I let you determine who I was as a person. I let you make me doubt myself. I let you, a demon of my past, determine my future.
But would any of that change your mind about me? Would it make you look at me any different? Make you love me any less?
The world provides me one day every year that just... stops. One day where I can endure the pain without the judgment of the world. A day where I can take my time to stop and remember you.
Finding you was like finding a diamond among the coal. Like finding conch shell along the shore. Like finding a little piece of a fairytale among our reality.
She’s confused and mourning for a baby that she’ll never get to meet. She cries for the person her baby could’ve been. She wants her baby.
As a Christian I’m taught to love everyone. As a Christian I’m taught that no one is perfect, and everyone sins. As a Christian I’m taught that judging someone is wrong. So while you may believe that my disagreeing with you means that I’m judging you, it doesn’t.
She’s not herself. You’ve broken her and she didn’t know how to mend herself properly. She became a pile of mush that morphed itself into this unrecognizable person.
No one wants to tell the guy hitting on them that they have a guy friend that they like, that they might end up with. What kind of nonsense is that? If she has to use 20 different words to tell someone who you are to her, she probably won’t mention you.
We're not bad people, we just can't stand losing. We didn't fall for each other. We've fallen for a game and have become addicted to it.
We will always be sisters. You will always be my best friend. I will always love you.
I gave you what you needed to manipulate me... You just used it.
You don't stop fighting a war because you lost a battle. Love is just that. It's war.
It's hard and difficult. You either win or lose, there is no in between. It's a mess and sometimes it sucks.
She no longer needs Superman or Prince Charming to come to her rescue. She’s not waiting for a knight in shining armor to save her. She’s not the damsel in distress.
Hurting you somehow makes the dark, dusty, cobwebbed corners of their hearts feel like they’re not so dead and lonely. It gives them the sick reassurance they so desperately crave, if only for a split second.
Time is supposed to heal all wounds but, it seems as though time just provided me with a band-aid that gets old and falls off more often than not.