sincerely stranger

This is how you lose her.

You lose her when you forget to remember the little things that mean the world to her: the sincerity in a stranger’s voice during a trip to the grocery store, the delight of finding something lost or forgotten like a sticker from when she was five, the selflessness of a child giving a part of his meal to another, the scent of new books in the store, the surprise short but honest notes she tucks in her journal and others you could only see if you look closely.

You must remember when she forgets.

You lose her when you don’t notice that she notices everything about you: your use of the proper punctuation that tells her continuation rather than finality, your silence when you’re about to ask a question but you think anything you’re about to say to her would be silly, your mindless humming when it is too quiet, your handwriting when you sign your name in blank sheets of paper, your muted laughter when you are trying to be polite, and more and more of what you are, which you don’t even know about yourself, because she pays attention.

She remembers when you forget. You lose her for every second you make her feel less and less of the beauty that she is. When you make her feel that she is replaceable. She wants to feel cherished. When you make her feel that you are fleeting. She wants you to stay. When you make her feel inadequate. She wants to know that she is enough and she does not need to change for you, nor for anyone else because she is she and she is beautiful, kind and good.

You must learn her.

You must know the reason why she is silent. You must trace her weakest spots. You must write to her. You must remind her that you are there. You must know how long it takes for her to give up. You must be there to hold her when she is about to.

You must love her because many have tried and failed. And she wants to know that she is worthy to be loved, that she is worthy to be kept.

And, this is how you keep her.

— Junot Diaz, “This is How You Lose Her”

Dear old friend,
Correction: You were everything but a friend.
You were more, You are less.
We haven’t spoken in a while.
We left everything and moved on, and I don’t know why.
Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if you were ever in it again.
I don’t particularly miss you, or want you back.
I just wonder.
I sometimes question what things might have been like if I knew why we threw it all away. But just as they say, sometimes things are meant to be let go.
So I understand.
I don’t blame you.
I never did.
But I want to know one thing : Do you wonder about how life would have been if you stayed?
—  Sincerely, O.S. 

This is how you lose her.
You lose her when you forget to remember the little things that mean the world to her: the sincerity in a stranger’s voice during a trip to the grocery, the delight of finding something lost or forgotten like a sticker from when she was five, the selflessness of a child giving a part of his meal to another, the scent of new books in the store, the surprise short but honest notes she tucks in her journal and others you could only see if you look closely.

You must remember when she forgets.

You lose her when you don’t notice that she notices everything about you: your use of the proper punctuation that tells her continuation rather than finality, your silence when you’re about to ask a question but you think anything you’re about to say to her would be silly, your mindless humming when it is too quiet, your handwriting when you sign your name in blank sheets of paper, your muted laughter when you are trying to be polite, and more and more of what you are, which you don’t even know about yourself, because she pays attention.

She remembers when you forget.

You lose her for every second you make her feel less and less of the beauty that she is. When you make her feel that she is replaceable. She wants to feel cherished. When you make her feel that you are fleeting. She wants you to stay. When you make her feel inadequate. She wants to know that she is enough and she does not need to change for you, nor for anyone else because she is she and she is beautiful, kind and good.

You must learn her.

You must know the reason why she is silent. You must trace her weakest spots. You must write to her. You must remind her that you are there. You must know how long it takes for her to give up. You must be there to hold her when she is about to.

You must love her because many have tried and failed. And she wants to know that she is worthy to be loved, that she is worthy to be kept.

And, this is how you keep her

—  Junot Díaz
This is how you lose her.
You lose her when you forget to remember the little things that mean the world to her: the sincerity in a stranger’s voice during a trip to the grocery store, the delight of finding something lost or forgotten like a sticker from when she was five, the selflessness of a child giving a part of his meal to another, the scent of new books in the store, the surprise short but honest notes she tucks in her journal and others you could only see if you look closely.
You must remember when she forgets.
You lose her when you don’t notice that she notices everything about you: your use of the proper punctuation that tells her continuation rather than finality, your silence when you’re about to ask a question but you think anything you’re about to say to her would be silly, your mindless humming when it is too quiet, your handwriting when you sign your name in blank sheets of paper, your muted laughter when you are trying to be polite, and more and more of what you are, which you don’t even know about yourself, because she pays attention.
She remembers when you forget. You lose her for every second you make her feel less and less of the beauty that she is. When you make her feel that she is replaceable. She wants to feel cherished. When you make her feel that you are fleeting. She wants you to stay. When you make her feel inadequate. She wants to know that she is enough and she does not need to change for you, nor for anyone else because she is she and she is beautiful, kind and good.
You must learn her.
You must know the reason why she is silent. You must trace her weakest spots. You must write to her. You must remind her that you are there. You must know how long it takes for her to give up. You must be there to hold her when she is about to.
You must love her because many have tried and failed. And she wants to know that she is worthy to be loved, that she is worthy to be kept.
And, this is how you keep her
—  Junot Diaz

