pleasefindthis

“No matter how you stack me. No matter how you arrange me. No matter how you look at me. I am still here and i am still the same person made of the same things. I regret nothing.”

“We clutch that picture to our hearts because we expect each other to always be the people in that picture. But people change. People aren't pictures. And you can either take a new picture or throw the old one away.”

“You can try and hold me back. Build your damn walls, pack sandbags along the edges and yell at the clouds and the rain and the sky to stop. But i will not relent. I will reach you. Because i am the sea. And i will continue to love you no matter what.”

“You are a drop of perfect in an imperfect world. And all I need , is a taste.”

“You’re just another story I can’t tell anymore.”

“I could’ve sworn I was telling the truth when I told you I didn’t miss you.”

“I know you’re just a rag doll now, sewn together with memories that we might have had. I know you’re just the dream inside of a dream And don’t worry, I know I don’t know you, anymore.”

“You can be in love and you can be in a relationship. But they’re not always the same thing.”

“You cannot go back in time, even if you wish it with every fiber of your being, your heart and soul, even if you think about it every day. Trust me. I know.”

“Things just break sometimes. Maybe we should blame that third person we became, that personality we shared together. Maybe it's fault because you're a good person and I think I'm a good person too. We just weren't made for this.”

“Booze makes you stupid and like it. It makes you fall around and not care. And eventually, stupid is the only way you know how to be. Cocaine makes you feel important, that life matters, that you matter. That the music is better than it really is. That every conversation is profound and that all pretenses have been stripped away. Ecstasy makes you dance all night and love your friends so much, in a way that you've never been able to tell them about before. Acid makes you see pretty colours and makes things breathe. But Sadness, there is nothing like Sadness.”

“You must remember this feeling, Jon.The feeling of being happy. It doesn't happen often but when it does, you must grab it with both hands and hold it close. Let it overwhelm you. Don'tover analyse any emotion. But remember it. Always remember it.”

“Be soft. Do not let the world make you hard. Do not let pain make you hate. Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness. Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree, you still believe it to be a beautiful place.”

“She reminds him of every good day he's ever had. Every summer spent in fields of grass. Every sunrise. Every sunset. She tastes like dew and smells like light. And when she speaks, it's like someone slowly plucking the strings of a guitar, a sadly beautiful song starting to play, all his own. And he loves her.”

“The drug, the Sadness, is working, breaking the horrible, dull, boring, mind-numbing happiness imposed on him and everyone else in NewLand by the antidepressants in the city's water supply.”

“All the hardest, coldest people you meet were once as soft as water. And that's the tragedy of living.”

“When I sit near you, my hands suddenly become alien things and I don't know where to put them or what they usually do, like this is the first time I've ever had hands and maybe they go in my pockets and maybe they don't.”

“And then my soul saw you and it kind of went "Oh there you are. I've been looking for you.”

“You make me nostalgic for a love that hasn't even happened yet.”

“You should know that there is something worse than hate and that is unlove.Because hate is anger over something lost, hate is passion, hate is misguided, it's caring for the wrong things but it is still caring. But unlove, unlove is to unkiss, to unremember, to unhold, to undream, to undo everything that ever was and leave smooth stone behind in its wake.No fire.No fury.Just, nothing.And that is worse than hate.”

“I do not understand why you would go out of your way to hurt each other, when life can already hurt so much.”

“You're wrong.The question is not"How many times can your heart be broken?" The question is"How many times can it heal?”

“Even after the entire world has taken me apart, there's still a part of me left for you.”

“Love proudly. Let it burn anything between you.”

“Most importantly, if you can at all avoid it, don't be normal. Strive, burn and do everything you can to avoid being the industry standard. Even the highest industry standard. Be greater than anything anyone else has ever dreamed of you. Don't settle for pats on the back, salary increases, a nod-and-a-smile. Instead, rage against the tepidness of the mundane with every fiber of whatever makes you, you. Change this place.Please, do that for me.”

“May you do the things you want to and always remember what it felt like when you were doing them.”

