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Loving and hating somebody at the same time has got to be the most exhausting thing in this world.
and it’s real, and it happened, and it’s my goddamn reality, but I need to pretend that it was nothing more than a bad dream.
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, whi...
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He’s a flawed person who needs somebody willing to put in the effort to bring him back to his former self. He’s a run-down house with peeling paint, cracked tiles, and faulty appliances, where the inspector tells you that it needs some work, but at least the bones are good.
People enjoy fairy tales because they always end with a satisfying conclusion, tied up in a little pink bow with a happily-ever-after.
People have a knack for being oblivious to trivial details. They often miss the essence of what others are saying or doing because they’re too preoccupied with their own bullshit. Your favorite things only matter to them if they genuinely care enough to listen and see you for who you are.
Nothing is fair because there is no “fair” in this world. It’s an illusion. We’re sold the belief that
there’s an order, a balance, but life has shown me time and time again that it doesn’t work that way.
The human race is on a downward spiral, and I’ll be damned if I contribute to the charade with a pitchfork mentality. If we’re all heading for the same cliff edge, I’d rather take the scenic route.
Three Reasons You Should Always Swim to the Surface 1. Swimming is good exercise. It’s the reason my arms look so good. (Don’t deny it. I know you like my arms.) 2. The sun is above the surface. The sun suits you. 3. I’d miss
you.
After all, predictability is nothing but a thief of thrill.
Monsters are interesting. Men are ordinary. The man is the predictable narrative in the story, but the monster— The monster is the thrilling plot twist that keeps you turning the pages.
Forgiveness without love is one thing. But love without forgiveness? That’s like a tree without roots; it can’t stand for long. It can never truly live.
Memories, like water, always seem to find their way through even the smallest of fissures. I think about the times when love was effortless and trust wasn’t so hard-fought. I wish I could seal the cracks and remain watertight, but hearts—even stone ones—have a way of remembering what they once held dear. “My
“The world is vast and intimidating. Maybe it’s more about finding our place in it, rather than seeing all of it.”
If my life were a book, this would be that moment where everything shifts. A scene readers would tab,
highlight, and revisit. Where the protagonist isn’t just observing the story but is truly alive in it.
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.”
The human mind is a reckless beast. It clings to memories and bonds, no matter how much logic tells us otherwise. Trying to separate love from resentment, especially for family, is like attempting to untangle intertwined threads. One always follows the other.
“Anything?” he whispers back. “Yes. Anything at all.” “I’d be kissing you, Ella.”
realize now that words have weight. Words have consequences, a power to root themselves deep within a person, shaping futures, and disassembling even the most resilient bonds. Words are never innocent. They’re either
weapons or remedies. Like seeds, they grow and expand, becoming skyscraping trees or invasive weeds.
better left buried. And ultimately, some tragedies are worth living in order to protect the ones you love.
You’re my perpetual horizon, Sunny. I’ll never stop chasing your light.
Love comes first. You’re grieving because love happened. You’re bleeding because love sank its nasty, beautiful claws in you. You’re crying because love filled you up and now it has nowhere to go.”
“Love always hurts, honey. That’s the price we pay to experience it. Sometimes that hurt is on a smaller scale, and sometimes it’s big enough to move mountains. Either way, it hurts. You have to think of it as a cruel gift. Nothing good in life is ever free. There are always sacrifices and tough blows. And even if we never fully recover from those blows, we can appreciate the love while it was still sweet and untainted. After all, it was there first. It’s the conduit for every raw, passionate, ugly heartache we experience in this life.”
The loss is permanent, but the darkness isn’t.”
“I know this is what you need,” I tell her with soul-crushing defeat. “I just needed to catch you one last time.”
“Go live a good life, Ella. The best life. Meet new people, learn to skip stones, watch every sunrise and every sunset. Find a bridge and toss sticks into streams. Dance. Dance, no matter who’s watching. Read as many books as you can, make lists, drink Dr Pepper, and ride horses until you can’t catch your breath.”
“And think of me. Bring me with you to all of those things,” I plead, the pain eating me alive. “Don’t let me go, Sunny. Don’t ever let us go.”
“You look like you’re entirely somewhere else when you dance,” he muses. “Where do you go?” With a slow exhale, I reach for the glass, finger the straw, then glance back up at him. “Back to that boy.”
“We didn’t break up, Sunny,” he murmurs back. “We just broke.”
“What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.”
“Enough to lay new roots on a little horse farm I named after her?”
“I’ve carried you with me, all this time. You rise and fall with every sun. You’re between the pages of every book I read. You’re with me on every bridge, and you’re in the verses of every song that plays,” I confess. “I never let you go.”
“You’re right because there is no love and war. Love is war. You fight until you win, or you fight until you lose. Imagine the victory after all that pain and struggle, after all those battle wounds.” I swallow, pressing our foreheads together, noses touching. “War was never meant for peacemakers. There is no place for white flags and soft hearts. It’s loud, feral, and violent. Love is a killer, but not everyone dies bloody. Some stand tall in the end.” I squeeze her cheeks between my hands and beg, “Let that be you, Ella. Let that be us.”
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.
