#write blr
broken nails
i think life is a series of broken nails; sometimes you couldn’t have known, sometimes it’s more “i told you so”. sometimes it hurts, and sometimes it doesn’t, regardless it’s torn from you all of a sudden. but if you let it, it’ll grow back, the past remains as history. time can heal the tiny wounds — maybe not that of a gun, but you could never break my heart; my nails grow out and pass.
love yourself for your flaws, not in spite of them.
i have never loved bits and pieces of a person, wishing i could just discard the rest. my love is whole, given to an entire person, everything included. our flaws and our beauty come together as a package, inseparable; no one should ever be expected to sieve out parts of themselves for anyone else.
in truth, it’s the tiny imperfections that make a person who they are. i find it endearing that my boyfriend often speaks just a little too loud indoors, or that he beats an egg with a spoon (why not use a fork you big buffoon?). i love how my best friend fails to notice details and is one big unobservant, gullible mess, because it makes surprising her so much easier.
and in turn, i try to give that same love to myself, for all of my curves and divets i wish i could just trim off, for my clumsy hands that are always capable of breaking something (always), for the chaotic but beautiful mind i can never seem to switch off. i love myself wholeheartedly, and that includes all of my flaws, each and every one of them.
i watch the cars drive by at night, their headlights trailing wisps of life behind them. every one of them is a person (or two or three), all blurred together in a neon haze on the highway. i bet some of them have no idea where they’re going, where they’ll end up. and maybe that’s why i feel at peace, because hell, neither do i.
“try me.”
it’s such a powerful phrase to use in any situation. no one understands you? try me. you don’t think i can do it? try me. you want someone to love? try me. it’s always a challenge, but an uplifting one — as if to say, believe in me, i can do it. i can help you. just those two simple words can give anyone trust, confidence, and security, including yourself.
who struck a match on my heart?
it’s on fire
well, let the rain do their part
and drown it out.
but there’s a weight to my feet,
i’m sinking into the mire
you said you won’t ever leave,
i didn’t think it meant this.
“Help me understand you,” he says. “I don’t know what’s going through your mind.”
I wish you did. But I’m not willing to lay down my life for that. For the only way you could ever truly understand, is to cut me up into pieces, then take them one by one, and slide them underneath a microscope. I would beg you to look through the lens, but would you dare to wield the knife?
These thoughts of agony are natural to us, for humans are used to travelling in a straight line, never ceasing, never straying. Yet summer prepares for the winter in fall, and winter prepares for the summer in spring, and she alone was unprepared for what her own seasons would bring.
- an excerpt from a personal piece of prose
here’s how i knew that it hurt me bad,
- because i couldn’t hold my tears on the train ride back.
- the pain in my heart felt like a sharp stab,
- and it spread to my head where there’s nothing left.
- sometimes my brain just pulls the plug instead,
- and a numbness starts to take over my chest.
pain may take shape in different ways, but at least it’ll let me know when my heart is going to break.
after everything had mixed and simmered and worked away in silence, there would be neither fire, nor water, but wine.
Fahrenheit 451, Ray Bradbury