This is how you lose her.

You lose her when you forget to remember the little things that mean the world to her: the sincerity in a stranger’s voice during a trip to the grocery store, the delight of finding something lost or forgotten like a sticker from when she was five, the selflessness of a child giving a part of his meal to another, the scent of new books in the store, the surprise short but honest notes she tucks in her journal and others you could only see if you look closely.

You must remember when she forgets.

You lose her when you don’t notice that she notices everything about you: your use of the proper punctuation that tells her continuation rather than finality, your silence when you’re about to ask a question but you think anything you’re about to say to her would be silly, your mindless humming when it is too quiet, your handwriting when you sign your name in blank sheets of paper, your muted laughter when you are trying to be polite, and more and more of what you are, which you don’t even know about yourself, because she pays attention.

She remembers when you forget. You lose her for every second you make her feel less and less of the beauty that she is. When you make her feel that she is replaceable. She wants to feel cherished. When you make her feel that you are fleeting. She wants you to stay. When you make her feel inadequate. She wants to know that she is enough and she does not need to change for you, nor for anyone else because she is she and she is beautiful, kind and good.

You must learn her.

You must know the reason why she is silent. You must trace her weakest spots. You must write to her. You must remind her that you are there. You must know how long it takes for her to give up. You must be there to hold her when she is about to.

You must love her because many have tried and failed. And she wants to know that she is worthy to be loved, that she is worthy to be kept.

And, this is how you keep her.

—  Junot Diaz, “This is How You Lose Her”

I straight up don’t trust people who try really hard to make Spinner!Rumple look like a bad person we shouldn’t feel sorry for.

I have NEVER SEEN so many people slap the world “entitled” and “privileged” on a man who was poor, disabled, and ostracized in an already pretty shitty society, and literally all he wanted was to raise his fucking kid in peace. 

It’s outrageous and so gross and it’s not that he was this flawless human being, but he was a decent person who was treated horrifically based on an action that stemmed from a conviction based in love and responsibility. It’s baffling to me. 

The ENTIRE REASON Zoso was able to fuck with him, and Rumple became the Dark One was because Rumple gave him money, let him into his home, played host, and trusted/confided in this stranger with sincerity. He gave of himself, monetarily and emotionally, to a stranger, and that was the beginning of his downfall: this temperament of giving and desiring human companionship (really, that goes back to little Rumple going back for his father despite the spinsters telling him to use the bean by himself). I don’t see any reason to pretend this wasn’t the case, and he was some self-obsessed asshole just WAITING for power to fuck everyone over,  or that he deserved to be treated like shit for practically a decade and a half because he took a mallet to his leg. 

Don’t flatter yourself.
You’re not the sole reason for my aching heart.
You’re not the sole purpose for my endless tears.
My poetry that smells of hurt is not all because of you.
I have a part to play in my reckless love for you.

I never refused you when I could have guessed you’d leave me without a doubt.
I didn’t escape when I sensed that smile was going to be the reason I cry when you’re gone.
Spare me the pity. I was like this before you stepped in.
You only made it worse, now.

Reminding me of the way it feels to lose someone that you would give your life for,
A reminiscent feeling of doubt.
In myself, in others that are much like you.

A reminder to myself to lock the door. 
To lock myself, in and not let wondering strangers linger in the foyer.
Strangers that seem love-worthy, soul-searching strangers,
Strangers filled with dishonest sincerity.
Strangers that I believe love me.
The stranger you once were,
Had I not let you in…

Don’t flatter yourself.

—  exodus.king