“I have told myself you are not allowed to hurt me anymore. That's what hurts the most.”

“The things you struggle with today are things you choose to struggle with. Because you believe that what you want to accomplish, is worth struggling for.”

“You will not remember much from school.School is designed to teach you how to respond and listen to authority figures in the event of an emergency. Like if there's a bomb in a mall or a fire in an office. It can, apparently, take you more than a decade to learn this. These are not the best days of your life. They are still ahead of you. You will fall in love and have your heart broken in many different, new and interesting ways in college or university (if you go) and you will actually learn things, as at this point, people will believe you have a good chance of obeying authority and surviving, in the event of an emergency. If, in your chosen career path, there are award shows that give out more than ten awards in one night or you have to pay someone to actually take the award home to put on your mantlepiece, then those awards are more than likely designed to make young people in their 20's work very late, for free, for other people. Those people will do their best to convince you that they have value. They don't. Only the things you do have real, lasting value, not the things you get for the things you do. You will, at some point, realise that no trophy loves you as much as you love it, that it cannot pay your bills (even if it increases your salary slightly) and that it won't hold your hand tightly as you say your last words on your deathbed. Only people who love you can do that. If you make art to feel better, make sure it eventually makes you feel better. If it doesn't, stop making it. You will love someone differently, as time passes. If you always expect to feel the same kind of love you felt when you first met someone, you will always be looking for new people to love. Love doesn't fade. It just changes as it grows. It would be boring if it didn't. There is no truly "right" way of writing, painting, being or thinking, only things which have happened before. People who tell you differently are assholes, petrified of change, who should be violently ignored. No philosophy, mantra or piece of advice will hold true for every conceivable situation. "The early bird catches the worm" does not apply to minefields. Perfection only exists in poetry and movies, everyone fights occasionally and no sane person is ever completely sure of anything. Nothing is wrong with any of this. Wisdom does not come from age, wisdom comes from doing things. Be very, very careful of people who call themselves wise, artists, poets or gurus. If you eat well, exercise often and drink enough water, you have a good chance of living a long and happy life. The only time you can really be happy, is right now. There is no other moment that exists that is more important than this one. Do not sacrifice this moment in the hopes of a better one. It is easy to remember all these things when they are being said, it is much harder to remember them when you are stuck in traffic or lying in bed worrying about the next day. If you want to move people, simply tell them the truth. Today, it is rarer than it's ever been.(People will write things like this on posters (some of the words will be bigger than others) or speak them softly over music as art (pause for effect). The reason this happens is because as a society, we need to self-medicate against apathy and the slow, gradual death that can happen to anyone, should they confuse life with actually living.)”

“And every day, the world will drag you by the hand, yelling "This is important! And this is important! And this is important! You need to worry about this! And this! And this!"And each day, it's up to you, to yank your hand back, put it on your heart and say "No. This is what's important.”

“Your salary is not love and your word is not love. Your clothes are not love and holding hands is not love. Sex is not love and a kiss is not love. Long letters are not love and a text is not love. Flowers are not love and a box of chocolates is not love. Sunsets are not love and photographs are not love. The stars are not love and a beach under the moonlight is not love. The smell of someone else on your pillow is not love and the feeling of their skin touching your skin is not love. Heart-shaped candy is not love and an overseas holiday is not love. The truth is not love and winning an argument is not love. Warm coffee isn't love and cheap cards bought from stores are not love. Tears are not love and laughter is not love. A head on a shoulder is not love and messages written at the front of books given as gifts are not love. Apathy is not love and numbness is not love. A pain in your chest is not love and clenching your fist is not love. Rain is not love.Only you. Only you, are love.”

“There are only so many of us born at a time and we are thrown into the world to find each other, to find the other ones who don't think you're strange, who understand your jokes, your smile, the way you talk.There are only so many of us born at a time and we only have so long to find each other before we die.But we have to try.”

“After you're gone, people will forget your name, no matter how important it was, and your face, no matter how pretty it was, and what you said, no matter how clever any of it sounded.The things you've done will crumble and fade and the places you once loved, will change and be given new names.You are only here for one moment and it lasts exactly one lifetime.”

