Her soul was dark and cold, every time she laid her pretty little fingers on something it messed up, whether if it was spilling coffee on library books or kissing the man she loved goodbye, permanently. Her legs were always banged and bruised from falling up and down staircases, she was too clumsy, she had dresses but never wore the because of it. Her arms had scars on them, from the past, always reminding her what happened. Most the time she cried more than smiled, and she remembered the bad more than the good. Very few friends were in her life, some she said hello to every month, and one she talked to daily. Everything was beautiful to her, the freckle on your noise, the dark circles under his eyes. Everything except herself. She was alone, broken, worried.
But let me tell you, despite her dull winter evenings on summer nights, her silent cries before sleep, her angry behavior when she messed up, she was something else. She was made to be perfectly imperfect, it was all in the way she walked, the way she talked. How she stumbled over her words but made them flow from her pen. The way her heart was the only warmth in her body, bigger than her being. The way her sad eyes got a little happier during Christmas time. The way she held secrets and mysteries in her head, despite the thoughts of wishing she was dead. She is beautiful, unique. She’s my 2 am crying phone call, my spilled ink on the pages, my winter loving summer hating, my tea drinker, my sad but happy, my girl. She’s my girl."
I wish the world didn’t move so fast. I wish we had the patience to listen to one another for once, to actually listen instead of gazing blankly at walls and nodding and not caring very much at all.
We are so busy trying to live lives consumed by other people’s ideals and expectations that we forget what makes us happy.
I do not want to wake up in twenty years time and think, “I wish I had not wasted my youth on trying to live, instead of living”.
Because I want to watch the moon cross the midnight sky and stay out late at night in silence, not saying anything and not to consider this a waste of time.
I want to slow down for once.
At school they teach us how to be successful and at the top of our game. They teach us how to run the fastest and speak the loudest. We are told to be happy we need always to be one step ahead, and sometimes this drives us a little mad.
They teach us so much at school; perhaps I just wish they had bothered to take a moment to teach us patience."
- Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #42 (via blossomfully)