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May 30th, 2018  10:32pm

When people say “recovery”, you typically think of returning to how you were before the illness. But there is no going back. you do not merely recover but reinvent yourself. you become something completely different from what you were before. 

  Maybe you did some ‘bad’ things in the past. Maybe you hurt some people on purpose or unintentionally. But listen to me, that was in the past & you are a different person now. 

Forgive yourself.When you continue to feel bad for something you did in the past, you are punishing yourself & taking away the happiness you could be feeling in this very moment.

ive been reading a book by Steve Maraboli and he said something that’s stuck with me the past few days, “If people refuse to look at you in a new light and can only see you for what you were, only see you for the mistakes you’ve made, if they don’t realize that you are not your mistakes, then they have to go.” 

 i hope one day you can feel the same way the sky feels when the rain clouds dissipate; free, bright, and new. 

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When people say “recovery”, you typically think of returning to how you were before the ilness. But there is no going back. you do not merely recover but reinvent yourself. you become something completely different from what you were before. 

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Some days I’m Van Gogh’s Starry Night other days I’m his suicide letter.

souu-h  (via wnq-writers)

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I don’t want to own you, possess you, or make you be with me in any forceful way. You should want to give me your heart and trust that I won’t break it. You should want to be mine even though everyone else wants you to be theirs. You should want to be with me even though there are better places to be.

-Just love me on your own terms… that’s enough.

-m.t.t.

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Love letters. Looking at you reminded me of everything sweet. It was like walking into a candy store but everything was named after you. I had a feeling that the store would give me a stomach ache but I’m pretty sure those are actually butterflies instead. I never would admit that I see you in my dreams and wake up wishing we lived in a movie so I could rewind one more time. Your eyes make me forget how much I loved the stars because you outshine them any day of the week. My name flows out of your mouth so lovely, like you were made to say it. There is an empty space in my bed that would fit you perfectly. I can almost see you laying there already, head back mid laugh, love has never looked so good. Cursive handwriting makes anything look more romantic, that’s what you told me last time. I think of you in pretty words and postage stamps and love letters sent in July.

(via intoxicated365)

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you make me feel so fucking vulnerable when i am around you. i can feel how my skin breaks open, letting you see what i am truly made of. and i am made of a not so beautiful bare face, green bruises on my knuckles and a lot of enraged tears. i am made of over communication and suffocating feelings. i am made of everything and nothing. and you see right through all of it. all of it.

this is what you make me feel, part I. (via sunsetico)

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i don’t think i was in love with you or anything like that. i was just amazed by our existences’ collision despite the very little probability they had to do so. i just really enjoyed your presence, your voice and your scent. i just smiled sillily when the thought of you popped in my head and cried sincerely when you walked away. i just found it easier to breathe, to live when you were around but suddenly felt the urge to never wake up to another day when you left. i repeat, i don’t think i was in love with you or anything. i’m a very good liar, so good i convinced myself whatever feelings i had for you were not to be called “love”. however, just like all good liars do, i knew the exact truth i was trying to cover up.

(via sunsetico)

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“How are you feeling?” “I don’t know.” I paused. “I don’t know if I should be grateful or miserable.” “Why so?” “He keeps coming back when I think he won’t. I know I should have been grateful because he doesn’t leave me but knowing he has someone else special in his life. Someone else to share his days, his thoughts at night, his dreams and knowing it isn’t me the person he shares with, it hurts.”

Excerpt from the book I’ll never write #13 // if you were me, what would you do? (via hereliesmybrokenheart)

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I forgave you. Even though I knew you weren’t sorry.

(via dead-with-a-beating-heart)

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A year ago we stayed up till 3 am talking 
and today I don’t know how to even say hey.

time flies, doesn’t it? (via poeticvodka)

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Summer Love

I packed the last of my things, hoping and praying that this was some sick dream.

Folding away the clothes which I had worn and worn throughout the summer only made all the memories come flooding back, forcing me even more to pull back tears.

I picked up the last item on my bed, my white t-shirt - which wasn’t so white anymore - and rubbed it through my fingers…

“I’ll never forget your face when you fell into that mud.” Tom said, standing in the doorway. I hadn’t noticed he’d been standing there.

I smiled. “I’ll never forget yours when you fell in after me.”

It had been a particularly humid July afternoon, and unlike all the other normal people, Tom and I had decided to go for a walk through the forest.

Heaven knows why.

