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The wound you refuse to dress is one that will never heal. You gush lifeblood and never even know why. It will make you weak at a critical moment when you need to be strong.
The most critical, defining battles we wage in life, we wage alone. Against ourselves.
I can either be a victim—or a winner. Fuck victimhood. I don’t wear it well; it clashes with my wardrobe.
Hope builds a stairway to Heaven. Fear opens an abyss to Hell. We stand in front of those two possible apertures at all times; choose which one to go through.
“Things never stop going wrong. Life isn’t about waiting for peace to arrive, it’s about learning to thrive in the midst of war. There’s always another one on the way.”
It was possible to love someone who was completely wrong for you. You could waste your entire life loving that person, doing enormous damage to each other and the world around you.
“An angry man is an angry drunk. A happy man is a happy drunk.”
I’d always thought if either one of us might withdraw from our relationship, it would certainly be him, not me. But I was the one who’d run. “Like a world class athlete,” he agreed, dark eyes glittering. “Fast as fuck and not about to stop for anything until you’d crossed the finish line.”
Strong enough that I was no longer afraid to be gentle. Powerful enough that I could be vulnerable. Scarred enough that I could understand and tread lightly around the deepest scars of others.
“Failure is always new information, and those who are willing to suffer it repeatedly make it a stepping-stone to success.”
R-E-G-R-E-T. I can spell that word now. Raw. Endless. Grief. Raining. Eternal. Tears. That’s what regret is.
worrying doesn’t make tomorrow better; it only makes today worse.
I know a funny thing about eyes. Where you let them look is where they take you. Look back and you stay stuck in a lost, forever unattainable past. Look forward and you live.
