You will love again the stranger who was your self. Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart to itself, to the stranger who has loved you all your life, whom you ignored for another, who knows you by heart. Take down the love letters from the bookshelf, the photographs, the desperate notes, peel your own image from the mirror.
Herein lies the value of self worth.
The scene of happiness dissolves as we grow older, i realise. Not because happiness exists, that too-hasty profit snatched from approaching loss. But because truly being here is so much, because everything here apparently needs us.
Tattoos are more reliable, they beat the aforementioned.
Now tell me again, who is the first person you think of, when you wake up from a nightmare?
we must treasure what we have, for we cannot foretell what may come.
friends on best terms this minute may just stop talking the next.
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i've stop breathing & thinking , my heart literally died at that minute.
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i've stop breathing & thinking , my heart literally died at that minute.