We should have seen it coming, the dark storm clouds beginning to creep up on us. It soon began to pour down, with the thunder and lightening complimenting the rain. Attempting to run back to the cabin before catching hypothermia, in my not-so-sensible choice of footwear (pumps), I slipped in a puddle of mud and ruined my shorts and t-shirt. I just couldn’t stop laughing. Tom, attempting to rescue me, didn’t realise how slippery it was, and fell in too. We must have sat there laughing for ages, as the rain had almost stopped by the time we had regained sanity. Luckily, most of the mud washed out (except for my t-shirt), but I decided to keep it as a memory, since we didn’t have our phones that day and therefore no photos.

Obviously also recalling the memory, Tom laughed, as did I, and looked down at his feet. When he looked back up, I thought he was going to cry (one thing I hadn’t seen him do yet) but instead he just looked sad and shocked.

Shocked that this day had finally come. I was too. After booking by chance a last-minute two-month summer retreat to Cornwall, meeting Tom, becoming friends, falling in love with the whole summer stretched in front of us, our encounter felt like an infinity. But it had come to an end. I had to go back to my university course at MIT, and over the next few days, Tom would also have to return home.

The other thing that he hadn’t done in front of me, though nor had I in front of him, was say I love you. I was certain I felt that way about him, and I was pretty certain he did too: but either the moment just didn’t feel right; or we knew we would have to separate at some point, which would only make saying goodbye even harder; or a mixture of both.

He came and sat on the window ledge; one that had often been a place of comfort and solace for the both of us. It looked straight on to the sea, and at night there were magnificent views of the stars. He sat with his back against the side, and patted for me to sit leaning against him. We both looked out at the view, in a comfortable, contemplative silence.

“I’m going to miss you like hell.” I said, not wanting to have to say it later through floods of tears.

“I know, I will too. Like crazy.” He replied.

“We’ve had such a-”

“Can we not talk about it?” He blurted out.

There was a moment of silence.

“I’m sorry Y/N. I just want the last moments to be like we have no worries in the world. Like this isn’t really happening. Not until we get to the airport at least.”

“Okay.” I replied, agreeing with him.

His arms were crossed over my chest, his right thumb was gently stroking my left arm, and I could feel his breath passing past my ear like the gentle summer breeze we had been enjoying.

I looked at my watch. 14:08. My flight was at 15:15, the airport half an hour away.

“We should probably go.” I suggested begrudgingly. “Ready?”

Tom sighed, deeply: a mixture of frustration and grief.

“As ready as I’ll ever be, which is not at all.” He gave me a sideways smile, which I guess was trying to make me feel a bit better, but couldn’t mask the feelings he was trying to hide.

“I’ll bring your bags down, you go and pick a good CD for the car.”

“Thank you.”

I went downstairs for the last time, breathing in the fresh, woody smell, and taking in the sights of the simple yet grand cabin one last time. Just that was starting to make me well up.

I got into Tom’s car and plugged in my phone; we’d shared so much music with each other over the summer that we basically now shared the same discography.

I scrolled through my music: Face the Sun by James Blunt and Amnesia by 5SOS were both appropriate choices for the situation, but I felt that something happier would lighten the mood. In the end I chose ABBA, to continue our running joke that Tom secretly adores them, he just won’t admit it.

I waited for Tom before I started Dancing Queen, but I realised that he was taking longer than I thought. After five minutes I was going to go back in and ask if he needed a hand, but he came out the door with my suitcase and rucksack in hand.

He shut and locked the door behind him, before loading my bags into the car.

He got into the driver’s seat.

“You know, for a minute there I thought that Spider-Man was struggling with some luggage.”

He pushed the sunglasses which were resting on the top of his head onto his nose.

“I’m a trained actor motherf*cker!” At this there was a brief moment of silence before an outburst of laughter. The amount of times he’d repeated that quote over the summer only made me laugh more.

When we eventually stopped, Tom asked:

“So; what did you pick?”

I pressed play, and Dancing Queen came on.

“Oh no, you didn’t…”

“I thought you’d enjoy it since I know how much you love them now!”

“I knew I shouldn’t have let you pick!” He joked, starting the ignition and reversing out of the small complex of cabins.

Driving through Cornwall, I almost forgot about where we were driving to. The wind in my hair, the loud music, Tom and I choosing to only talk about trivial matters: it was like any normal, perfect, summer’s day.

Except it wasn’t. But I wasn’t going to let it cloud my thoughts.

I felt the summer heat against my skin, relishing it while I could. I turned to look at Tom; who looked deep in thought, but when he noticed that I was looking at him, he smiled and took my hand.

“I’m never going to let this go,” he almost whispered, squeezing it a bit. “Not really.”

