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1 " My Personalityunfolding before youlike a Swiss Army knife. "
― Katerina Stoykova-Klemer , The Air Around the Butterfly / Въздухът около пеперудата
2 " leaving is not enough; you muststay gone. train your heart like a dog. change the lockseven on the house he’s nevervisited. you lucky, lucky girl. you have an apartment just your size. a bathtubfull of tea. a heart the size of Arizona, but not nearlyso arid. don’t wish away your cracked past, your crooked toes, your problemsare papier mache puppetsyou made or bought because the vendorat the market was so compelling you justhad to have them. you had to have him.and you did. and now you pull down the bridge between your houses,you make him call before he visits, you take a loverfor granted, you take a lover who looks at youlike maybe you are magic. makethe first bottle you consumein this place a relic. place it on whatever altar you fashionwith a knife and five cranberries.don’t lose too much weight.stupid girls are always trying to disappear as revenge. and you are not stupid. you loved a manwith more hands than a parade of beggars, and here you stand. heartlike a four-poster bed. heart like a canvas. heart leaking something so strong they can smell it in the street. "
― Marty McConnell
3 " You’re thinking, maybe it would be easier to let it sliplet it gosay ”I give up” one last time and give him a sad smile.You’re thinkingit shouldn’t be this hard,shouldn’t be this dark,thinkinglove could flow easily with no holding backand you’ve seen others find their match and build something greattogether,of each other,like two halves fitting perfectly and now they achieve great thingsone by one, always together, and it seems grand.But you love him. Love him like a black stone in your chest you couldn’t live without because it fits in there. Makes you who you are and the thought of him gone—no more—makes your chest tighten up and maybe this is your fairytale. Maybe this is your castle.You could get it all on a shiny piece of glass with wooden stools and a neverending blooming gardenbut that’s not yours. This is yours. The cracks and the faults, the ugly words in the winterwalking home alone and angrybut falling asleep thinking you love him.This is your fairy tale. The quiet in the hallway, wishing for him to turn around, tell you to stay, tell you to please don’t go I need youlike you need meand maybe it’s not a Jane Austen novel but this is your novel and your castleand you can run from it your whole life but this is herein front of you.Maybe nurture it?Sweet girl, maybe close the world off and look at him for an houror two.This is your fairy. It ain’t perfect and it ain’t honey sweet with roses on the bed.It’s real and raw and ugly at times. But this is your love. Don’t throw it away searching for someone else’s love. Don’t be greedy. Instead, shelter it. Protect it. Capture every second of easy, pull through every storm of hardship. And when you can, look at him, lying next to you, trusting you not to harm him. Trusting you not to go. Be someone’s someone for someone.Be that someone for him.That’s your fairy tale. This is your castle.Now move in. Build a home. Build a house. Build a safety around things you love. It’s yours if you make it so.Welcome home, sweet girl, it will be all be fine. "
― Charlotte Eriksson
4 " So no one told your life wasGonna be this wayYour job's a jokey brokeYour love life's D.O.A.It's like you're always stuckIn second gearWhen it hasn't been your dayYour week, your monthOr even your year but,I'll be there for youWhen the rain starts to pourI'll be there for youLike I've been there beforeI'll be there for you'Cause you're there for me tooYou're still in bed at tenand work began at eightYou burned your breakfastSo far things are going greatYour mother warned you there'd beDays like theseBut she didn't tell you whenThe world has brought youDown to your knees thatI'll be there for youWhen the rain starts to pourI'll be there for youLike I've been there beforeI'll be there for you'Cause you're there for me too "
5 " How many people came and stayed a certain time,Uttered light or dark speech that became part of youLike light behind windblown fog and sandFiltered and influenced by it, until no partRemains that is surely you. "
― John Ashbery
