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Kindle Notes & Highlights
If you can’t let go, you can’t put your heart back in your chest.
The least you could do, is uncross your heart. Unhope to die.
You keep telling me to be glad for what we had while we had it. That the brightest flame burns quickest. Which means you saw us as a candle. And I saw us as the sun.
You’ve written my story backwards. You’ve taken my chapter out of your book. Now I’m just a prologue. A dedication. “For you.”
we need someone else to see us, to be able to see ourselves.)
That you control that completely.
That the difference between a job and art is passion.
It’s because both of you were made of the same pieces. And afterwards, when you put yourself back together, some piece of them remained.
These scars are my documentation of the mistakes I’ve made in trying to overcome them.
I was so busy missing you, I missed someone else standing right in front of me. Now I’m missing them instead.
Because you look. But you do not see.
And they walk past you every day, one million stories, each waiting to be told. Waiting for you to ask. Because you live. But very few, love.
Those who walk away from you in the dark should be forgotten in the light.
“How many times can it heal?”
They asked me to point to where it hurt, and so I pointed at you.
If anyone stays with you after you’ve told them that, stay with them as long as they’ll have you.
But people change. People aren’t pictures. And you can either take a new picture or throw the old one away.
I don’t miss you now. I miss you then.
“But I lived through it. And it made me who I am today.”
But do not get distracted or try to follow stars that aren’t your own.
You remember and dwell on all the things you’ve lost and ignore all the things you haven’t. Because your scars are like stars. Yet the night stays perfectly black.
Because you tick boxes in your head instead of crossing lines in your heart.
Only you. Only you, are love.
Live like nature. Explode slowly, day by day, from the center outwards. You won’t notice how brightly you burn or how big you’ve grown until you look back. And then you will be amazed.
I’m not the person you left behind anymore. There’s no one here to miss.
The Age At Which It Happens
I keep wondering, how many people do you need to be, before you can become yourself.
You were always my dark cloud that let me stare at the sun.
Even if you are made of night, try to be made of more starlight than darkness.
Keep all of you and never be afraid to be everything you are.
Fine. Maybe I’m the puzzle. But you’re still the pieces.
The world is hard because you will have to fight for the things you love or worse, fight the things you love.
We’ll both be ok. We’ll both be weird and sad and ok together.
“That’s ok.”
Someone knows the you that goes to bed early because you can’t talk. Or the you that doesn’t stop talking when they’re excited.
You don’t get to yell at me for being dead, if you’re the one that killed me.
If everything fits, we both win. If it doesn’t, don’t force it. That’s how you get splinters in your heart.
Because art is the word we give to our feelings made public. And art doesn’t worry anyone.
I keep thinking you already know. I keep thinking I’ve sent you letters that were only ever written in my mind.
You were a dream. Then a reality. Now a memory.
The Way Forward
It weeps for the dreams on the tips of your fingers.
And what still shocks me, is how often the thing that hurts you, looks like the thing that helps you.
The good news is, this wouldn’t be the first time someone’s crawled, tooth and nail, out of hell.
For I may fall and I may fail but I will stand again each time and you will find no satisfaction. Because you cannot kill me here.
The weather changes all the time. You can too.
We made love whenever we held hands.
I want to weave you into me. Stick your thorns in and grow.
Carve a name and a heart into me. Please.
“I had trouble sleeping” is just another way of saying you spent the night fighting ghosts in the dark.
