#excerpt of a book ill never write

At the end high school graduations they should line all the graduates up in front of a gate, ready to bust out into the “real world.” Just before the gates open someone should say, “Welcome to life. It’s wonderful to have you. Please clean up your messes and own your shitty choices. Please understand that you are entitled to nothing and will need to work for everything. Be nice to one another. Love one another. This life is harsh and brutal and only compassion can make it better.”

Excerpt of a book I’ll never write #203

You were an illness I needed to recover from. You weakened me and every one of my relationships from my family to my friends. I’m better now, healthier now, but I always worry about a relapse into you.

Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #204

I miss your handwriting. Is that weird? That I miss the way you wrote my name and the slanted and angular way you wrote the words that both stole and broke my heart.

Excerpt of a book I’ll never write #202

I tried. I know that you know that, everyone does, but I failed. For some reason to me that feels worse than if I hadn’t tried at all, if I hadn’t been there for you, if I hadn’t held your hand and gave you hope. I tried, I’m so sorry that I did because it didn’t make any difference at all in the end.

Excerpt of a book I’ll never write #201

I consider her my first child. The first one that I sacrificed for, cooked meals for, explained homework to, watched out for. I mourned her when she left for college, proud and strangely sad. I took her crying phone calls when classes were hard. I comforted her, protected her, encouraged her and when others told me this wasn’t how it was supposed to be I ignored them. They didn’t know. Who else was going to be her mother? She’s grown now, we both are, and she has kids of her own. She does the things I did with her, the things our mother didn’t. She bakes Christmas cookies, goes camping, travels, and she cooks them meals, explains their homework and protects them.

I consider her my first child and I am proud as hell of how we both turned out.

There is a certain point when hi means I love you. I miss you. Say something. I don’t know what to say. We are broken and battle scarred. I don’t know what I’m doing in life. There is a certain point when hi means more than hello.

Excerpt of a book I’ll never write #200

I wish people were more careful with things they can break like hearts or people.

Excerpt of a book I’ll never write #198

We still say I love you, like it means something. Like the words are strings that keep us tied together. I’m unsure if we mean them anymore but we say them, out of habit and a little out of fear of what it would mean if we stopped saying them. Somedays, I love you, and others I don’t think I do, but no matter which day it is we both still say I love you.

Excerpt of a book I’ll never write #196

It’s time to get out. And I know this. We are long past good and into something unfamiliar and unpleasant. I know that, but my heart keeps saying, “just a little longer.”

“You’ll waste your life waiting,” logic reminds me.

And I know this but the hope and the what ifs push me forward. “Just a little bit longer,” my heart reminds me, and I wait knowing I’m delaying the inevitable

Excerpt of a book I’ll never write #193

When we spoke the words flowed like water through a river bed. Made for and by itself, meandering a path to bring life to all it touches. The flowers bloomed from it. The animals drank from it. It made the most beautiful sound when it ran peacefully over the rocks smoothing their jagged edges over time. It inspired awe in its rage, for it could roar loud enough to deafen and stun. Speaking with him in anger could drown me like plunging beneath an ice cold waterfall. It was pummeling against rocks so sharp that they cut, so strong their edges could not be dulled by any manner of waters. With him the words flowed around the earth, and even when it slowed to just mere trickles at time I know that one day those drops will be oceans, lakes and streams.

Oh my love, don’t ever trade your fragility for callousness. Don’t give up your emotions for numbness. Please, don’t ever let yourself believe that life is better when you are disconnected from it, when you can’t feel it’s unpleasantness or cry at its unfairness. For just as much as the people of this world will be cruel and bring you to tears they will warm your heart, give you strength and teach you to be open to all life has to offer.

