Abstruse one

Maybe raindrops are the bravest thing created by god they are never afraid of falling ..'I'm sorry I thought we are in this together' she said . hearing this he started looking through the window glass n said 'we can't be in this together' ,'now we should move on' . With  tears in her eyes she replied ' I think we were closer than this you couldn't hear I was completely' falling apart. This time with that angry look on his face he said you couldn't hear in all those messages that I left you .. She could no more look into his eyes the eyes which were stealing glances from her . she turns pale still with all her strength she said' I don't know who you are ? ' 'We are' ?. she continues n says ' I needed him and you have taken him away, I wish I was brave enough to fight for him but now he is too used to it ,too used to you . keep him that's the only thing common in us . we both love him isn't ??? Heari...

I am not pushing you away, I am holding on for dear life. But I need you to need me back, okay? Why didn't you tell me about it? And why didn't you call me while you were away? And why won't you ever just let me all the way in?.

: The rest of your life is a long time and whether you know it or not it's being shaped right now. You can choose to blame your circumstances on fate or bad luck or bad choices or you can fight back. Things aren't always going to be fair in the real world, that's just the way it is but for the most part you get what you give. Let me ask you all a question. What's worse: not getting everything you wished for or getting it but finding out it's not enough? The rest of your life is being shaped right now with the dreams you chase, the choices you make and the person you decide to be. The rest of your life is a long time and the rest of your life starts right now

Dear myself , this is gonna sound a little strange but I'd like you to paint over my old closet door. The thing is there is never a time when you will be more honest, and your convictions will be stronger, and your motives will be more pure than they are right now. Which means you should chase whatever excites you. Be confident, and take risks, and paint over my words so you can start writing your own. My story may have inspired you, but I'm certain your story will inspire the next girl to live in our room. I want you to know you don't need somebody to write about you in order for your life to mean something. You can write about yourself… make your own destiny. Then years from now the next girl will keep what you write on that door long enough to remind you how inspired your life is. And you can tell that girl to paint over the door because you realize the words you wrote, the friends you had, the urgency you felt will always be there under the paint. The love you professe...

 It’s been said that the saddest thing a man will ever face is what might have been. But what of a man whose faced with what was? Or what may never be? Or what can no longer be? Choosing the right path is never easy. It’s a decision we make with only our hearts to guide us. But sometimes we find our way to something better. Sometimes we fight through the regret and remorse of our mistakes, our malice and our jealousy and the shame we feel for not being the people we were meant to be. And that’s when we find our way to something better. Or when something better finds its way to us. "Blessed are the hearts that can bend; they shall never be broken." But I wonder if there's no breaking then there's no healing, and if there's no healing then there's no learning. And if there's no learning then there's no struggle. But struggle is a part of life. So must all hearts be broken?

What I wanted? I wanted you to fight for me! I wanted you to say that there was no one else that you could ever be with and that you'd rather be alone than without me. I wanted you to tell that night to the world she's the one for me. Each day getting up and accumulating my thoughts and feelings I have for you,just wait for a sense of you know, sometimes people play hard-to-get because they need to know the other person's feelings are real. .  . 'All are architects of fate... so look not mournfully into the past. It comes not back again.' : Sometimes when you're young you think nothing can hurt you. It's like being invincible. Your whole life is ahead of you and you have big plans. Big Plans. To find your perfect match, the one who completes you. But as you get older you realize it's not always that easy. It's not until the end of your life that you realize how the plans you made where simply plans. Because at the end when you're looking back...

There are 82 letters in here, and they're all addressed to you. I wrote them all this summer. One a day, but I never sent them 'cause I was afraid....I was afraid of getting my heart broken again, like before. 'Cause you hurt me so bad, and I was afraid to be vulnerable. And I was afraid of you and the way that you make me feel. And I know that doesn't matter now after what I did, but I just thought that you should know. This was how I spent my summer wanting you... I was just too scared to admit it...

 Most of our life is a series of images. They pass us by like towns on the highway. But sometimes, a moment stuns us as it happens. And we know that this instant is more than just a fleeting image. We know that this moment, every part of it, will live on forever I've come to the conclusion that if having things turn out the way you wanted them to is a measure of a successful life, then some would say I'm a failure. The important thing is not to be bitter over life's disappointments. Learn to let go of the past and recognize that every day won't be sunny. And when you find yourself lost in the darkness and despair, remember that it's only in the black of night that you see the stars. And those stars will lead you back home. So don't be afraid to make mistakes, to stumble and fall, because most of the time, the greatest rewards come from doing the things that scare you the most. Maybe you'll get everything you wished for. Maybe you'll get more than you eve...

