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To those who have weathered life’s harshest storms and sought its silver linings, And to those still seeking their sun, This one’s for you.
“The nicest thing about the rain is that it always stops. Eventually.” —Eeyore
“If there ever comes a day when we can’t be together, keep me in your heart. I’ll stay there forever.”
“Yeah. It’s bright like the sun,” he says, glancing skyward. “And the sun is bright like you.”
And I suppose they’re not wrong—I’m all of those things. But those things are not all I am.
“I don’t know much, but I do know this: love conquers all. Love conquers everything. If you’re ever feeling low—and I mean, rock-bottom low—remember that, okay? Remember that I love you. Always. And you’ll get through it.”
Love conquers your common sense, your good reasoning, your sound logic. Love conquers your heart until it’s a mangled, stomped-on, barely beating organ. Love conquers your carefully assembled dreams and puts them in the hands of someone else. Love conquers. Consumes. Kills. In my opinion, love is life’s most skilled assassin. And that’s because it hides in plain sight, well versed in camouflage and deception. It wears the face of that one person you would die for on the front line as you bleed out in the dirt, whispering their name on your final breath.
I will never fall in love. Falling leaves you with broken bones and shattered pieces. Falling leaves you in ruins. And if you’re really unlucky, falling leaves you dead. I don’t want to be conquered. I don’t want to be overthrown. I refuse, I refuse, I refuse… I refuse to be victim of love again.
She’s allowed me to believe that broken things don’t always need to stay in ruins.
Romanticize your life. Don’t live every day like it’s your last. Live every day like it’s your first. Lasts are tragic. Firsts are exciting and full of celebration. Look at every sunrise like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen colors like that before. Listen to your favorite song like you’ve never heard such a precious melody. If you make every day a celebration, you’ll never get bored in your own story.”
I’ve come to realize that some people have a way of making you feel as if living is more than just being alive. Being alive is a privilege, sure, but it’s basic biology. Existing is the automatic rhythm of breathing in and out. But when your lungs breathe rapture, and your heart pumps with passion, and you find yourself fully present in every precious moment? That’s where you find life’s true rhythm. And living, I’ve learned, is a priceless gift.