So, remember, that even when you are broken you may still love. Even when you are crying you may sing. Even when someone hurts you, you may care for them and forgive them. Life is not a dichotomy of opposites that cannot coexist. It is a mess of emotion, color, light, love and pain that none of us will escape. Stop trying to get out of it whole and start letting it leave you a little cracked and worn around the edges. In truth, I have never been more happy and whole than when I realized getting hurt was part of the game and it made me stronger to stand back up, dust off the dirt and step back up to play, love and strike out once more.

Don’t break her spirit when she’s young. You aren’t teaching her manners by breaking her down. You aren’t teaching her to be grateful and thankful by making her hug people she’s uncomfortable hugging or by making the painfully anxious and insecure child talk to the stranger. It’ll come with time and security. It’ll come when she feels the world is less scary. Model the behavior you want to see and watch it blossom as you let her grow strong and wild. Don’t break her spirit and her strong will to meet societies expectation that she act like a small adult. The world will do that enough. Let her be little. Let her chose. Let her watch you be the adult and in time she will do the same.

Time ebbs and flows in an odd way. For at moments it is tediously crawling ever slowly and painstakingly from one ragged breath to the next. Every fiber of my bring on fire and screaming in anguish at its delay. Then others it skips so quickly as though it were a rock over a smooth pond not even touching all the space it covers barely ripping water in its hurry to get to the end of its journey. Best of all is when it seems to quietly fade from existence at all leaving a tranquil peace in its wake. A moment of knowing peace that while it may soon pass, shall be remembered in every way as neither rushed nor painstaking. For time has given the gift of contemplation in that moment to take measure of all the finer details of life to be recalled for an eternity. I find that I most have these moments with you and for that I am most grateful.

Before I was born I was moondust, sand of the deepest sea and iron of the meteor that killed the dinosaurs. All the elements of me came from the Earth, put together so delicately and cleverly as to create something unique and wonderful. I am wild, kind and flawed by design. As I look upon my fellow particles of moondust and grains of sand, I cannot help feeling that we are all walking each other home. From the dust of the moon to the ashes of our fires we are all made of the earth to which we shall return.

I’ll always love the broken just a little harder, because I know how hard it is to try and put the pieces of yourself back together. I know how it feels to not feel deserving of love because of all the cracks are being held together with tape and determination. I’ll spend extra time kissing the bruised knees and wounded hearts. I’ll give a little more of myself to the broken, as those before have done for me, and I’ll become part of the glue that cements the broken pieces back in place.

Sometimes it’s hard to place an emotion- to give it a name in the confusion of love, pain and loss. But now after all this time I’ve found it’s name it’s a visceral ache of hiding love in plain sight. It’s the heartbreak of ending a friendship, a relationship, a future, because life is hard and not because the love has changed. It’s pointedly avoiding eye contact, so we can’t see each other’s tears. It’s avoiding being alone, because it hurts and we are scared of what we’d say. Because if I told you I still loved you, I know you’d say it back, and still nothing would change.

I hope some of the words in the back of your mind are me.

I hope sometimes you hear my voice asking if there is light at the end of the tunnel.

I hope you ask others, “What can I do?” and laughingly joke that your arms are too broken to hug.

I hope the words in the back of your mind are me sometimes, because I know you need a little more kindness than your own words can offer.

-Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #214

If I could do it all again, I would stay up later. I would ask more questions, unashamed of how personal they were and not afraid that I wouldn’t like the answers. If I could start over with you, I wouldn’t doubt my instincts. I wouldn’t fear what people thought if I catered to your every whim and laughed at every stupid joke. If I could try again, I would embrace every moment of every fight and ask for everything I needed from you. I wouldn’t worry if I was too needy, too attached, too much of anything. I would be myself more. I would scream louder. I wouldn’t of hesitated to tell you I love you, in every way, everyday. If I could do it again, I would not love you in halting steps always looking for some sort of validation that I was stepping on solid ground. I would jump into you and if you didn’t catch me, than I would still be picking up the same broken pieces I am now.

