“
If
there was ever a time someone needed you most it was when they
had it all together, worried only of what would become of
everything when it unraveled, the tiny wisps of twine that hold a
person together, temporary suspended happiness. Because coming
undone isn’t the scary part, it’s waiting it out that
stops your blood, knowing you’ll be unhinged again but
never really knowing exactly when or how long it’ll be
until you’re human again.—Lucy Quin
”
When someone’s sad, you can
feel it, like stepping outside and being able to sense an
oncoming storm; it emanates from all parts of their body. But
unlike a storm it is contained, a sadness housed by bones and
skin, and thankfully so, because the world could not handle the
storm that is a broken heart.
i
never
understood
telling a visibly distraught person to
sleep on it because they’d feel better in the morning.
That implies they are incorrect at that point, and you’re
encouraging them to sleep through the night in hopes they
change by morning. Sometimes the correct words are hard to find
for every person, but almost always people just need to be
distracted from themselves. They don’t want cliche lines
or an instant fix. They need help categorizing their demons
because sometimes, without warning, they all come out to play
at once, and no amount of sleep in the world is going to fix
that.
You’ll have days where you can’t shake the feeling
that it is as though the world was created with everyone else
but you in mind. And you’ll seek solace in every
capacity, but there is no proper comfort, no inspirational
words or advice, because it’s not entirely untrue —
the world is inconsiderate and it stops for no one.
“
We’re all constantly searching for happiness, never realizing it’s always there, safely tucked inside our skin, wrapped in ribbons around our bones, and idling softly inside our hearts.
there
are
places
on
a
person you should never touch. Most think
it’s the heart because the heart is most vulnerable. In
actuality it is the mind. Where the heart is able to heal, the
mind is not. Memories can be revisited, agitated with little to
no warning. They are almost like a cancer, sitting dormant,
patiently waiting until they are awakened — then it
spreads to all facets of the body. The heart is a dull ache, an
indescribable sensation in the chest that heals with time. The
mind is far more sinister. It is a room of mirrors, an active
hive stirred awake by subconscious chance in order to chase
after you as you attempt to run from everything you’ve
tried to forget.