6 " we know God is dead, they’ toldus, but listening to you I wasn’ sure. maybeit was the upper case. you were one of thebest female poets and I told the publishers, editors, “ her, print her, she’ mad but she’magic. there’ no lie in her fire.” I loved youlike a man loves a woman he never touches, onlywrites to, keeps little photographs of. I would haveloved you more if I had sat in a small room rolling acigarette and listened to you piss in the bathroom,but that didn’ happen. your letters got sadder.your lovers betrayed you. kid, I wrote back, alllovers betray. it didn’ help. you saidyou had a crying bench and it was by a bridge andthe bridge was over a river and you sat on the cryingbench every night and wept for the lovers who hadhurt and forgotten you. I wrote back but neverheard again. a friend wrote me of your suicide3 or 4 months after it happened. if I had met youI would probably have been unfair to you or youto me. it was best like this. "
7 " And what I said was I’ll miss you, What I meant to say was that I love you, What I wanted to say was that I meant what I said I miss you like I miss my own bedafter too many nights of sleeping on couchesor hardwood floors Or sitting silently behind the doors Of hotel rooms became wounds Breathing life in to this loneliness I miss youLike a burn victim must miss their own skinI miss you like a sad ending Must miss someplace new to beginBecause some say that the highway becomes a flat line if you travel it for too longI can’t tell if that’s true or false, But I’m racing down it towards you trying to find myPulse. "
― Shane L. Koyczan , Remembrance Year
8 " Just Go...Just GoNo need of your complimentsYour smiles are knifesYour words of swordsThey hit my soul deep insideEvery time I cut myselfDark inside...You thought I would never surviveLook, Look I'm strong than beforeI killed my pretty self for you I hadI'm change...I'm changeJust of youHere is no need to explainThat way, I'm not goingNow...Just for nowIt will bad for me if I goC'oz then I wanna kill youLike you never get killedBut you feel ever:I killed you deep insideNow I'm a little devil of yoursYou killed your little princessWith the dirty steps of yoursWanna taste me now ???Just fade...Just fadeI don't wanna destroyThe ending day of my life.Your face, Your NameMakes me fire deep insideNow listen dear Da...yIt's my time to assassinate youassassinate you deep insideNo swords, no knifesNo guns, no old tricksIn my own way, I will kill youCurious ? Wanna know ???Angry ? Just blow !!!Just wait...Just waitGenius...!You will know, one dayOn your own...C'ozIt's just a startI'm not over yetI have more to sayI have to burn each dropOf your blood, you have insideI have more to do for youC'oz, I'm your little devil...! "
9 " You don't fade from within my mind; it's a flawThat I dwell on each moment, cling to youLike smoke escaping my fingers while the candles burn them raw "
― Sreesha Divakaran , Those Imperfect Strokes
10 " Like hot foodI love youlike warmbread & coldcuts, buttersammichesor, days later, afterThanksgivingwhen I wantwhatever's left "
― Kevin Young
11 " Girl Without HandsWalking through the ruinson your way to workthat do not look like ruinswith the sunlight pouring overthe seen worldlike hail or meltedsilver, that brightand magnificent, each leafand stone quickened and specific in it,and you can't hold it,you can't hold any of it. Distance surrounds you,marked out by the ends of your armswhen they are stretched to their fullest.You can go no farther than this,you think, walking forward,pushing the distance in front of youlike a metal cart on wheelswith its barriers and horizontals.Appearance melts away from you,the offices and pyramidson the horizon shimmer and cease.No one can enter that circleyou have made, that clean circleof dead space you have madeand stay inside,mourning because it is clean.Then there's the girl, in the white dress,meaning purity, or the failureto be any colour. She has no hands, it's true.The scream that happened to the airwhen they were taken offsurrounds her now like an aureoleof hot sand, of no sound.Everything has bled out of her.Only a girl like thiscan know what's happened to you.If she were here she wouldreach out her arms towardsyou now, and touch youwith her absent handsand you would feel nothing, but you would betouched all the same. "
― Margaret Atwood , Morning in the Burned House