I don't think all writers are sad, she said. I think it's the other way around— all sad people write.
Letting him go There is a particular kind of suffering to be experienced when you love something greater than yourself. A tender sacrifice. Like the pained silence felt in the lost song of a mermaid; or the bent and broken feet of a dancing ballerina. It is in every considered step I am taking in the opposite direction of you.
Here are the things I want for you - I want you to be happy. I want someone else to know the warmth of your smile, to feel the way I did when I was in your presence. I want you to know how happy you once made me and though you really did hurt me, in the end, I was better for it. I don't know if what we had was love, but if it wasn't, I hope to never fall in love. Because of you, I know I am too fragile to bear it. I want you to remember my lips beneath your fingers and how you told me things you never told another soul. I want you to know that I have kept sacred, everything you had entrusted in me and I always will. Finally, I want you to know how sorry I am for pushing you away when I had only meant to bring you closer. And if I ever felt like home to you, it was because you were safe with me. - I want you to know that most of all.
Without a doubt, I must read, all the books I've read about. See the artworks hung on hooks, that I have only, seen in books.
Time You were the one I wanted most to stay. But time could not be kept at bay. The more it goes, the more it's gone— the more it takes away.
Whatever path you choose will take you to the same destination. The only thing that should guide you is your intuition.
