I love being horribly straightforward. I love sending reckless text messages (because how reckless can a form of digitized communication be?) and telling people I love them and telling people they are absolutely magical humans and I cannot believe they really exist.
I love saying, Kiss me harder, and You’re a good person, and, You brighten my day. I live my life as straight-forward as possible.
Because one day, I might get hit by a bus.
Maybe it’s weird. Maybe it’s scary. Maybe it seems downright impossible to just be—to just let people know you want them, need them, feel like, in this very moment, you will die if you do not see them, hold them, touch them in some way whether its your feet on their thighs on the couch or your tongue in their mouth or your heart in their hands.
But there is nothing more beautiful than being desperate.
And there is nothing more risky than pretending not to care.
We are young and we are human and we are beautiful and we are not as in control as we think we are. We never know who needs us back. We never know the magic that can arise between ourselves and other humans.
We never know when the bus is coming.
A 13 year old girl watches the news and the footage of crying mothers will stay with her forever.
A 14 year old boy hears the words “hate hate hate” and stifles the part of him that just wants love, love, love.
The 15 year old girlfriends are afraid to hold hands at school the next day, but every time they brush up against each other it’s a whisper of “you are not alone”.
The 16 year old boyfriends skip school and sit in a deserted park and talk about the future they’re worried they won’t have.
The 17 year old girl bites her tongue when someone calls her a boy, because everywhere around her are reminders that she’s not safe.
An 18 year old girl can’t express her pain in front of her family, so she sneaks away to a candlelight vigil, and when she starts crying she is comforted by a much older woman who has been to so many of these she’s lost count.
Throughout the world, “it could have been me”, “it could have been us” is whispered behind closed doors.
Throughout the world, “It could have been stopped!” is shouted into megaphones.
Throughout the world, “We deserve better!” is cried out in despair.
My wife’s the reason anything gets done/ She nudges me towards promise by degrees / She is a perfect symphony of one/ Our son is her most beautiful reprise.
We chase the melodies that seem to find us until they’re finished songs and start to play/ When senseless acts of tragedy remind us that nothing here is promised, not one day.
This show is proof that history remembers/ We live through times when hate and fear seem stronger/ We rise and fall and light from dying embers remembrance that hope and love last forever.
Love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love cannot be killed or swept aside/ I sing Vanessa’s symphony. Eliza tells her story. [we] fill the world with music, love, and pride.
There’s something about being wide awake in the early hours of the morning reading a poetic book about love, loss and endless hope with alternative music echoing in your ears and not another traveler in sight (at Kuala Lumpur International Airport)
It’s finals week but IM ALMOST DONE AND GOING HOME.
algeabra:
but what are the perks of being a wallflower
brainps:
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (2004)For in dreams, we enter a world that is entirely our own. Let him swim in the deepest ocean or glide over the highest cloud.
patrxnus:
“You’ll stay with me?”
“Until the very end,” said James. | x
- Wells:
*is in love with Clarke*
- Wells:
*dies*
- Finn:
*is in love with Clarke*
- Finn:
*dies*
- Lexa:
*is in love with Clarke*
- Lexa:
*dies*
- Bellamy:
cONceaL dON'T feEl
