to piss me off. I want to frustrate you. Won’t you let me? Will you let me in and show me how you operate?
You want the truth? Well, here it is. Eventually, you forget it all. First you forget everything you learned – the dates of wars and the Pythagorean Theorem. You especially forget everything you didn’t really learn, but just memorized the night before. You forget the names of all but one or two of your favorite teachers, and eventually you forget those, too. You forget your junior year class schedule and where you used to sit and your best friend’s home phone number and the lyrics to that song you must have played a million times. And eventually, but slowly, you forget your humiliations – even the ones that seemed indelible, just fade away. You forget who was cool and who was not, who was pretty, smart, athletic, and not. Who went to a good college. Who threw the best parties. Who had the most friends. You forget all of them. Even the ones you said you loved, and the ones you actually did. They’re the last to go. And then once you’ve forgotten enough, you love someone else.
the more i live, the more i’m convinced everything at this age is irrelevant
I think that maybe sleeping next to someone means more than sexsometimes. it’s the body’s way of saying “i trust you to beby my side at the most vulnerable time.” you have no defenseswhen you’re asleep, you tell no lies.”
Now besides that, my church talk is pretty much done. Just needs some fine tuning tomorrow and I couldn’t find words for all I wanted in my testimony. I also think it might be too long…But as soon as I hit my bed, I’ll find the words and be up for another 2 hours journaling XD
Live long & Prosper!!♥