And when I say I will run, I do not mean escape.
I will fly on wings made out of what I overflow with, wings made out of content sighs and satisfied breaths. I’ll disappear around the curve of the world, far enough that I won’t be forgotten, but far enough that I won’t be here. I will be somewhere else, breathing different air, soaking up new light, meeting new people, touching new lives.. Yes, that will be enough. I hope.
You usually notice that the world is crumbling around you,
right before the time when you realize that you have
the ability to put the pieces back together.
Stop underestimating yourself. Hang in there.
They say that everybody has a specific place in
the world. Except me. I will wander.
I will float. I doubt that will change.
There is nothing romantic about a love that used to be, a love that happened, and then ended, just like everything else in the world. People often romanticize tragedy, like the kiss that almost was, the “maybe” that could have been but will remain a “what if” forever. There is nothing beautiful about something that once was, but died. Disappeared. Ended. Failed.
That moment when you realize that
you badly want him to come back because
a part of the world has not moved since he left.
There will be times when your needs will conflict. You’ll want love, yet you’ll also yearn independence; you’ll want stability yet you’ll also dream of adventure; you’ll want one person yet you’ll also crave for the world. Accept that you are many things and love yourself for it.
Accept that the concept of beauty is a wild thing that keeps on changing.