Just promise me one thing, promise me that when you pick the boy you're really going to be with, that he'll be someone who respects you and treats you well. And, it's someone who makes your heart race and that he's someone you love because of what he is, not what he does. Because, that's how I felt about your mother, and that’s how I want you to feel one day. Use your head and follow your heart.

 Stepping up. It's a simple concept. It basically means to rise above yourself; to do a little more, to show you're something special. Something like this.... As a matter of fact, I say it's just beginning. You might want to stay out of my way for a while.... Life's funny sometimes; can push pretty hard like when you fall in love with someone but they forget to love you back like when your best friend and your boyfriend leave you alone like when you pull the trigger or light the flame and you can't take it back. Like I said, in sports they call this 'stepping up'. In life, I call it pushing back.

At this moment there are six billion, five hundred and two million, eight hundred and sixty seven thousand, one hundred and twenty people in the world, give or take a few and sometimes all you need is one. For better or for worse.

But I'm not that guy , and I don't want to be. So maybe the elite girls just aren't for me. But one of these days, I'm gonna meet a girl who really loves me. Maybe she won't be what you call hot, but I'll think she's beautiful and I'll tell her so. I won't be mean to her because I don't have to play games with her. I'll just be the guy she can always count on and that'll be enough. And she'll be elite to me.

He swept me off my feet and took me to the moon where we sat for hours every night. We looked down at the world and then at each other, and we wondered which was the illusion. He was a dream inside a leather jacket. His smile hung from one corner of his mouth, something crooked, and it turned my solid heart to a molten mess that spread to my fingertips and my toes, and had me feeling tranquilized. The songs he wrote were shotguns. He'd sing to me while dragonflies filled up the sky. His voice filled my head and turned the world into wonderful, psychedelic chaos. Reality became a vision through an unsteady kaleidoscope and dreams became a recurring reality that I could not escape. Would not escape. Why would I escape? Is love a dream that escapes into reality? A loose ribbon of the mind that floats off into the sunshine and burns into something solid? I don't know. It's an unsatisfactory word, so we never spoke of it.

I dream of a society who has balanced their lives in power of stories. Imagine how beautiful and ideal the world will be if it was one where everyone was heard . I don’t have anything to say that hasn’t been said before I don’t have any movements to organise that haven’t been moved before? I don’t have any claims to make that haven’t been claimed before But I like to write and I like people to listen, and I’ve never really been heard before.  The only problem is, I’m not much of a story teller. I’m nineteen years old and I’ve lived too dull a life to say something that’ll stick  I wish I was one of those people Who gave the audience goosebumps One of those people that knew exactly when to pause and when to raise their voices and when to drop it to a whisper  I wish I could be one of those people that have crowds around them at parties because they’re telling some amazing story that has no ...

Maybe you were one of the kids who had a terrible childhood, it's understandable. But don't tag all those memories as the past, because that's not all there was to it. You're just hurting yourself and bruising your memories of a time that will never come again by focusing on all the sad, depressing fragments of your past. It happens.   We might get a lot of really awesome presents for our birthday but one of them turned out to a be a knife  that had a piece of paper next to it saying, "Kill Yourself" or something and we'll forget all about the other cards that said, " stay strong, be happy and remember that we love you"   We won't give those cards a second thought, we'll always remember that day by the knife. ...That's a weird metaphor.

I think it's okay if her skirt is smaller than your belt, it's her bloody skirt, why the hell are  you  freaking out? I mean, if she's trying to steal your boyfriend or something, then maybe she is a slut. But just because she wears a lot of make-up and really small clothes and sleeps with a lot of guys who you probably don't actually give a damn about, doesn't mean you have the right to call that girl a slut. She has her reasons for doing what she does, or maybe she's just really dumb, but that's her problem. Leave her alone. I know she probably doesn't even know you're talking about her when you scream, "SLUT!" all Caps Lock and everything (because you jerks don't have the balls to say something to someone's face) but it still... I don't know, disappoints me? Why is sluttary such a bad thing? Let her sleep with guys for no reason, guys sleep with girls for no reason (back to the man-dominated world thing. I say exterminate. ...