I squeezed his hand back, telling him that I felt the same. I was already too choked up to respond.

About fifteen minutes later, we arrived at the airport. Tom parked, switched the engine off, and turned to look at me.

“My hair’s gone a bit crazy in the wind, hasn’t it?” Tom took a stray piece and tucked it behind my ear. “It’s always beautifully crazy.” He said, and I could tell that he was really taking in my features, soaking me up as much as he could while he still had the chance. I looked at him in the same way: his ocean-blue eyes, his slightly crooked nose, his soft hair. After a minute or so, I broke our little trance.

I turned to look at my lap: “I should go.”

Tom took the car keys out of the ignition: “I’ll come with you.”

I took my rucksack and he wheeled my suitcase, and we made our way into the tiny airport and the departures area.

We quickly found the check-in desk and checked-in quickly. I went through security, and they allowed Tom through too so that he could wait with me. My flight was the only going that afternoon, and it was almost empty, so the small shopping area and four gates were quiet. Tom and I sat together, fingers linked, muttering sweet nothings to each other every few minutes.

Then the moment came.

They called my flight.

We watched the over twenty people board first, and then we had to do what we had been dreading from the beginning. The inevitable.

Saying goodbye.

We stood up, knowing that time was against us, and stared into each other’s eyes for a few seconds. Then Tom pulled me into the tightest hug I had ever received, his chin resting on my shoulder, mine on his. I felt the tears forming.

“Please never forget me. Us. This.”

“How could I forget you, Holland?” He pulled out of the hug and cupped my cheeks in his hands. I saw them.

“You’re crying…” I felt my own face crumple up slightly and the tears fall down. I had seen him cry. And it only made me cry more.

“I love you Y/N. So, so much. I love you. I always will. Hold on to that, please, for me.”

“I love you too, Tom. Forever and always, and you have to remember that too.“

He smiled again, and then kissed me. Of course we had kissed many times before, but never like this. I could taste the despair and the love in him. I felt myself coming together yet tearing apart at the same time, and I sensed that he felt that way too.

We pulled away, us both knowing that that was the last time.

"You have to go,” he whispered. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” I managed to say back.

I walked over to the desk, walking away from Tom and everything I had ever dreamed of.

After my ticket was scanned and I was about to walk out of sight, I turned back to Tom. He was still standing in the same position, and even metres away I could see that he was wiping away tears. He waved, and I waved back. Then I knew what I had to do.

I knew that Tom was waiting at the airport until my flight had taken off, and once I was seated (in my window seat, with no-one else next to me in the entire row), I tried to find him through the glass building but to my dismay I couldn’t. And then, the plane began to move.

It jolted, taking me by surprise, and then made its way to the runway. It got there. The plane picked up speed. It catapulted forward, and I panicked, trying to find Tom but I couldn’t and all of a sudden I was gone. I waved, knowing really that Tom couldn’t see but making my feel better. A single tear rolled down my cheek, where Tom’s hands had touched only fifteen minutes ago. My heart ached at that thought.

I decided to reach for my headphones in my rucksack.

I opened my back, and next to my book, headphones, passport and water was something I didn’t remember putting in there last night.

An envelope.

It had ‘Y/N’ written on the front, and although I had only seen it a handful of times, I instantly recognised it as Tom’s handwriting.

I hastily opened it:

Dear Y/N,

I was going to give this to you, or say this all to you in person, but I couldn’t bring myself to. I didn’t want to have to talk about this when we could be making more positive memories, but I still wanted to share this with you.

By the way, I put this in your bag before I brought your bags down to the car, though I wrote it yesterday. That is, unless my plan failed miserably, but if it didn’t, then at least that’s something.

If I haven’t had the balls to say it to you at the airport: I love you Y/N. Every bit of you. From your crazy-amazing hair, to your curves, to your small hands. From your laughing fits, to your uncontrollable hiccuping fits, to your gorgeous Y/E/C eyes. From your glowing smile, to your intelligence, to how you taste. All of you. And if I could have you for the rest of my life, I would.

But I can’t. We both can’t. And we both know that.

I’m an actor. You’re an MIT scholar with a glistening career as a doctor ahead of you. I don’t want to get in the way of your lifelong dream, nor do I want you to experience the burden of being in the limelight. You may argue against that, but I don’t want to see you get hurt, more than anything in the world. And if that means that I have to let you go then so be it.

I know that you’ve promised you’ll write and said you’ll call, despite me suggesting otherwise, but please Y/N. For me, please. I don’t want you to lose yourself to me. I’m not worth that.

