Quotes added on Sunday, February 12 2017

who where lives in New York ?
The more advanced the robot, the less likely that it will want your job.
Hate needs the hated more than love needs the loved.


It starts so young, and I'm angry about that. The garbage we're taught. About love, about what's “romantic.” Look at so many of the so-called romantic figures in books and movies. Do we ever stop and think how many of them would cause serious and drastic unhappiness after The End? Why are sick and dangerous personality types so often shown as passionate and tragic and something to be longed for when those are the very ones you should run for your life from? Think about it. Heathcliff. Romeo. Don Juan. Jay Gatsby. Rochester. Mr. Darcy. From the rigid control freak in The Sound of Music to all the bad boys some woman goes running to the airport to catch in the last minute of every romantic comedy. She should let him leave. Your time is so valuable, and look at these guys– depressive and moody and violent and immature and self-centered. And what about the big daddy of them all, Prince Charming? What was his secret life? We don't know anything about him, other than he looks good and comes to the rescue.
     Deb Caletti
 

What Is Love? I have met in the streets a very poor young man who was in love. His hat was old, his coat worn, the water passed through his shoes and the stars through his soul.

In a documentary
about you and me. I would
be sitting in an old couch,
in a studio apartment, in your
white t-shirt thinking back
to how I fell in love with you.
You in the blue jeans.
My eyes would be kinder after years with
you. My hair messy, my brains
nostalgic and my heart softer.
I would tell the camera
that I’ve loved you for a
very long time.
I would tell them
I still love you like
I was 16 years old.
They amputated
your thighs off my hips.
As far as I’m concerned
they are all surgeons. All of them.

They dismantled us
each from the other.
As far as I’m concerned
they are all engineers. All of them.
A pity. We were such a good
and loving invention.
An airplane made from a man and wife.
Wings and everything.
We hovered a little above the earth.
We even flew a little.
And she wanted for a moment to hold and devour him, wanted his mouth, his ears, his coat collar, wanted to surround him and engulf him.
Remove the old texts from your phone, the messages that gave you hope, that made you believe that the two of you could be something. Delete them all. Don't give yourself the opportunity to search for meaning. Maybe at one time these messages would signify a future, but now they are simply the past. Let them be so. Delete those texts. 
And then erase the tough texts, too, the ones where he took too long to reply, the ones where he told you he wasn't looking for anything serious. Get rid of the texts that confirmed your worst fears: he was not invested in you and never would be. You got the information you needed. No need to keep opening the wounds. Erase the texts. It's okay.
And now scroll to his name one last time. And almost send him a message. Draft out a declaration saying you still want to be friends, even though you both know that's not true. Lace together these beautiful lies stitched with hope and good intentions, and hover your thumb above "Send". But instead, backspace it all. 
And then delete his number.
Stare at your phone for a minute to let it sink in that you won't be reaching out to him on your toughest nights and that he won't be the one to comfort you. You won't get to hear how his mom is doing, you won't get to see him on New Years Eve. Let it all sink in that his name is no longer going to pop up on your screen when he gets home from school.
He is no longer a part of your life and you are no longer a part of his. And this is okay. You are okay. 
Now put your phone down. Walk away from it all for a while. Feel the distinct mixture of sadness and freedom pumping through your veins, the feeling that only comes with the end of something painful and the begining of something more. Be proud- you deleted his number, which is one step closer to removing him from your heart. 
It's always going to be you.
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