I am made from shattered stars, broken nights, frightened suns too scared to shine. I am made from mayhem in its purest form – all heavy sadness and wrathful vengeance and paralyzing fears. I am tornado and earthquake, hurricanes and volcanoes all thrown together in a wild tumult of mismatched destruction and the pandemonium has become everything that I am and everything that I ever will be. All I am is a chaos and all I want is to be saved
When you’re young, all you want to do is grow up as fast as you can. Then somehow you’re in your twenties wondering how it all went so fast. Something is desperately wrong but the key to fixing it all is stuck in the past. The promises you never kept, the friends who left, the insecurities you never quiet dealt with…it’s all stuck in the past. When you’re young, they tell you you’ll forget; you won’t remember anyone of it in the few years. But that’s not true. Every night, you lie awake crippled by the past you can’t seem to get out of your mind. It’s like you’re torturing yourself but you cannot stop because no one ever taught you how
When something bothered me, I didn’t talk to anyone about it. I thought it over all by myself, came to conclusion, and took action alone. Not that I really felt lonely. I just thought that’s the way things are. Human beings, in the final analysis, have to survive on their own.
Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart
It is at night when we realize we are not all as invincible as the sun makes us seem. We are surrounded by darkness, fear, loneliness, the unknown. Perhaps it is not the darkness that keeps us up for hours, but our own vulnerable minds left with no distraction, pouring out our deepest uncontrollably emotions while we sink farther into the reality of the uncertainty of life that is deviously masked by the sunlight.
Eighteen. It’s too early to realize your dreams, but perfect age to begin dreaming. Falling down hurts, but it’s perfect age to learn a hundred ways to get up again. We are eighteen, so we live everyday as if our last – loving and hating fiercely. It’s an age where we falter and hurt easily, and we are hurting more than anyone. Despite that, the reason we can look back on that time and say we are happy is because we have that one person’s hand to reach out to – if we approach one friend who is crying and comfort them, there is nothing that we can endure. It’s okay. You can hurt. Because you are eighteen.