I love movies. And theatre. So much drama. I also love life and its drama. But I don't like being a part of it. Teenagers wake up each morning with drama plotted in their heads. All of us. It's stupid and we know that, but it exists. We pull it out of our ears like Shrek pulls that wax out and just like him, we stick it on top of a table and light it like a candle. We adore it. We love the sadness and the fights and the yelling and the arguments that we have where we think we're being so witty and all. A lot of drama has been... well, erupting around me, these past few weeks. And a lot of it is my fault. And since out of all the people I know I have it the easiest, I'm going to try and clarify it and end it. Things I've Learnt   Misunderstandings are terrible things. But they happen, and I can only get over it if you get over it. If you want someone to do something for you, you have to say it. We're past the stage where we can rely on reverse psychology...

"I feel sleepy every time I talk to you."  "Am I really that boring?"  "No, you're like a lullaby."  "Hah! Good save."   "Your voice sings to me and makes me feel like I'm in a dream."  "Accha?"  "I'm in a dream and I have to sleep my way into reality."  "I didn't know you were so poetic."  "Poetry is what makes your heart beat when you're in love."  "And are you in love?" "That's what your eyes are telling me."  "My eyes? What are they telling you exactly?"  "Stories. Never ending stories."  "Bas haan. Too dramatic you are."   "Stories that melt onto your tongue and sing me to sleep."  "Are you drunk?"  "No one ever warned me of..."  "No one ever warned you of what?"   "Of how drowsy love is."  "God, it's probably the heat. I'll open the windo...

Never before have I felt so absolutely asleep. So unconscious while being so alive. Taking flight but staying completely stationary in the embrace of my bed, in the arms of my blanket. It was an extraordinary experience to see so much and to feel so much in the empty silence around me, but not within me. To be blinded by so many different colours at the same time with my eyes closed.  It was like being inside a music box. Or having a music box inside my mind.    A glorious, glorious nightmare. Where thunderstorms sang their trembling symphonies and I danced barefoot in the rain with the monsters of my childhood.  Where I walked over the bleeding corpses of loved ones and collected their eyes in little boxes. So many different colours filled with so many different memories.  Where I fell to my knees and and started digging, and laughing as the weeds sank their claws into my skin and curled around my ankles. Pulling me into the very earth that I was digg...

Eventually today will break into something new. I'll wait for tomorrow to be beautiful. And I'll be searching the horizon looking for you.

Every time.  Parties were not her thing. She would sit in the corner, or she would stand in a corner, or she would sit on the stairs, in the corner of the room. She'd have her heels in one hand, and her head resting in the other, elbow resting on her knee, foot resting on a stair. Eyes flickering; on and off and on and off and on and off. This was when her mind broke out of its loose confines. Wandered to every face around her, tapped them gently on the shoulder, wondered if they fit the puzzle of her fantasy and then moved on to the next. Gradually the faces didn't match their owners and they became completely fictional, suited to her satisfaction. One of the faces would turn to her, dusted in her creativity, it's a boy's face. Charming and tall and perhaps a year older than she is. He tilts his head to one side and watches her sitting in her corner, tapping her fingers on the tiles to the rhythm of a song playing in her head, blocking out the music that's blarin...

You know what I find really funny? Is that people find similarities between themselves and things like a lonely star or even the moon. I'm not making fun of them, I love those people. I love learning about what they found in common with something as far away and cold and... well, as simply bizarre as the moon.  They think they can be friends with the moon, simply because the moon followed them home from late night parties that their parents made them go to when they were little. They looked out of the window with big sleepy eyes as the car sped down empty roads. They saw the moon dodging buildings and getting sliced by wires and then, safe and sound, continuing its chase after them. They rested their heads on their arms and waved quietly to their friendly, desperate stalker. Their temporary best friend.  And they think, "the moon and I, we share secrets, and we talk until daylight cracks the night open like an egg. Until sunlight spills like egg yolk and hides the moon from...

"I want to lose myself in you. And you can lose yourself in me. Just for some time. I'll sleep wrapped up in the warmth of your dreams, washing over me like a giant sea."  "I've forgotten the rest. I knew I should have written it down."  "Improvise, my love. We're sitting in the belly of a glass bird and we're practicing birdsong."  "Yeah. There was something about the echoes of a glass heart, so fragile or something."  "So fragile that... A sigh could... Could..."  "Shatter its flame."  "Its flame? What does that even mean?"  "It means that even that vase you keep those flowers in, it's beating for you."  "That's not a very pleasant thought."  "The whole room, the whole world is filling up with inexplicable emotion. And I'm falling asleep."  "I'm pretty sure you didn't write that."  "Improvise, my love. Love is improvisation...