Every writer has a cold heart. It lives inside the apartment building of their ribs, on the very top floor close to the fire escape, where it can flee through the window if need be. They like to ruin the things they write about. Even the moon feels broken when they’re done with it. Nothing a writer mentions in their work can ever be whole again.
If writers had gardens, they would be full of words, buried deep down under the sweet dark soil like vegetable seeds. They take root and grow there, sometimes for months, sometimes for years, until a story is born, and then they bloom. That’s why so many well-known authors had green thumbs. In their spare time you can find them out on the terrace, smoking a cigarette or drinking tea, maybe down at the beach with their limbs splayed out in the water like the five points of a star.
Writers are easy to fall in love with. They make their lovers feel like ghosts, transient and luminescent. When they have sex it’s never just sex. They speak when they’re making love, endless sentences of poetry and prose. Some of their best works are created when wrapped around the body of another. They’re always taking mental snapshots of the way their skin fits into someone else’s. They notice every little thing. Each bruise, freckle, callus, and vein. They could write an anthology all about the hidden parts of the body.
When a writer captures you, all you can do is stand like a deer in headlights until they’re finished with you. They’ll keep you locked up in their den for days, their pen endlessly moving across paper. You’ll never forget the sound of that typewriter. It’ll haunt you in your sleep. They’ll let you drown. If you were at the bottom of the ocean, with the bubbles already escaping from your lips, they wouldn’t save you. There would be no anchor to throw down to you, no lifeboat to come your way. Writers always let their subjects drown. It’s just easier that way.
And if a writer falls in love with you, you’re done for. Be prepared for a terrifying existence. They’ll want to watch you all the time. You’ll live off of ramen noodles and packets of instant coffee, and your limbs will always be wrapped around theirs in the bathtub. The coldness of their heart may melt a little, until it’s less like the Arctic and more like a glacier. Only you can warm your hands over their fire. But they’ll kill you, slowly, without mercy. They’ll kill you with pure poetry and prose. You can never escape from their stories. If a writer falls in love with you, you will forever be caught up in the web of their words.
You feel lost and all you want is to be found. And when you’re found, you want to feel acknowledged. You want to feel like you have worth, as if you have a reason to exist in this world. You want to experience love. You want to love and be loved. And you want a love that will last forever— even though you know that nothing lasts forever. You don’t want to feel hurt, betrayed, or abandoned— when these are the very emotions that almost every single human being will go through at least once in their life. You want to have more smiles than tears. And if you drop tears, you want them to be of joy. You want to feel beautiful about yourself, but you don’t know how. You want to have a reason to wake up every single morning. At times you feel like dying, but truthfully, you just want to feel alive. You want more good memories than bad ones. You wish you had hope, because all of the hope that you had before was merely false. You want to make something out of yourself— but you’re afraid of failure, so you’re afraid of trying. And you know very well that this fear is exactly what is preventing you from some of your dreams and desires— but you ignore it. You ignore the things that are important
It’s a beautiful thing if you learn to be independent and strong on your own— to not always depend on others. Because you know that you can’t trust everyone in this world. People come and go. And if you learn to be happy on your own, and someone else comes along that is able to add on to that happiness of yours— it’s a feeling like no other.
You’re tired, physically and emotionally.
It’s just one of those nights where it seems like everything is far from your reach. You feel like absolutely nothing matters. No, there’s a small piece of you that knows there are things that matter, but right now, they don’t. You don’t have any effort and energy left to worry about those things at this very moment. Right now, those things don’t exist. Maybe sleep will wash away these feelings. Most likely when you wake up tomorrow, tonight will simply be a blur. But there’s a part of you that knows that this happens much too often. What you feel now is familiar. It’s almost as if it’s natural.
Time is ticking. The days are going by, lost opportunities left and right. People are disappearing, possibilities are slowly fading away. You’re waiting for the future to do things, but your future is decreasing, while your past is constantly growing. Tomorrow is never promised, but you live as if it is. You’re dwelling upon the past, ignoring or forgetting to live in the present. And by doing that, you’ll only be engulfed by emptiness.
There is a certain enjoyment gained from beautiful things.
But they mean nothing.
They are just things.
And in the end, we aren’t bringing anything with us.
In a sense, we don’t own anything in this life.
But most people still struggle with things they deem beautiful,
even though they are fully aware of their lack of value and meaning.
“True beauty lies inside, not on the outside.”
I believe the most important things in this world are your connections to people,
life, and more importantly,
yourself—and what you ultimately offer to everything around you.
At first, you don’t even know it’s happening.
It all just started with a simple “hello,”
and you never would have guessed it would lead to this.
Your mind starts to concentrate on that one person, and nothing else.
Whenever you see, talk to, or even are near that special someone,
those butterflies and that smile appear as your problems seem to disappear.
Everything they say or do makes you smile.
You just have that happy feeling inside again.
It’s a good feeling, isn’t it?
I am not okay, not even remotely close.
I’m aware of this.
And I do not want help.
If You Asked Me Why I Like You,
i wouldn’t have an exact answer, because to be honest, there isn’t a real reason why i do. there’s just something about you. your personality, the way you smile, or your humor. something about you catches my attention & draws me to you.