You’re going to forget me. It won’t be fast or sudden or something where I’m clear one day and an empty space the next. But, slowly, you’ll forget the sound of my voice, and then you won’t be able to picture the shape of my face, and eventually you’ll be looking at the sky right before the clouds start pouring rain, and you won’t be able to quite place the familiarity of that color, but it will be the same gray-blue that is my eyes.
You’ll no longer know that, though. I’ll just be an outline, a blurry body of disconnected memories that occasionally fits into your past. And that’s okay. Some people aren’t meant to be remembered. I’m just one of those people.
H.L. // excerpt from a book I’ll never write #40
You see, at first, I did regret you. I regretted ever giving you that satisfaction of having me so easily. I used to regret ever being so vulnerable for you. I would regret the memories we had created at 2PM as well as the ones at 4AM. Now, I’m just so thankful for you. You taught me that there is nothing wrong with showing a man just how crazy you are for him, it is not my fault you were incapable of loving me back. You taught me my worth. That I should not lose an ounce of sleep, crying over something that is completely out of my hands. You taught me how to love myself enough to let you go. Because of you, I know what I deserve now and I will never settle. You did that. I am forever grateful for you.
today i noticed that life is very short. life is so short that we must follow our dreams. that we must kiss the person we love. that we must say hello to strangers. eat that creamy chocolate bar we were craving. leave our friends and family with hugs and kisses instead of just saying goodbyes. we should look at the sky. gaze at the stars and count it too. smell the flowers, pick it and give it to your neighbours. look at our lovers face and memorize the twinkle in their eyes when they talk about their day. call our mothers. call our old friends. dance the night away till your feet give up. enjoy the little things before it’s too late. before it’s too late to enjoy life.
Everything about him was beautiful.
His hair, his eyes, his smile, his skin.
Even his back was beautiful.
But on the night he walked away
was the last image
and it was
the worst thing
to be seen.
It just took me longer than most to realize who he really was,” she said on a sigh.
“You still love him though,” I reminded her.
“I can’t control that,” she whispers, “but whenever my heart aches for who I think he was, I am strong enough now to remind it of who he became and who he showed himself to be. Then I remember that I am in love with a memory and not with him anymore.