Writing Quotes




If you know love like I know love when it is full and ready—like the pulse knows the tip of the blade before the cut—the blood rushing to greet its serrated edge. You would know love like I have if you have seen the sunlight in every possible gradation—if you can hear the birdsong beyond the rudimentary call—if you can distinguish between each cadence as it quivers through the air. If you get so cold sometimes that it burns or the heat gets so bad your teeth start to chatter—then you will open up your arms and take this dark thing into the fold and you will know love like I know love.
     — Lang Leav, Dark Matter
 



why am i so emotional?
no it's not a good look
gain some self control


crashing, hit a wall
right now I need a miracle



why am I so emotional?
no it's not a good look
gain some self control




The day you left, I realized you were a rogue planet. That you didn’t orbit around anyone or anything. That you had no solar system and you found your way into mine, into my orbit, to stay with me just for a little while. I couldn’t keep you. You weren’t meant to be a part of me. Our love was like the sun, ninety-nine percent of this solar system, but not nearly enough to keep you. Some things are more beautiful because they don’t belong to anyone or anything. That is how I would like to remember you. As something too wild for me to keep, rather than a thing that threw the sun away.
     — Nikita Gill, You Left Me Between a Black Hole and a Supernova
 

once, when i was still grieving over you, my dad asked me how can you miss him? it's like missing a toothache. but actually, your presence was also the morphine, a pleasant numbness, a blissful ignorance to all the pain you were causing; and when you were gone i couldn't stop running my tongue along the smooth expanse of emptiness, over the gaping hole you left, tasting the blood and the bitterness of loss in my mouth and it was only then that the ache began to throb insistently, demanding to be felt. i guess i missed the sugar coated decay.

—b.m.s


 I am the sun. Bright, wild, passionate– 

everything you’d think you’re looking for. Then you realize I’m not.

People come to me, sometimes. They take what they want, my energy, my light, just so they can get a tan. But no one stays for too long. 
Nobody really seeks me out. No one looks at me for more than a couple of seconds. No one wants too much of me. No one wants to try for risk of getting sunburnt.

Other times, most of it, everyone’s too busy working, doing routine, living their lives, to actually stop and notice me. Busy. Busy, busy. Everyone’s too busy around me. They can’t wait until the day is over.
The best part of me is the end – the sunset. Or the sunrise.

I am made up of reality. No one wants to get to know me. Because reality, life in daylight, the truth, is far too harsh.

She
she is the night sky. The moon, the stars, and the infiniteness of life. Memories are born, epic and great, under her crescent smile. She is made up of romance and magic. She is made up of dreams.

People seek her out. Plan travels, schedule to pause their entire lives just to look at her. And it’s not even a glimpse. Everyone stays up for hours, sometimes the entire night, just to spend time with her.

We’re all attracted to her. Drawn to her good vibes and endless possibilities. She is when we nestle safely inside a lover’s arms, party all our cares away, or make bonfires to skinny dip with friends for the first time.

There is nothing dangerous about her. Whether it’s the city skyline or nature’s aurora – everybody is in love. She is soft, alluring. Van Gogh painted a masterpiece about her.

She is boundless. She is perfect. She is beautiful.
I pale in comparison.
Writing keeps me sane. Taking my crazy thoughts and putting them onto paper, it keeps my head clear.




there's no remedy for memory

 

Glossary:

Wikipedia-speak = what you end up with when tens of people collaborate on (battle over) a sentence for fifteen years (and growing). 

Let's pull all of the skeletons from our closets and build a fort in the living room from their bones. We'll drape them in blankets of understanding and cuddle inside, just the two of us. No amount of brittle bones filled with marrow of your past will keep me from building a home with you.

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