They want me. I want you. And you want someone else. But none of us want to turn around.
It takes millions of years for the continents to drift. And butterflies live a lot less than that. You can live all your life in a day. Or spread it out and live slow.
When I sit near you, my hands suddenly become alien things and I don't know where to put them or what they usually do, like this is the first time I've ever had hands and maybe they go in my pockets and maybe they don't.
Forget about your lists and do what you can because that's all you can do. Phone up the people you miss and tell them you love them. Hug those close to you as hard as you can. Because you are always only a drunk driver's stupidity, a nervous shopkeeper's mistake, a doctor's best attempts and an old age away from forever.
There is magic even here, in gridlock, in loneliness, in too much work, in late nights gone on too long, in shopping trolleys with broken wheels, in boredom, in tax returns, the same magic that made a man write about a princess that slept until she was kissed, long golden hair draped over a balcony and fingers pricked with needles. There is magic even here, in potholes along back-country roads, in not having the right change (you pat your pockets), arriving late and missing the last train home, the same magic that caused a woman in France to think that God spoke to her, that made another sit down at the front of a bus and refuse to move, that lead a man to think that maybe the world wasn't flat and the moon could be walked upon by human feet. There is magic. Even here. In office cubicles.
You are not too old. You are not too young. You are not too poor. You are not too sick. You are not any of the things that stop you from doing what must be done. You are right here. You, are just right.
When you finally understand what it meant, the truth will leave your lips. Not as words. But a sound at the back of your throat.
Each week, you trade 5 days for 2. That doesn't sound right to me.
Fine. Maybe I'm the puzzle. But you're still the pieces.
And if you can't say yes, answer anyway. Because I'd rather live with the answer than die with the question.
Others are going to start doing the things you talk about doing. The right time to start, is right now.
No storm is so bad that you can't learn something from it. You can grow in a storm. You can thrive. Rain cleans the air.
Not until you understand that to want is not to need and that love is meant for people, not things.
I was so busy missing you, I missed someone else standing right in front of me. Now I’m missing them instead.
Similar to tricycles, summer, winter, autumn, spring, bruised knees, your first kiss and there is no Santa Clause, life is really just a series of things that happen. Sometimes to you.
It takes millions of years for the continents to drift. And butterflies live a lot less than that. You can live all your life in a day. Or spread it out and live slow.
When I sit near you, my hands suddenly become alien things and I don't know where to put them or what they usually do, like this is the first time I've ever had hands and maybe they go in my pockets and maybe they don't.
Forget about your lists and do what you can because that's all you can do. Phone up the people you miss and tell them you love them. Hug those close to you as hard as you can. Because you are always only a drunk driver's stupidity, a nervous shopkeeper's mistake, a doctor's best attempts and an old age away from forever.
There is magic even here, in gridlock, in loneliness, in too much work, in late nights gone on too long, in shopping trolleys with broken wheels, in boredom, in tax returns, the same magic that made a man write about a princess that slept until she was kissed, long golden hair draped over a balcony and fingers pricked with needles. There is magic even here, in potholes along back-country roads, in not having the right change (you pat your pockets), arriving late and missing the last train home, the same magic that caused a woman in France to think that God spoke to her, that made another sit down at the front of a bus and refuse to move, that lead a man to think that maybe the world wasn't flat and the moon could be walked upon by human feet. There is magic. Even here. In office cubicles.
You are not too old. You are not too young. You are not too poor. You are not too sick. You are not any of the things that stop you from doing what must be done. You are right here. You, are just right.
When you finally understand what it meant, the truth will leave your lips. Not as words. But a sound at the back of your throat.
Each week, you trade 5 days for 2. That doesn't sound right to me.
Fine. Maybe I'm the puzzle. But you're still the pieces.
And if you can't say yes, answer anyway. Because I'd rather live with the answer than die with the question.
Others are going to start doing the things you talk about doing. The right time to start, is right now.
No storm is so bad that you can't learn something from it. You can grow in a storm. You can thrive. Rain cleans the air.
Not until you understand that to want is not to need and that love is meant for people, not things.
I was so busy missing you, I missed someone else standing right in front of me. Now I’m missing them instead.
Similar to tricycles, summer, winter, autumn, spring, bruised knees, your first kiss and there is no Santa Clause, life is really just a series of things that happen. Sometimes to you.
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