Saturday, April 13, 2013

Oh Reckless Abandon


I once had someone tell me suicide was selfish 

That the scars those ghosts created would haunt those left behind
That their memories would ripple on into tomorrow and the
tomorrow after that
And I asked in return
What about the people asking them to stay? 
How was that any less selfish?
Any less cruel?
How was being forced to live through your own hell supposed to be
some sort of gift?
Now before you get the wrong idea
I was twelve when I asked that question

Now six years and two different types of anti-depressant later I can
comfortably say
That both happen to be equally selfish
But I need you to trust me
Let them want you
I know you might not feel wanted right now
But let your future want you
Give yourself over to the greedy minds that are smart enough to love 
And I promise you one day you'll be playing with sunbeams and 
friendship bracelets
Oceans and lovers

Laughter and wine glasses
Being selfish is a human gift
So let them consume you
Let life take you

(via Gabi of

Sunday, April 7, 2013

The How I Can't Recall

I like drinking coffee alone, and reading alone. 
I like riding the bus alone, and walking home alone. 
I like eating alone, and listening to music alone. 
It gives me time to think, and set my mind free.

But when I see a mother with her child, a girl with her lover, or a friend laughing with their best friend, I realize that even though I like being alone, I don't fancy being lonely. The sky is beautiful, but the people are sad. I just need someone who won't run away.

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

Even the Birds are Chained to the Sky

It's much easier to not know things sometimes.
Things change and friends leave. And life doesn't stop for anybody.
I wanted to laugh. Or maybe get mad.
Or maybe shrug at how strange everybody was, especially me. 
I think the idea is that every person has to live for his or her own life 
and then make the choice to share it with other people. 
You can't just sit there and put everybody's lives ahead of yours 
and think that counts as love. You just can't. 
You have to do things. I'm going to do what I want to do. 
I'm going to be who I really am. 
And I'm going to figure out what that is. 
And we could all sit around and wonder 
and feel bad about each other and blame a lot of people 
for what they did or didn't do or what they didn't know. I don't know. 
I guess there could always be someone to blame. 
It's just different. Maybe it's good to put things in perspective, 
but sometimes, I think that the only perspective is to really be there. 
Because it's okay to feel things. 
I was really there. And that was enough to make me feel infinite. 
I feel infinite.

— Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower