I'm oxygen and he's dying to breathe.
Tahereh Mafi
I spent my life folded between the pages of books. In the absence of human relationships I formed bonds with paper characters. I lived love and loss through stories threaded in history; I experienced adolescence by association. My world is one interwoven web of words, stringing limb to limb, bone to sinew, thoughts and images all together. I am a being comprised of letters, a character created by sentences, a figment of imagination formed through fiction.
reading life imagination absence character history human stories world characters relationships power-of-words fiction loss thoughts words letters adolescence pages paper images bonds love books
I love walking into a bookstore. It's like all my friends are sitting on shelves, waving their pages at me.
walking friends friend pages bookstore love books shelves
Hope. It's like a drop of honey, a field of tulips blooming in the springtime. It's a fresh rain, a whispered promise, a cloudless sky, the perfect punctuation mark at the end of a sentence. And it's the only thing in the world keeping me afloat.
hope
Hate looks like everybody else until it smiles
inspirational hate dystopia young-adult
The words get easier the moment you stop fearing them.
writing inspirational
All I ever wanted was to reach out and touch another human being not just with my hands but with my heart.
compassion empathy loneliness
need metaphor beautiful ya couples kiss
His lips soften into a smile that cracks apart my spine. He repeats my name like the word amuses him. Entertains him. Delights him.
compassion beautiful heartwarming
Why are you touching me? Because I.
compassion
The sun is an arrogant thing, always leaving the world behind when it tires of us. The moon is a loyal companion. It never leaves. It's always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do. Everyday it's a different version of itself. Sometimes weak and wan, sometimes strong and full of light. The moon understands what it means to be human. Uncertain. Alone. Cratered by imperfections.
poetry moon
And I do. I do wonder, I think about it all the time. What it would be like to kill myself. Because I never really know, I still can't tell the difference, I'm never quite certain whether or not I'm actually alive. I sit here every single day. Run, I said to myself. Run until your lungs collapse, until the wind whips and snaps at your tattered clothes, until you're a blur that blends into the background. Run, Juliette, run faster, run until your bones break and your shins split and your muscles atrophy and your heart dies because it was always too big for your chest and it beat too fast for too long and you run. Run run run until you can't hear their feet behind you. Run until they drop their fists and their shouts dissolve in the air. Run with your eyes open and your mouth shut and dam the river rushing up behind your eyes. Run, Juliette. Run until you drop dead. Make sure your heart stops before they ever reach you. Before they ever touch you. Run, I said.
romance insanity prose suicide run
That this girl would know exactly how to shatter me.
sadness romance
I hope he doesn't know he just touched my leg. And nothing happened.
strength
We write every day, we fight every day, we think and scheme and dream a little dream every day. Manuscripts pile up in the kitchen sink, run-on sentences dangle around our necks. We plant purple prose in our gardens and snip the adverbs only to thread them in our hair. We write with no guarantees, no certainties, no promises of what might come and we do it anyway. This is who we are.
writers writing-process writing-philosophy
Sometimes a book isn't a heartbreaking work of staggering genius. Sometimes it's the only story you knew how to tell.
writing
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