Excerpt of a book I’ll never write #214

I would die a thousand times in the fire of our dying flame to feel just a moment of warmth. The only time I can think clearly is a thousand miles away from you. So please forgive my cowardice but if we both waited for me to be able to break our hearts in person, then darling we would of left as ashes.

Excerpt of a book I’ll never write #213

We may not be have aged gracefully like fine wine. You may not be smooth like good whiskey, but you will always be my shot of tequila. It may not have been the best decision I’ve ever made, but despite the regret, the stories you left me with were worth the burn.

Except of a story I’ll never write #212

I hope he sees it, the way that you give more of yourself away than you keep. I hope he hears the love in your voice as you speak of old heartbreak. I hope he doesn’t get jealous of the fact that everyone you’ve ever loved still has a place in your heart, even if you only love a memory or a whisper of a boy who destroyed you. I hope he sees how strong the stitches are that you made to put all of the pieces back together. I hope he realizes how brave you are that you haven’t let the heartbreaks of your past destroy the love of your future. I hope he recognizes all of the amazing things in your heart that all the other boys took for granted.

Excerpt of a book I’ll never write #211

Oh darling, I wish you would learn, happiness isn’t a place. It isn’t found in the big city lights. It won’t float in on the tide. It isn’t hiding in any one place, waiting to be found. Happiness isn’t found at all, my dear, it’s made. And if I’ve learned anything in my travels, it’s that you can make happiness anywhere. Even in a place that once broke your heart.

Excerpt of a book that I’ll never write #210

You’re here still, not physicially, or in a way that eases my broken heart, but you’re here in the empty halls and in my memories. You’re in every room and every so often someone brings up your name and I slide away into my memories where I haven’t lost you yet. There, you’re still making jokes and you’re still bringing out my unabashed delight and frustration all at once. There, you’re still looking for my validation and my love, just as much as I was looking for yours. You’re still in every part of this place, maybe because I’m still looking for you in it.

Excerpt of a book I’ll never write #209

I’m afraid of being the girl you associate with rainy nights. I’m afraid that you’ll remember pieces of my apartment and my life with a mixture of longing, admiration and hatred. I worry about how you’ll feel when you hear my name in the future. I see it in your eyes, that look of happiness, that look like I’m everything you ever imagined having. I’ve looked that way before. It’s left me heartbroken and sobbing, so please be careful with me, because I may not intend to but I may become the holder of a piece of your heart that you’ll wish you never gave away.

Excerpt of a book I’ll never write #208

You’ll get cut on my broken pieces and though I don’t mean to, you will certainly bleed. I don’t want to hurt you, in fact it is usually as I try to protect you from my own brokenness and jagged edges when you will. Don’t hold onto me too tightly, your palms will come away aching, bloodied and scarred. Believe me when I tell you that I’m not ready. I am not capable. I am not to be loved, because in this state I know my capabilities and though I don’t want to I will leave you less whole than when I found you.

Excerpt of a book I’ll never write #207

Seeing you undid a year and a half of getting over you, and I honestly expected nothing less.

Excerpt of a book I’ll never write #205

She always did go for the sad boys. The ones with sunken eyes and a slow heartbeat. Some might say she had a healing complex, but I don’t think it was quite that simple. Perhaps, instead, it was so she’d be focused so much on taming their demons that she could neglect her own for awhile. It wasn’t because she thought she could heal them, but because she was afraid she couldn’t heal herself.

What a silly thought

to think that the point of a relationship

is to be forever.

I have had forevers last six months

and forevers last two years

and still they run through my veins

as lessons

as experiences

as growth.

Never minimize a relationship as a failure

just because it has completed its’ course

Alexander J. Bones

Hey guys I’m going to be moving my content primarily to YouTube since the changes for creators on Tumblr. I don’t really care for what is happening to the platform too much. I do hope you consider following me on this journey still. Thank you all so much.

“i’m sorry if you touch my heart and find the scar tissue;

there used to be a thorn there

i’m sorry if the prick is like a diabetics reading; there used to be a thorn there.”

- words for us