“I want you because there aren’t any good words for who you are. The only ones that come to mind are earnest, sad clichés like ‘amazing’ and ‘magnetic’ and ‘fascinating’ and I don’t want to use them, but on the other hand they are the only words, and cliché or not they are honest words and I’m not sure consulting a thesaurus at this point would be genuine. And it’s not that I want you officially, like I want your last name or your Sunday mornings or your hard shiny promise, I just want to absorb you. I want to know what you know, want to hear your stories, want to filter through them gently and get lost in them, them and the soft hypnosis of your hands in my hair.”

Mila Jaroniec (via loveyourchaos)

I believed in you, Faith. I was your kid.

I married you, Hope. We lived happily ever after, until you cheated me with Regret.

I was your widowed, Love. I still wanted to believe, though.

Madness, I’m your father.

They’ve all failed me: Faith, Hope, Regret and what from Love was left, so I don’t think we can go on any further, son.

Babe, you are on your own.

What was given to you to believe has already happened a long, long time ago.

Does it look like fairy-tale? Indeed it does! If what was given to you to believe has really happened that is something too old that almost nobody remembers it very well. But they still believe. What they haven’t realized is if that’s happened, it can’t be changed. And you can’t believe in something static, something that cannot be renewed. For the simple fact that to live means to change constantly. 

You’re not yourself the same since you’ve started reading this. 

That’s the problem about faith. It gets old. And it falls in streets or even in Greece. It’s a femur fracture, they complain about it, because it hurts, but they don’t give up believing in what has made them fall. When it comes to ruins, no matter how beautiful they are, or they were, there’s no life there anymore. They resemble glory days. You are alive, though. You’re not living glory days either. Probably, they’d say, you don’t have enough faith or still have a strong femur. Don’t listen to them. Their old words are ruins falling apart. Sticks and stones may break your bones. Don’t let them.

Believe in nothing, but pay very close attention to everything.

The great thing about youth isn’t the perfect skin or the good health, it’s the perfect illusions. Whereas you’ll grow old, those immaculate beliefs may unfold into a reality far beyond ripeness. It starts with a little cough, a mild fever, an unnoticed wrinkle around your eyes never getting tired of staring ahead.

You should look behind, from times to times.

On occasion, it isn’t only your shadow following you. 

Your hope has long fallen way back behind.

Yesterday was not a good day.

Today has not been a good day.

Tomorrow will not be a good day.

If I keep on going in Portuguese…

God speaks no idiom and He does not exist, if I am going to go back to Him and His divine silent Kingdom, that’s consolation.

Yesterday, today and tomorrow and even the day before yesterday, none of these will ever exist so there will be no evaluation, no strange feeling, no ‘how was your day?’ but only an abissal humongous emptiness.

Nothing.

God.

Good.