This is going to seem unfair: we have to destroy our beautiful creation, in order to not destroy ourselves. But we both know, deep down, that this can’t go any further. And I’m only doing it because I love you. I don’t want our relationship to become disjointed and changed because of what happens next. I want to treasure this summer, and what we are, just as it was forever. I don’t want to lose it to the media and other such horrors.

There’s nothing that I want to change. This has been the perfect summer and I know that we will both look back on it as the best in our lives. I never planned on falling in love as deeply as I did but it was the best thing that ever happened to me. You made me the best version of me possible and I cannot thank you enough for that.

No matter who I end up with at the end of all this, I will always love you. And even though it hurts saying this so much, I think that we’re doing the right thing.

I love you Y/N. Never forget that. Ever. You will always be my summer love.

Love always, Tom x

I re-read the letter over and over, agreeing but disagreeing with everything. Why was the world so unfair?

“Madam? Are you alright?”

I jumped in my seat a bit. One of the flight stewardesses was standing in the aisle. I realised that I must have been crying hysterically.

“Yes - I’m fine- no. I don’t know, honestly. I’m just numb. It’s, it’s complicated.”

“A break up?” she asked, worried.

“We didn’t want to. But I think it might be for the best, as much as I don’t want it to be.”

To my surprise, she sat in the seat next to me. “Love is cruel like that. The whole world is. Sometimes two soulmates meet, but at such a time that it is just not right. And it’s horrible. You finally find the love of your life, only to have them snatched away from you. But you must take it in your stride. Know that that person would give anything to be with you, and that they love you, and use that knowledge to achieve your dreams and everything you wanted to do in life. Because it is what they would want, because they really love you. And inside your heart, you know that really.”

She handed me a tissue.

“I hope that helped. Even if it’s just brought an ounce of hope.”

“It has, thank you. Very much.”

“No problem. Now, would you like a water, or something a bit stronger?”

“Just a tea please.”

She made me my tea and said that she would come and check on me later.

And so I stared out of the window, at the clouds and blue, blue sky, and thought:

I’m doing this for both of us Tom. I’ll always love you, my summer love

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Check under the bed.

You’ve always been afraid of the dark. As a child, you would scramble under the duvet once the light was turned off, desperate to be safe from the shadows that seemed to morph before your eyes into faces and watching eyes.  Even now, when you’re an adult, the dark can’t help but unnerve you. From time to time you sometimes flick on the lights in dimmed rooms, often without even realizing it. But you take comfort in the daylight. What comes as a sudden bump to your relatively comfortable existence is when you are just sitting in your house when you find yourself abruptly plunged into darkness. Power cut, you think to yourself nervously.      You blindly fumble about through the pitch- black environment, feeling the walls to guide yourself to the cupboard where you keep your emergency supplies for situations like this- flashlight, candles, matches- the usual supplies. A cold shudder of fear runs down your spine. You’re alone, you repeat over again in your thoughts, all the doors are locked. Nothing bad is going to happen. You’ve just been playing too many horror games. It’s amazing of how something you can so easily scoff at in the daylight can grip you with fear when you’re in the dark and vulnerable. When it seems like anything can happen.  It’s a primal fear, deeply engrained within the human psyche. As much as you try to deny it, a fear of the dark is an inherently human fear. As you reach through the open cupboard door, your eyes widen as your fingers clench around the familiar tubular shape of the flashlight. Yes. Relief from the darkness and the paranoia. A way to reclaim your former self-sufficiency.     You’re only to eager to finally illuminate your way again, to show yourself that your fears are just childish fears. They have no place here, when you’re supposed to be a mature adult. With a quick press of the lower button, you turn around expecting the cheap battery-operated flashlight to illuminate a clearer path through your house. What you don’t expect, however, is to see a massive figure facing you.    It’s easily six, maybe seven feet tall. When the torch shines on its skin, its body remains as darkened and mysterious as ever. It’s as if their skin is made from the very night sky itself, blacker than even the darkest winter night. Its face lacks most of the conventional human features that you’ve been so accustomed to throughout your life, pardon a pair of blindingly white eyes, void of pupils and irises and a grin, stacked with equally white, far sharper teeth. It doesn’t seem to stand, as you so notice now, rather floating on some invisible wind, standing just a few inches off the ground. Its form doesn’t seem solid or physical, but has some strange ethereal quality that oddly reminds you of television static, as if it just glitched into existence. You drop the flashlight in shock. As you scramble to the ground in a desperate rummage to find your precious light source, now lost to the darkness. The thing let out a long, juddering laugh. You scowl up at it. “Don’t scare me like that,” you huff, “you know that I’m scared of the dark.” They grin down at you as they fish up the flashlight, a shadowy tendril protruding from their ethereal body to hold it under their chin, making their facial features appear even more monstrous. But by this point, you’re too annoyed to be afraid anymore. “Sorry about that, my sweet. Didn’t mean to.” They purr down at you. You fold your arms in an accusatory fashion, still not entirely convinced by their seemingly casual reply. “Jerk.” Their shadowy features often towards you, as the tips of their claws gently caress the vulnerable skin of the underside of your face.   “There’s nothing to be afraid of.” they breathe in a low, comforting tone of voice. “Not as long as I’m here with you. Nothing in the dark here will hurt you. If anything tries to go bump, then I’ll bump them back.”       They snake their long, shadowy arms around you until your body is completely enveloped in their embrace.  You smile as you look up into their smiling face and their glowing white eyes, glowing with a comforting radiance, like the crescent of the hanging moon that parts the greyish clouds. Nothing but pure comforting white. You feel nothing but safety and warmth when you’re with them, despite their icy cold touch and inhuman appearance. The candles can wait, you decide. Suddenly you find yourself all too comfortable in the darkness and shadows despite your previous perturbation. Just because you’re afraid of the dark, doesn’t mean you can’t love it as well.

