Just give in. Just fucking give in, and let yourself go. Immerse yourself in happiness before it slips away, out of reach. Don’t overthink. Don’t look both ways. Stop being so fucking cautious, because this much I can tell you: you will get hurt. It’s part of being human. So just give in, indulge yourself, kiss until your lips hurt. Hold her hand, kiss his scars, have a drink, eat the damn cake. Leave fear behind. Climb a fucking tree. And if you start to feel a little too much, embrace it. Because not everyone is that lucky. -e.v.
People who have recently lost someone have a certain look, recognizable maybe only to those who have seen that look on their own faces. I have noticed it on my face and I notice it now on others. The look is one of extreme vulnerability, nakedness, openness. It is the look of someone who walks from the ophthalmologist’s office into the bright daylight with dilated eyes, or of someone who wears glasses and is suddenly made to take them off. These people who have lost someone look naked because they think themselves invisible. I myself felt invisible for a period of time, incorporeal. I seemed to have crossed one of those legendary rivers that divide the living from the dead, entered a place in which I could be seen only by those who were themselves recently bereaved… -Joan Didion, “The Year of Magical Thinking”
"Nostalgia. It’s delicate, but potent. In Greek, nostalgia literally means ‘the pain from an old wound.’ It’s a twinge, in your heart, far more powerful than memory alone. This device isn’t a spaceship. It’s a time machine. Goes backwards, and forwards. Takes us to a place where we ache to go again. It’s not called The Wheel, it’s called The Carousel. Lets us travel the way a child travels, ‘round and around, and back home again… to a place where we know we were loved."
“…just two people walking together; the long nights of drinking and smoking; talking; the arguments; thinking of suicide; eating together and feeling good; the jokes; the laughter out of nowhere; feeling miracles in the air; being in a parked car together; comparing past loves at 3am; being told you snore; hearing her snore…”—bukowski
When do you know if you’re ready to fall in love? When do you know if you’re ready to fall in love again?
Do you remember the moment when everything shifted, things clicked, fell apart or into place, and you tried to stand still but you couldn’t? Your legs wobble, don’t they? As if they feel the pressure of things about to change. -e.v.