happiness and heartbreaks

There is more to life than him. There are cafes on cozy city corners with vintage chandeliers and that waiter that always smiles at you when you order a chai latte. There are christmas trees that shine through apartment windows and that seventy year old couple across the hall who walk around the park at 9:30 every morning. Rainy Thursdays when you’re awoken by the patter of rain on your roof and Sunday nights when the week is yours to conquer. There’s swimming in the ocean at dusk when the sky is pink and the saltwater is warm. There’s sweet wine to drink with your best friends and karaoke songs to butcher with any willing participant. There are bubble baths after a long day and a clean bed with fresh sheets. There are adventures waiting in some far off country and a boy who will look at you one day like you’re the only person in the damn world. There is more to life than heartbreak.
—  reminder

i. separate yourself. discipline is key. remember you’re better than him. block him. text your best friend instead. and turn the pictures around.

ii. lie to yourself and say that the good times weren’t that good. repeat this until the voice that’s arguing against it is silent.

iii. delete the screenshots. you won’t need them.

iv. cry. a lot. it’s okay. cry with your friend. cry alone. cry to your family. it’s okay.

v. get angry. you’re allowed bitterness.

vi. spit the putrid taste of his lips out of your mouth and onto the ground. curse his name until it is raw on your tongue. scrub your skin so you are clean of his touch.

vii. replace him with that friend you haven’t spoken to since august. it’s worth it.

viii. reject the phone call. that one, too.

ix. smile. force it if you have to. smile at strangers. and at children. and at your mother. and at the “other girl”. and at yourself.

x. forgive if only you wish to.

—  ten essential steps to moving on
When I first met you, I knew you were going to be someone important to me.
—  t.i // Repost from something I wrote a while ago.
Your eyes weren’t blue as the ocean. Your hair wasn’t stroked through. Your shirt wasn’t always tucked in. Your smile didn’t always make me smile. Your words didn’t always make mine stutter.
Your eyes were brown which shone through and told many stories.
Your hair reminded me of that cheekiness that you always had.
Your shirt smelt like you had rolled in beautiful flowers for hours.
Your smile reminded me that I was safe. You were happy. And I was safe.
When I heard you speak, you did not make me want to scream. You did not scare me. I never turned away from you. I guess your words calm me down.
You’re my home. You may not seem perfect to anyone else but you’re my home.
You are my home.
—  excerpt from a book I will never write #36