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Thought for Thought

Sometimes I just get a little bit overwhelmed and feel like my whole life is poetry and lyrics and sunbeams and I get this beautiful feeling of wonderful soft happiness that I want to keep hold of for as long as my heart beats.

 I want to wake each morning feeling sunkissed and excited, I want laughter lines and wrinkles around my eyes from smiling, I want to have someone in my life who feels like home and who understands me when I don’t make sense.

 It makes me so happy to know that even as I lie here with a huge smile on my face and love in my heart, that some of the best days of my life are still to come. 

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JULY 27, 2017 8:06 PM

What do you do when your friends are nowhere to be found?

You befriend yourself and tell yourself everything will be okay.

What do you do when your family is just bound together by last names and blood?

you invite yourself to a table to eat alone. 

What do you when there isn’t one person on your side, not one?

you realize you are your own ally and that it is enough, it has to be.

People have a bad habit of treating others like objects. They treat them like lightswitches. They turn them on when they need some light in a room and when they find what they’re looking for, they turn off the light and never return until they need something else.

They never return until they realize there is more that you can give them.

What do you do when you’ve given everyone pieces of you? 

You break because, with all the pieces that you’ve given away, you can’t be whole.  

You’ve taken soil from your own pot to add to other’s and that is why you can’t grow, that is why you can’t live, that is why you can’t trust. No one has shared their soil with you. 

You are in this alone, so know that loving yourself is worth it all. Create new pieces, reach towards the sun, and remember that not everyone deserves pieces of you, not everyone deserves your rich kind soil. Some people don’t deserve your light. They’ll try to convince you that they do, but don’t let them steal what’s yours. 

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JULY 26, 2017 10:27 PM

They say if you fall in love with a writer, you’ll never die. And I can promise you that it’s true darling, I will write about everything, the big things, the small things, even the ones that you’ve probably already forgotten. 

I will write about the time you parked the car out in the middle of nowhere just to watch the sunset, I will write about the time you texted me to tell me that the moon looked beautiful tonight. I will write about the ‘you look pretty” that you whispered in my ear in a hotel room next to the ocean as I least expected it and how it made me blush. I will write about the night we sang to eachother in the car driving with no destination. I will write about the time you sleepily called me by a sweet name in the middle of the night to have me move closer to you. I will write about all the times you said ‘this made me think of you”. I will write about all the unexpected kissed, and morning caresses, and the car rides with the windows wide open and the rock music playing at full blast, and the slow dancing in hotel rooms after getting drunk on cheap booze, and the wild, spontaneous lovemaking as if we hadn’t done it for months.

i will write about every little thing, and i promise ill never let you die.  

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You feel nothing at all…

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July 20, 2017 1:31pm

Did you think i was a city?

big enough for a weekend getaway.

I’m the town surrounding it,

the one you’ve never heard of,

but always pass through.

There are no neon lights here,

no skyscrapers or statues,

but here is thunder,

for I make bridges tremble.

I am not street meat, I am homemade jam,

thick enough to cut the sweetest thing your lips will touch 

I am not police sirens

I am the crackle of a fireplace 

I’d burn you and you still couldn’t take your eyes off me

I am not a hotel room,

I am home. 

I am not the whiskey you want,

i am the water you need. 

Don’t come here with expectations and try to make a vacation out of me.