(i carry your heart with me)

Hello. You’re sound asleep beside me and I just wanted to say that I’ll try my very best and hope that everything turns out okay. I love you.

It was a horrible day. The sort of day where you wake up in the morning, yet you didn’t truly leave that mesmerized state of silken dream. No words really leave your mouth, and no thoughts really fill your mind. The body feels as if it just floats through the space it occupies, and every action feels like a lifetime of effort. Then I see your face, and all is good.

I always have something to say, but there isn’t always someone to listen. And I do mean listen, not simply to hear. People do not speak, nor allow themselves to be goaded into speech, just to hear the words “nobody cares”, “that’s just too bad” or “deal with it”.

We all know that those things are usually true. But that’s not why we speak about our pains and our sorrows and our gripes, is it? We hope. We hope that someone will bother, hope that that someone will be you and, if all else fails, hope that you’d be kind enough to just listen and be nice.

Because that’s all we want really. A little kindness, a little tenderness, perhaps a little sympathy.

That cannot bought. It cannot be given out of exasperation or pity. It is either offered from the bottom of your soul, or it is worthless.

It does not matter how you treat the world, nor how the world treats you. The measure of a person is how they treat those around them in spite of all else.

There are no good or bad people in this world, though there is still godliness and sin. There are merely choices, consequences, and at the end of it all, love.

It’s a race with no end. I can’t catch up with ghosts.

It’s a well with no bottom, and eventually, I’ll fall in as well.

It’s a promise with no safeguard, and words are little more than whispers in the wind.

Sometimes I wish I had been born in a earlier era, one without the complacency of modernity, without the arrogance of comfort and without the mundanity of society. Or failing which, that ignorance was a gift more prevalent. It seems as if those who know what they can achieve are the most unhappiest, for they know that they are not yet there; and having reached their desired outcome they are no longer satisfied, for they know that there is always more.

Its in every single one of us.

I’m not talking about success. I’m not talking about wealth either. Not fame, not respect, not desirability. Its the in-built drive to wonder, “Is there more to life than this?

Some things in life are enough. I’m so grateful for those things. But others are not. And isn’t it just human nature to focus on the bad rather than the good?

I hate that feeling when you know you’re losing a friend because you can’t even keep a simple conversation going without it being awkward and there’s nothing left to say anymore

(Source: fakemermaids, via fauxbliss)

‘Where did it go?’

‘I lost it.’

‘When?’

‘A long, long time ago. I didn’t even notice it was gone till it was too late.’

‘Too late for what, dear?’

‘You.’