malpal98
Status:
Joined: June 17, 2011
Last Seen: 1 decade
user id: 184279
Joined: June 17, 2011
Last Seen: 1 decade
user id: 184279
166
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2,187 Favorites
11 Following
22 Followers
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Quote Comments by User
Flair
2,187 Favorites
11 Following
22 Followers
Comment Points
Comments
Comments on Quotes
Comments by User
Quote Comments by User
Flair
My name is Mal. I should probably put something here to make me seem aproachable. BUT WHATEVER YOLO!
Quotes by malpal98
Peeta
Mellark
Guys, remember that time I declared my love for a girl on national television?
55 minutes ago · comment · like
Guys, remember that time I declared my love for a girl on national television?
55 minutes ago · comment · like
Gale
Hawthorne That was twenty years ago...
20 minutes ago · Like
20 minutes ago · Like
Peeta
Mellark Okay, okay, but remember the time I got
blood poisoning for her?
19 minutes ago · Like
19 minutes ago · Like
Gale Hawthorne
Yes, what an absolutely *valiant* accomplishment you've
completed.
19 minutes ago · Like
19 minutes ago · Like
Peeta Mellark
Remember that time I staged a fake
preganacy and marriage with her
AND THEY TURNED REAL?
18 minutes ago · Like
AND THEY TURNED REAL?
18 minutes ago · Like
Gale Hawthorne
Remeber when you got caught in one of my snares?
16 minutes ago · Like
16 minutes ago · Like
Peeta
Mellark No, no I don't recall...
5 minutes ago · Like
5 minutes ago · Like
Gale Hawthorne Better start running,
blondie.
2 minutes ago · Like
2 minutes ago · Like
The constant beeping was the only comfort I
had to hold on to. It was the only thing that kept me going; she
was still alive, as long as the beeping continued. The world was
still decent if she was in it.
I had fallen for Emma when she was five years old. It was the first day of kindergarten. She’d had her hair in two braids. My father pointed her out to me.
“See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother but she ran off with a miner instead.” When I asked why she would pick a miner over him, he’d smiled sadly.
“Because when the miner sang, all the birds stopped to listen.”
The teacher had started class by asking if anybody wanted to sing a song. Emma’s hand had shot straight up, and she stood up and sang. From that moment on, I knew I loved her because her voice was almost as beautiful as she was.
For years, I tried to work up the courage to talk to her but I couldn’t. As time went on, she just grew more beautiful and more confident. I knew I might never have the nerve to tell her how I felt. So I did the next best thing, I became her best friend, her confidant. And I was always there to hold her when a boy hurt her. I would always comfort her because the most wretched feeling in the world was seeing her cry.
It had been thirteen years since that day in kindergarten. I still couldn’t imagine anything more perfect than her.
I sat for what seemed like years, waiting until the doctors would take her out of the coma. Her hands were stiff, her features were uncharacteristically serious, everything was wrong. But what was the most wrong was that I was the only person who would stay the whole night, who would stay with her. Not her boyfriend who she had said she loved, not her parents who had only come to see her twice, not her friends. Just me. She was all I had and I was all she had.
Then on a cold January night, after a month of tears, the monitors give a couple final beeps before going flat. It takes me a couple minutes to fight through the shock and figure out what just happened. I’m still in shock as doctors rush in, shoving me out of the room. I watch their futile attempts to bring the beeps back. It’s almost as if I’m watching all of this from somewhere above my body, as if I’m floating above my head, away from all of this. I sit on a bench out in the lobby for hours. Not crying, not speaking, not moving because right now there’s a tiny sliver of a chance that they can bring her back.
I’m brought into the hospital room where I see her motionless figure. The doctor shakes his head at me when I look over at him, hoping for a chance. “She’s gone.”
All I remember after that is that I kept repeating one thing over and over. It was simple, it was cliché, it was all I felt from that moment on. “Please, please, don’t leave me. I can’t live without you.”
A month later, I stand to give the eulogy. I look out to the sea of mourners clad in black. I only do it because I can’t imagine anyone else being able to do it well. I tell the sea of people what a great person she had been. I tell them how she was my best friend and that I could trust her. I tell them she will be missed dearly. I don’t tell them that she was the most beautiful creature on earth. I don’t tell them what our last conversation was about or that I never got to tell her what I’d wanted to tell her since I was five. I don’t tell them how I was in love her or that I still am in love with her or that I always will be in love with her. I don’t tell them that I don’t even know how to live without her. Those things I will keep hidden, secret. Those things are mine and only mine.
found on tumblr.
