Thursday, July 16, 2009

Chocolate is a bandaid no matter what they say.

She had been too busy trying to transform herself into the kind of person who doesn't need anything from anybody, a wall of pure bricks. In the meantime, she had forgotten that when people walk into walls of bricks, they get hurt.

I read somewhere that if you think you're going to cry, you can recite the colors of things to make it stop. Green tree. Red windmill. Blue sky. Blue jeans. Blue eyes.

Chocolate is a bandaid no matter what they say, shoes don't stretch, and men don't change.

Time ticks by; we grow older. Before we know it, too much time has passed and we've missed the chance to have had other people hurt us. To a younger me this sounded like luck; to an older me this sounds like a quiet tragedy.

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