“ Strange how a single conversation can change you. Or maybe it only seems that way in retrospect. A year passes and you know you feel differently, but you’re not sure what or why or how, so your mind casts back for something that might give that difference shape: a word, a glance, a touch. Barack Obama
I followed you down beneath the earth, past the pipes and the steam. Down. Down. Down. Until it grew hot and light turned back, to the air. Down. Down. Down. Darkness joined us, following me, following you. Down. Down. Down. Until we reached the heart of a world that didn’t know it had one. I turned around and came back. Here. Years later. I am not sorry I followed you. Only that I didn’t stay.
"i chase the things i want, not what others seek. exude my own flavor, uniquely i reek. i live my life the way i want to, build on solid ground and nothing can move you. when my life flashes before my eyes, daily, i’m making sure that there’ll be more smiles than cries. because i don’t want to leave pain behind, no. i’d rather leave a brighter trail for others to follow. but that’s just me, and my goal, not for you, but for the serenity of my own soul." - theawkwards
“To let go isn’t to forget, not to think about, or ignore. It doesn’t leave feelings of anger, jealousy, or regret. Letting go isn’t about winning or losing. It’s not about pride and it’s not about how you appear, and it’s not obsessing or dwelling on the past. Letting go isn’t blocking memories or thinking sad thoughts, and doesn’t leave emptiness, hurt, or sadness. It’s not about giving in or giving up. Letting go isn’t about loss and it’s not about defeat. To let go is to cherish the memories, but to overcome and move on. It is having an open mind confidence in the future. Letting go is learning and experiencing and growing. To let go is to be thankful for the experiences that made you laugh, made you cry, and made you grow. It’s about all that you have, all that you had, and all that you will soon gain. Letting go is having the courage to accept change, and the strength to keep moving. Letting go is growing up. It is realizing that the heart can sometimes be the most potent remedy. To let go is to open a door, and to clear a path and set yourself free.” Unknown
It does not count if you believe in yourself when it's easy to believe in yourself. It does not count if you believe the world can be a better place when the future looks bright. It does not count if you think you're going to make it when the finish line is right in front of you.
It counts when it's hard to believe in yourself, when it looks like the world's going to end and you've still got a long way to go.That's when it counts.
“ Have you ever been in love? Horrible, isn’t it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens your heart and it means someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses. You build up this whole armor, for years, so 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 don’t ask for it. They do 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 a simple phrase like ‘maybe we should just be friends’ or ‘how very perceptive’ 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 body-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.
Voltaram abraçados pra casa, meio que em silêncio.
Só que ao contrário da maioria dos silêncios, esse silêncio que viviam era um silêncio sutil, leve, e, não encontrando palavra melhor, até gostoso.
No lugar de piadas sem graça e assuntos bobos que tanto divertem, os trilhos do trem assumiam controle. As vozes dos outros falavam, falavam, falavam. Mas para eles, tudo era um som único, indescritível, inseparável, insolúvel. Era o som do silêncio.
Silêncio leve, tênue, e, por falta de palavra melhor, até gostoso. Se tipos de silêncio tivessem nome, esse teria nome e sobrenome: Silêncio da Felicidade.
De vez em quando ele olhava pra ela, tão pequena e frágil dentro de seus braços. Nessas horas ele se dividia em dois.
O primeiro ficava ali, ouvindo o barulho do trem, digo, o silêncio, enquanto contemplava o instante. A pele, o cabelo, as mãos. Tudo. Amava ela inteira, de todos os ângulos, por dentro e por fora.
A outra parte dividida repassava na memória o dia, a tarde e a noite que passaram juntos.
E quanto mais lembrava mais os pensamentos colidiam. A pele, o cabelo, as mãos. Tudo.
Amava ela inteira, de todos os ângulos, por dentro e por fora.
Seguiram abraçados, meio que em Silêncio, durante toda a viagem. E nunca, em momento nenhum, o silêncio disse tanto. A sensação que ficou até o fim foi que até o silêncio aprendeu a falar. Ou ao menos a dizer eu te amo.