Author has written 7 stories for General, Life, Love, and General.
My amazing profile pic was drawn by emmicool28 from Instagram. I take no credit for her awesome skills.
I find myself looking around me at hollow faces, and wondering if this is it, if every heart on this Earth has been stained. But then, when I look into our hearts, I see we're all like candles with beauty inside, masked behind wax, hardened by the pain we all must face. But when one of us begins to burn with compassion, our fragrance fills the air, and we unconsciously ignite others around us. I find that the wax melts and that it is our core, our beauty, our light that remains. Slowly, we'll burn one by one till the day we reach the end of our sticks and we're all burning with compassion. So maybe we all have to be set alight...
Maybe all we needed was not someone to love us, but someone who saw us for everything we are, all the scars and lines and things that hurt us. Someone who saw into our souls, the whole entire messed up map of us, and loved us anyway.
Can you imagine a time when the Grand Canyon doesn't make you feel so small? When it just becomes a hole in the ground? Can you imagine a time when Mount Rushmore just seems like carved rock? It doesn't make your legs quiver in awe? Because you've seen it too much? I don't want my life to be like that. I want to live. I want to have earth-shattering moments that seem to move the skies. I want to have moments of awe when I just fall down because my legs can't hold me up anymore. I want to live every day in captivated amazement at what's around me. I want to live. I want to hope, dream, dance, laugh. love, believe, but most of all, I want to live.
In life storms come our way. In life things happen that we don't want to happen, we don't want to accept the pain and the suffering. We try to convince ourselves that it's only a dream... it's only a nightmare and that come morning we'll wake up and be able to see the Light. Because Light makes everything clear. But Life isn't like that. Sometimes we wallow in darkness, in pain, in suffering and anger, angst and torment. And we wish that we could go back and fix mistakes that we made but time was not designed for us to control.
I don't know if you've ever felt like that. That you wanted to sleep for a thousand years. Or just not exist. Or just not be aware that you do exist. I think wanting that is very morbid, but I want it when I get like this. That's why I'm trying not to think. I just want it all to stop spinning.
It's kind of like when you look at yourself in the mirror and you say your name. And it gets to a point where none of it seems real. Well, sometimes, I can do that, but I don't need an hour in front of a mirror. It just happens very fast, and things start to slip away. And I just open my eyes, and I see nothing. And then I start to breathe really hard trying to see something, but I can't. It doesn't happen all the time, but when it does, it scares me.
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 than 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.
Sometimes we have thoughts that even we don't understand. Thoughts that aren't even true—that aren't really how we feel—but they're running through our heads anyway because they're interesting to think about.
You don’t know what goes on in anyone’s life but your own. And when you mess with one part of a person’s life, you’re not messing with just that part. Unfortunately, you can’t be that precise and selective. When you mess with one part of a person’s life, you’re messing with their entire life. Everything. . . affects everything.
What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again.
Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defences, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life... You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should just be friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.
Someday no one will remember that she ever existed, I wrote in my notebook, and then, or that I did. Because memories fall apart, too. And then you're left with nothing, left not even with a ghost but with its shadow. In the beginning, she had haunted me, haunted my dreams, but even now, just weeks later, she was slipping away, falling apart in my memory and everyone else's, dying again.
She said, "It's not life or death, the labyrinth." "Um, okay. So what is it?" "Suffering," she said. "Doing wrong and having wrong things happen to you. That's the problem. Bolivar was talking about the pain, not about the living or dying. How do you get out of the labyrinth of suffering?... Nothing's wrong. But there's always suffering, Pudge. Homework or malaria or having a boyfriend who lives far away when there's a good-looking boy lying next to you. Suffering is universal. It's the one thing Buddhists, Christians, and Muslims are all worried about.
Everything that comes together falls apart. Everything. The chair I’m sitting on. It was built, and so it will fall apart. I’m gonna fall apart, probably before this chair. And you’re gonna fall apart. The cells and organs and systems that make you you—they came together, grew together, and so must fall apart. The Buddha knew one thing science didn’t prove for millennia after his death: Entropy increases. Things fall apart.
I am, in the words of my best friend, especially special.
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