“This is why it hurts the way it hurts.You have too many words in your head. There are too many ways to describe the way you feel. You will never have the luxury of a dull ache.You must suffer through the intricacy of feeling too much.”

“When sadness was the sea, you were the one that taught me to swim”

“And you taught me what this feels like.And then how it feels to lose it.And you showed me who I wanted.And then who I wasn’t.And you ticked every box.And then drew a line.And you weren’t mine to begin with.And then not to end with.And you looked like everything I wanted.And then became something I hated.And you get thought of every day.And then not in a good way.And you let me leave.And then wish I’d stayed.And you almost killed me.But I didn’t die.”

“Love, at every opportunity you are given. Be less afraid. Embrace each day (none are promised). Cry when you need to, it'll make you feel better. You were put on this planet to feel every feeling you could, do that. Everything works out in the end, I promise.”

“The best time to reflect is when you like the person looking back.”

“No protests in the streets, just a button marked 'like”

“This isn't me missing you. This is me missing the me I used to be.”

“A plane flies overhead and inside it is a writer who has spent most of his life as a law clerk, even though he’s always known deep down that he’s a writer. For the first time, he’s worked out what he wants to write, what the truth really is. He begs a napkin and a pen off the air hostess and he writes down the most beautiful sentence ever written, as the engine catches fire outside and the plane starts its plummet to the ground. It doesn’t matter to him. It’s the only sentence he’s ever written and it is the last and no part of him cares. The sentence falls through the air with singed, black edges and comes to rest in a tree, in a park, miles away. One day, around ten years from now, an old widow of an astronaut will find it when a strong breeze finally blows it from its hiding place. She will read it and she will weep.”

“I'm sorry. but you could never tell the difference between the mood you were in, and me.”

“Awe.It’s a feeling he misses. He made lists of things he wanted to feel when he was younger, big things, small things, ice, snow, the sand at the beach, someone else’s hands holding his, feeling him feeling them, a feedback loop of feelings, which is what happens when two people make love. He wanted to feel things that made him feel safe and scared and things that ripped his heart out of his chest, things that made him want to go home and things that made him want to travel, things that made him proud and things that made him regret his choices and he, like all people, slowly ticked these things off the list in his head as he lived, as the world turned until soon, there were very few things left to feel.He believed the last thing he would feel, would be nothing, as that was nearly impossible to feel unless you were dead or hadn’t been born yet. He wondered what it’d be like to not be able to wonder.He’d once wanted to know what it felt like to be able to talk to people properly, to be normal but he’d given up on finding that feeling, figuring no one ever really found it.”

“There’s a boiling pot of paranoia in the pit of his stomach. That slow, heavy weight he always has when he leaves the house, when he’s in the open and he’s carrying something, even if it’s just one vial of Sadness. He feels vulnerable. He knows if they stop him or the train, they’ll search everyone and give all of them a hard time.He just wants to get home without trouble. That’s all he’s ever wanted. To ignore the rest of the world, enjoy the Sadness [...]”

“The flag given to the son of a soldier.”

“On a distant battlefield, somewhere in the Middle East, Sergeant Jackson is sick of this fucking war and stands up from behind the trench he’s hiding in, ignores the pleas of his squad mates to get down and starts to play the electric guitar he’s insisted he bring into battle with him. He plays a song: his father’s favourite. He’s spent years learning it and he thinks it’s beautiful. The first bullet kills him. Someone takes a picture as he falls. A dying soldier clutching his electric guitar.”

“A man looks down at the red paint on his hands and wonders for a moment if he’s killed his wife and this is her blood or maybe he’s just painted the garden bench red, that’s all. He thinks it is a strange thought and carries on digging the hole he’s digging in the back garden. He whistles. He writes this all down in his moleskin diary, later that evening. His wife should be back from work by now but she isn’t.”

“You had this expression on your face, like you weren’t quite sure you were supposed to be on Earth.”