I hope they ask about me & I hope you tell them you fucked up.
That’s why I’m so harsh, because I’m so sensitive.
It’s still you. It’ll be you when you fracture your wrist at 4AM and call me when I have a presentation the next morning. It’ll be you when you ask to drive my new car and crash it into a telephone pole. It’ll be you if we hate each other for a day or a few. And if you break my favourite mug. And if you keep forgetting our anniversary and make it up to me by baking a salty cake. It’ll be you when your dad dies and you stop talking because you don’t know how. It’ll be you when you crawl softly into my open arms. It’ll be you when your mum calls me a “whore” and you jerk your chin and all you say is “no.” It’s you when you’re messy and ill and sweaty. You when you leave the house door unlocked. You when you burp drunkenly into my ear and curl into my side like a baby. It’ll be you when you burn breakfast in bed and then kiss me for five minutes straight. It’ll be you when your hair gets too long and you can’t be bothered to cut it. You when you fall asleep on the sofa with the cat on your chest. You when we fight and turn everything to rubble. You when you put your mouth to my ear and whisper “it’s you. It’s still you.”
Being brave doesn’t mean you aren’t scared. Being brave means you are scared, really scared, badly scared, and you do the right thing anyway
If you mix the mashed potatoes and sauce, you can’t separate them later. It’s forever. The smoke comes out of Daddy’s cigarette, but it never goes back in. We cannot go back. That’s why it’s hard to choose. You have to make the right choice. As long as you don’t choose, everything remains possible.
You should not
have to rip yourself
into pieces to keep
- date the kind of people who will still respect you when you no longer love them
- date the kind of people who will still respect you when they no longer love you
- do not waste your emotional capacities on people whose respect for you is conditional