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Someone can be madly in love with you and still not be ready. They can love you in a way you have never been loved and still not join you on the bridge. And whatever their reasons you must leave. Because you never ever have to inspire anyone to meet you on the bridge. You never ever have to convince someone to do the work to be ready. There is more extraordinary love, more love that you have never seen, out here in this wide and wild universe. And there is the love that will be ready.
A while ago I realized, you can, and should, do things to make yourself happy. There are no guarantees; there are many, many things that you simply cannot control. But it is your responsibility to put in effort. So, I tried. I began to wear nice and elegant outfits to rather dull places, like school or on a walk around the neighborhood, to make it feel like I was doing something nice and elegant. I would take photos of the most boring objects and places, using lighting and angles to manipulate them into something as beautiful as I envisioned in my head. I looked in the mirror, and instead of picking at the flaws that screamed at me, I would search for the things that made me happy about who I was. It was occasionally like searching for a four leaf clover, but working for it was what helped. No, it didn’t always work. Yet the fact that I was trying made me feel as if when I was angry, or sad, or overwhelmed, it was okay because I knew I was capable of happiness, and I was working to be happy. You cannot go through life saying your situation is void of silver linings, not if you refuse to look for them.
maybe i’ll write a book with this in it someday, CI carolineingle (via wnq-writers)
Love is a temporary madness, it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides. And when it subsides, you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion, it is not the desire to mate every second minute of the day, it is not lying awake at night imagining that he is kissing every cranny of your body. No, don’t blush, I am telling you some truths. That is just being in love, which any fool can do. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident.
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