"Somewhere deep down, in her labyrinth, her intricacy, the darkest part of her soul, she relished the mayhem.
She felt a sense of privilege for having such passion in her life.
He stirred her core.
The place she dared not enter.
The place she could not stir for herself.
But something wasn’t right.
His eyes were cold and dark.
His energy, unaffected.
He laughed at her and her antics, told her she was a mess.
Frantic, she looked for love hiding in his eyes, in his face, in his stance, and she found nothing but disdain.
And her heart stopped."
— G.G Renee Hill, The Beautiful Disruption
I seem to be merely a season. X amount of years, I am not meant to be. I fade when I’m used up. People come into my life and then leave and I start to believe it’s my own doing. Am I not a life-long substance? Is there reason for the quick and quiet withdraws? Do I not suit the lives of those who decide to dig deeper and then stop because they haven’t found the gold? Have you found my “catch”? Because I haven’t.
"I don’t know, but it’s so painful to think, and tell me, what did thinking ever do for me, to what great place did thinking ever bring me? I think and think and think, I’ve thought myself out of happiness one million times, but never once into it."
— Jonathan Safran Foer.
Yet another night when I type two paragraphs worth of current happenings and thoughts and end up deleting it.