Black Box

...not all stories have happy endings; but that doesn't mean they're not worth the read.

I don’t believe in coincidence or fate But I know one thing for sure Your face was meant to be Burned into the deepest reaches Of my blackest memories.

If love is a drug, then it's the kind that should be prescribed.

This black box is yours to keep, to stash your troubles away. Just lock it up and call my name and I'll be there always.

The pain is just a subtle reminder of how alive you made me feel.

Fear is crippling. Fear of the future can convince us that there is no way out and nothing is ever going to get better. Fear is blinding; it can make us miss the warning signs flashing right in front of our eyes. It can also make you miss those brilliant flashes of color, when the world isn’t so gray. But, if you think about it, being afraid isn’t such a bad thing. Because fear is a reminder that you still have something to lose. Something worth holding onto.

This is a place where books are treasured – books that hold the sweetly magical smell of history; books that crackle when you open them and sigh when you close them; books that weigh heavy in your hands, not just your heart.

There’s a little blackness inside all of us.

This is called ‘Black Box’, for the girl who holds the key to mine.

We don't understand how much those small moments of closeness mean to us until they're taken away.

Mikki: ‘I need you to do something for me.’ Crush: ‘I’ll do anything for you. What do you need?’ Mikki: ‘I need you to teach me how to breathe when you’re gone.’ Crush: ‘That’s a lesson I hope you never have to learn.

You can’t choose the road you take; you can only hope to avoid the potholes.

Fate is death. No one escapes it. But if you stick around long enough, you might find someone to help you cheat fate for a while. And when you can’t cheat anymore, and fate finally catches up to you, maybe it won’t seem so scary with that someone by your side.

Once you see the good in someone, it’s hard not to notice the good in everyone.

I love you with all my circuits.

I hate you,’ I begin. ‘I hate the way your lip curls up when you’re confused. It’s sickeningly adorable. I hate the way your arms are so fucking strong. It kind of scares me.’ He smiles and I take a deep breath, trying to keep from crying, but it’s so hard. ‘I hate that your smile makes me want to cry and I don’t know why. I hate that you know how to look so together on the outside when you’re screaming inside. I hate that you always know the right thing to say. I hate the way that I already know what you’re thinking just by the way you’re looking at me.’ He wipes the tears from my jaw and I close my eyes. ‘I hate that you saved me. But, most of all, I hate that you love me because now I love you and I don’t know how to make it stop.

Life has shown me all too often that there is no rhyme or reason to the cruelty inflicted upon humanity.

not all stories have happy endings; but that doesn’t mean they’re not worth the read.

But, honestly, I hope you’ll tell me that I’m enough.” She smiles. “You’re more than enough. You’re my circuit breaker.

But, if you think about it, being afraid isn’t such a bad thing. Because fear is a reminder that you still have something to lose. Something worth holding onto.

Having a mental illness is like riding a really fast merry-go-round that never stops. There's no escape. You're stuck. But once in a while, you can give the operator some good drugs and he'll slow it down a little; just enough for you to see the trees and the normal people as they stroll by. But that ride operator needs to be supplied often. And sometimes, like any typical junkie, he's just plain unreliable. He stops showing up and you're spinning again. You can't see clearly.

You’re afraid of being vulnerable, physically and emotionally. You’re afraid of loving completely. Most of all, you’re afraid you’ll live your whole life without ever being truly happy because you don’t even know what it is that will make you happy. You’re afraid of not being passionate enough or brave enough to live. But you are. You are brave because not only did you go to the library with me today, you were the one who insisted we go.

Basically, love and hate activate similar circuits in the brain, but hate also activates the circuits used for rational thought. Which means, when you hate my adorable lips, you're thinking quite clearly, unlike when you think of how I love you and you turn unto a pile of irrational mush. In other words, you love me with all your circuits.

Sometimes, you just have to reassure the ones you love in precise language that you’ll always be there. Sometimes words are enough.

Fate is for fairy tales. It’s a romantic notion. Luck is what happens when you’re in the right place at the right time … with the right person.

I never saw your face that night. But I never forgot your scent. Sometimes, I'd be sitting in class or walking through the corridors between classes, someone would walk by and the smell would hit me like a kick in the face. But I'd still close my eyes and breathe it in for as long as the scent lingered. You may have tried to forget me, but, as painful as it was for me, I didn't want to forget you.

I hate you. I hate the way your lip curls up when you're confused. It's sickeningly adorable. I hate the way your arms are so fucking strong. It kind of scares me. I hate that your smile makes me want to cry and I don't know why. I hate that you know how to look so together on the outside when you're screaming Inside. I hate that you always know the right thing to say. I hate the way that I already know what you're thinking just by the way you're looking at me. I hate that you saved me. But, most of all, I hate that you love me because now I love you and I don't know how to make it stop.

I used to think fate was for religious nuts and people who were too afraid to take their fate into their own hands. Now I know the truth.

Don’t tell me I don’t know you when I’ve spent the last three years trying to forget you.