Breakable

Everyone isn’t logical. Everything doesn’t make sense in the end. Sometimes you have to forget about explanations or excuses and leave people and places behind, because otherwise they will drag you straight down.

This girl wasn’t tapping her fingers restlessly, though. Her movements were methodical. Synchronized. Sitting far enough to the left of her to study her profile, I watched her chin bob, so subtly it was almost undetectable – and at some point, I realized that when her expression was remote and her fingers were moving, she was hearing music. She was playing music. It was the most magical thing I’d ever seen anyone do.

Some of us can begin to heal the damage people have done to us by escaping the situation, but some of us need more than that. Tattoos make statements that need to be made. Or hide things that are no one's business. Your scars are battle wounds, but you don't see them that way. Yet.

New beginnings are often disguised as painful endings ~ Lao Tzu.

This ink will make your skin yours again. Maybe someday, you'll see that your skin isn't you. It's just what houses you while you're here.

Luck could be earned and created. It could be discovered. It could be regained. After all - I'd found this girl. I'd found my future. I'd found forgiveness. My mother would have been happy for me...

I dreamed about the future because that's what people persuade you to do when you're a kid, but that's the biggest lie of all--that you can plan. Reality is, you have no fucking clue what's coming and neither do they.

I wanted to put on earphones and plug into her and know what she was hearing when her fingers performed.

She’d conjured love in the heart of a man whose soul had been frozen for years, anesthetized by too much pain and guilt to bear.

My mother always pouted that it was actually her paintings and not her charm, her beauty or her sass that made him fall in love with her. He'd always insisted that it was definitely her sass. I knew the truth. He fell for all those things, and when she died, it was like someone had extinguished the sun, and he had nothing left to orbit.

I do, absolutely, want to kiss you right now. Badly.

Your scars are battle wounds, but you don’t see them that way.

Here's to everyone who has survived something devastating-- something that shattered your self-confidence and distorted your world in one blow. Whether you were fierce in the face of it or fell to pieces or shoved it out of sight for years-- I don't care how you got here. Every day you are stronger. Every day you are healing. Every day that you survive, you are telling that event, that person, that illness, that memory: YOU DO NOT DEFINE ME. Keep on. -- Acknowledgements

The night we met –’ I’m not him. I’m not him. ‘I’m not like that guy.

I had become Harry Potter. Except I was thirteen and not magic, and my destiny, whatever it was, held no profound purpose.

Watching her made my heart ache, as if that organ had become linked to her emotional state, rather than targeting its primary task—keeping me alive.

Every moment was a before and an after. Every moment was a now to be lived.

He fell for all those things, and when she died, it was like someone had extinguished the sun, and he had nothing left to orbit.

I shook to my core, my soul curving around her protectively as my mind strove to determine the logical calculation that could make her mine. I wanted to be hers as much—more—than I wanted to possess her, when I knew damned well that neither was possible.

The night we met –’ ‘I’m not like that guy.

The little kids by the water threw their hands in the air and squealed, chasing each other in circles. It was hard to believe that I’d ever been that small. That young. That happy and clueless. They had pain ahead. Heartbreak. Loss. They didn’t know and I didn’t want them to – but at the same time, I hated that I hadn’t known. I’d taken everything for granted – my mother, my friends in Alexandria, playing hockey. I dreamed about the future because that’s what people persuade you to do when you’re a kid, but that’s the biggest lie of all – that you can plan. Reality is, you have no fucking clue what’s coming and neither do they

Having pretty much burned every bridge he crossed, our friendship was like a malfunction of his usually deficient people skills.

When I was a child, I sometimes wondered if you were my guardian angel. Now that I’m older I know that you are.

I’d always defined jealousy as coveting what someone else has.

Then she told me her name, which I forgot immediately, and launched into a monologue of enmity concerning the girl who'd bumped her. I didn't know either of them, and I couldn't have cared less about their blood feud, which concerned either a guy or a pair of shoes--I couldn't determine which in my state of I don't give a shit.

I dreamed about the future because that’s what people persuade you to do when you’re a kid, but that’s the biggest lie of all – that you can plan. Reality is, you have no fucking clue what’s coming and neither do they.

Some of us can begin to heal the damage people have done to us by escaping the situation, but some of us need more than that. Tattoos make statements that need to be made. Or hide things that are no one’s business. Your scars are battle wounds, but you don’t see them that way. Yet.

when your parents tell you someone has gone to heaven, that person is never, ever coming back.

Because having the ability to make my skin my own again saved my life.

I would be her bad boy, if that’s what she wanted. If that’s what she needed.