I drank because it was lovely and I needed a calm to understand the reality.

Sometimes he does talk back, but sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes he’s not there; and from time to time I believe this was all nothing but imaginary.

You can’t patch cracks on a glass house.

He was good and then really good and then bad and then really bad, but since he was good I got lost in the thought that I could fix it.

Sometimes love them more than you, but just make sure you love yourself too.

I don’t remember his face or the place we ate. I only remember how he grabbed my hand and his voice when he spoke of his dad.

I’m not thankful for being fucked over, I’m thankful for what I took from it. What I learned. What I taught myself in that particular moment. I'm grateful someone was able to take me there and let me be in that moment - not with them, but with myself. How my emotions could surrender to someone and make me feel everything I felt. It destroyed me, but I made my way through; and I look back years from, and I still love him, I do.

Maybe I hold on for too long, but maybe you don’t hold on for long enough?

We live in a world of contrast and it’s sad we are among people who can’t seem to grasp the differences surrounding them.