I had fallen for Emma when she was five years old. It was the first day of kindergarten. She’d had her hair in two braids. My father pointed her out to me.
“See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother but she ran off with a miner instead.” When I asked why she would pick a miner over him, he’d smiled sadly.
“Because when the miner sang, all the birds stopped to listen.”
The teacher had started class by asking if anybody wanted to sing a song. Emma’s hand had shot straight up, and she stood up and sang. From that moment on, I knew I loved her because her voice was almost as beautiful as she was.
For years, I tried to work up the courage to talk to her but I couldn’t. As time went on, she just grew more beautiful and more confident. I knew I might never have the nerve to tell her how I felt. So I did the next best thing, I became her best friend, her confidant. And I was always there to hold her when a boy hurt her. I would always comfort her because the most wretched feeling in the world was seeing her cry.
It had been thirteen years since that day in kindergarten. I still couldn’t imagine anything more perfect than her.
I sat for what seemed like years, waiting until the doctors would take her out of the coma. Her hands were stiff, her features were uncharacteristically serious, everything was wrong. But what was the most wrong was that I was the only person who would stay the whole night, who would stay with her. Not her boyfriend who she had said she loved, not her parents who had only come to see her twice, not her friends. Just me. She was all I had and I was all she had.
Then on a cold January night, after a month of tears, the monitors give a couple final beeps before going flat. It takes me a couple minutes to fight through the shock and figure out what just happened. I’m still in shock as doctors rush in, shoving me out of the room. I watch their futile attempts to bring the beeps back. It’s almost as if I’m watching all of this from somewhere above my body, as if I’m floating above my head, away from all of this. I sit on a bench out in the lobby for hours. Not crying, not speaking, not moving because right now there’s a tiny sliver of a chance that they can bring her back.
I’m brought into the hospital room where I see her motionless figure. The doctor shakes his head at me when I look over at him, hoping for a chance. “She’s gone.”
All I remember after that is that I kept repeating one thing over and over. It was simple, it was cliché, it was all I felt from that moment on. “Please, please, don’t leave me. I can’t live without you.”
A month later, I stand to give the eulogy. I look out to the sea of mourners clad in black. I only do it because I can’t imagine anyone else being able to do it well. I tell the sea of people what a great person she had been. I tell them how she was my best friend and that I could trust her. I tell them she will be missed dearly. I don’t tell them that she was the most beautiful creature on earth. I don’t tell them what our last conversation was about or that I never got to tell her what I’d wanted to tell her since I was five. I don’t tell them how I was in love her or that I still am in love with her or that I always will be in love with her. I don’t tell them that I don’t even know how to live without her. Those things I will keep hidden, secret. Those things are mine and only mine.
found on tumblr.
Johnny hit to his knees in desperation,
dropped his head onto the bed and let a strangled sound escape his
lips. And there he prayed, take me instead, don’t let her
die. Take me and make this my last request. Please, just
don’t take the girl. Vanessa lay frozen there, cuts from
the crash still visible on her skin. Wires and tubes and machines
were hooked up to her; for the first instance in a while, she
looked defenseless, helpless, lifeless, but she wouldn’t die.
He wouldn’t let her. The wedding ring on her finger glinted
in the sunlight and for a moment, Johnny let himself flash back to
what almost seemed like another lifetime by now. He let the
happiness engulf him and let it sweep away the sadness
away.
The doctor came in and Johnny lifted his head, the tears streaming down his face.
“She’s gone.”
For years, he tried to drink his pain away but he never could get drunk enough to forget. One day he decided he couldn’t take it anymore, so he finally out the gun against his head and pulled the trigger. They buried him next to her, his pain finally taken away.
Saw this on Tumblr, it's really sad but so good.
The doctor came in and Johnny lifted his head, the tears streaming down his face.
“She’s gone.”
For years, he tried to drink his pain away but he never could get drunk enough to forget. One day he decided he couldn’t take it anymore, so he finally out the gun against his head and pulled the trigger. They buried him next to her, his pain finally taken away.
Saw this on Tumblr, it's really sad but so good.
The American
Government
Casey Anthony:
So
it's pretty obvious I either killed my kid or knew about it
and didn't care. lol.
Court: Sounds good.
You're free to go.
OJ Simpson: So, after
being found not guilty for killing my wife, I wrote a book about
doing it. That's kinda slapping you in the face that I did it
and you let me go.
Court: Nah, we know
you're a good guy.
Teenager: So, I
can't really afford to buy CDs or iTunes so I download my
music so that I can have it--
Court: How dare you
even
breathe?