❝People are so vulnerable at night. They’re willing to spill out their souls to anyone willing to listen. They have desires to do things that never cross their mind when the sun is in the sky.
❝I like the curve of a ballerina’s foot. I like when boys are passionate about something and care about their mothers. I like poems about coffee and fücking and love. I like when I’m on the highway and I make eye contact with the person speeding next to me. I like when I’m in the city and I see someone taking pictures of skyscrapers; with their necks arched back and their eyes lost in the view and their mind on something wondrous. I like drinking wine with friends and vodka with strangers. I like when my heart feels full even if my wallet is empty. I like when people hold my hand or lift me up. I like when someone offers me something—anything—their advice, to pay, their love, a hit. It’s a good feeling to be excited for the future and proud of your past. To speak to someone new and genuinely impress them. To leave something better than it was before. To be charming just by being yourself.
❝ i. There will be several days that you daydream about stepping in front of a city bus. Don’t. It will not be beautiful. It will not be brave. It will be selfish. It will be broken. Your mother will cry. ii. Don’t write for him. Write for you. Write for others like you. Write so the girl that thinks about stepping in front of public transportation doesn’t. Don’t be selfish. iii. When you will yourself to sleep and it doesn’t come—get up. It doesn’t matter that it’s 3 am. There will be other 3 am’s. Take a shower. Take two. Wash him out of your hair. Write a poem. Read the same book you’ve read 202 times again. The 203rd time might tell you something different. Don’t stay in bed—you will think about the bus again. iv. Don’t kiss him because he’s broken. Don’t kiss him because his laughter never reaches his eyes. Don’t try and fix him. Fix yourself first. Be selfish. He can’t save you. v. Date yourself. Take yourself out to eat. Don’t share your popcorn at the movies with anyone. Stroll around an art museum alone. Fall in love with canvases. Fall in love with yourself. vi. Dress up and wear red lipstick and get drunk with your friends. They’re the ones that will pick you up. Don’t kiss him. Or him. Don’t fall asleep on strange couches with strange boys. When his hand slides up your dress walk away. Hit him. Don’t kiss him. He can’t save you. vii. Get another tattoo. Get five more. Get another hole in your ear. Don’t listen to your dad. You will still be able to get a job. Did you really want to be employed by someone like your father? Haven’t you had enough of judgmental old white men anyway? viii. When you feel the yearning for a new city—start over. Take 200 bucks and a three suitcases. Work anywhere that will have you. Meet strange people and forget your name. Call yourself Ruby. No one will know the difference. Remember to call your mother. Don’t be selfish. Come home when you find yourself in the strangers and the small one bedroom apartment. ix. Don’t whisper evil things into your own ear. Other people are going to shout them at you. Be your own hero. Keep a sword on your key ring. x. Don’t step in front of a city bus. It will not be beautiful. Live. Stay up all night with a boy that promises you everything and means it. Live. See crappy local bands with a friend. Wear a different band’s t-shirt. No one will care. Live. Have a baby girl with tiny fingers and tiny toes someday. Pour love into her until it’s overflowing. Live. Wake up. Live your life. And love every moment of it. ❞
❝2 a.m. Sitting alone at the coffee table, in the dark, writing and aching for you, while you are asleep in your own bed, far from here. Dreaming of someone else.
❝I crave to be held, touched, loved, wanted, so I push you away because I want it far too much. That little, needy child inside of me with outstretched arms and tear stained cheeks is the scariest, darkest part of me.
❝Isn’t it strange that I constantly feel like I’m a different person from everyone else? And its strange because then in a few moments I stumble upon someones words and realize that maybe I’m not that different at all. And whats stranger still is that everyone who reads this will realize the same. About right now. ❞
❝When reading, we don’t fall in love with the characters’ appearance. We fall in love with their words, their thoughts, and their hearts. We fall in love with their souls.
"I don't understand how you can smile all day long, but cry yourself to sleep at night. How pictures never change, but the people in them do. How you can love so innocently, but it can turn into your worst enemy and your worst enemy turns into you best friend. How forever turns into a few short months you'd do anything to get back. How you can let go of something you once said you couldn't live without. How even though you know letting go of something is best for you, it hurts just the same. How the people who once wanted to spend every second with you think a few minutes of time is too much to spare. How people make promises and bear their souls to someone despite knowing how common it is for promises to be broken. How people can erase you from their lives 'cause it's just easier than working things out." — Unknown
❝Other times, I look at my scars and see something else: a girl who was trying to cope with something horrible that she should never have had to live through at all. My scars show pain and suffering, but they also show my will to survive. They’re part of my history that’ll always be there.
❝There it goes again. That heavy feeling in your chest when you don’t feel any desire to speak or move. All you want to do is close your eyes and sleep, because the process of being broken is incredibly exhausting. You attempt your best to make your days fulfilling, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to connect to anyone or anything.