Coping With Life

Every time I want to give up on him, there’s always something inside telling me to just give it time.

Don’t be pushed by your problems. Be lead by your dreams.

When you throw dirt, you lose ground.

I wish there was a more elegant way of saying “i miss you” because it feels so much more complicated, & involved than just those three words.

On the rainiest day of the year, I see you standing by yourself on my doorstep and without saying a word, I know that I’ve hurt you. I see the pain and confusion in your eyes and more visible in your spirit. “I’m sorry” is what I told you before I walked away. But the one thing you don’t know is that it’s killing me inside. It’s tearing me apart because I want to be with you. I want to feel your heart upon mine and I want your kisses, embraces, and love. I need you more than anything, but the worst part is that I won’t allow myself. My fear of being hurt has taken over and by trying to save myself from heartbreak, I’ve killed our perfect love, hurt you, and committed love suicide

We are products of our past, but we don’t have to be prisoners of it.

Don’t you dare tell me nothing matters. Everything matters. Every fucking drop of rain, every ray of sunlight, every wisp of cloud matters. And they matter because I can see them. And if I can see them, then they can see me. And I know that there’s an entire world that cares out there, hiding behind a world that doesn’t, afraid to show who it really is. And with or without you, I will drag that world out of the dirt and the blood and the muckuntil we live in it. Until we all live in it.

You can close your eyes to things that you don’t want to see, but you can’t close your heart to things you don’t want to feel.

Some people bring out the worst in you, others bring out the best, and then there are those remarkably rare, addictive ones who just bring out the most. Of everything. They make you feel so alive that you’d follow them straight into hell, just to keep getting your fix.

How do you write about feathers? The magic of dreamcatchers? The art of dreaming? How do you write about nightmares that haunt you? Ghosts from your past? Clouds in the sky? The swirls of smoke from a cigarette? The blood that rushes thought you? Your heart beating? I want to tell you about my demons. The thoughts that lurk in the back of my mind. The things I see in the shadows. My innermost wishes. My vices, my faults. Everything that makes me who I am.