February Thoughts

Life is what you make of it. Always has been, always will be.

[februaryth0ughts]

there’s no more mercy here.

I won’t let you in, just disappear. 

there’s no more mercy in me. 

not one more chance, or forgiving.

no love, no change, no sympathy. 

there’s no more mercy in me. 

[the-homie-sexual]

Life tip:

Become the kind of person you’d fall in love with.

[februaryth0ughts]

It’s kind of funny, the times I want to write. It’s when I’m sad and hopeless that I write the most beautifully. It’s when I’m angry and bitter that I write about things the way they are. I never compose pretty things whenever I’m happy. I never turn to the notebook or the keyboard whenever I have a smile on my face. It’s always when I’m hurting the most that the world becomes a place worth writing about. 

[promptsonpaper]

“You can live in a thousand different worlds if you just pay attention to how other people see things”

[februaryth0ughts]

I’m hating myself, and everyone else too. I hate how I can’t look pretty. I hate how everyone else can. I can’t even seem to look normal. I just look bad. I hate how everyone else is happy. I hate how I get so irritated. I hate how pointless everything seems. I don’t want to do anything anymore. It’s all so purposeless. It’s all so purposeless. I don’t want to listen to people talk anymore. Their words mean nothing. I don’t want to work anymore. It results to nothing. I want to sleep, to get everything else to go away. I don’t want to dream; I want it to be a dreamless sleep, where everything is black and nothing exists. 

[februaryth0ughts]

Your perspective on life changes whenever you don’t sleep for more than two nights. Everyone else becomes someone to envy, no matter what their life is like. You envy their skin, how smooth it is; how undamaged it must be; how thick the skin under their eyes is; how full of color it is; how you can’t even see the veins or even a hint of purple. You envy their problems; how small they are compared to yours. Every time they complain, you just want to say, “I wish that was the only thing I was worrying about.” You envy their lives, how stable they must be; how happy they must feel, devoid of the stress that you face; how full they must feel, energy and food filling them. You become someone for yourself to pity. When you look in the mirror, you see a mess of a person. Their hair, so unhealthy and messed up. Their skin, so gross and thin and uncared for. Their body, so weak and in need of recovery. Their eyes, so red and veiny. You look at this person and wonder how you ever ended up this way. Was it the stress that did this to you? Was it God, taking things away from you to test you? Was it something else that you’re unaware of? You look for answers desperately, trying to find a way to get out of the pit you’re in. You tell people your problems, hoping they’ll find a way to get you back to normal again. You beg God to stop doing this to you. You look on the internet for ways to get yourself to sleep at night. But no person’s advice can get your brain to relax. No sleeping tea, no medicine, no breathing exercise can knock you out. You spend the day wondering if you’ll be able to sleep at night; hoping that you will; praying that you will. You spend the night wondering why you can’t. The cycle goes on and on. You talk to many different people about what you’re going through, and they all seem so desperate to help. You know you need to get better for them, and for yourself. But how do you get better? What will make you sleep at night? Is there no solution to your problem? Will you stay this way forever? Will the cycle keep going? 

[promptsgalore]

Write something that begins with a character dropping a carton of eggs at the grocery store.

[februaryth0ughts]

In a hurry, I picked up the first carton of eggs that I could reach, and then checked “eggs” off my list. Only three more items left. I reached behind me to put the eggs in the cart, missing, and heard a thump on the floor. Turning around, I saw that the eggs had cracked and spilled all over the ground. I put my hands on my head in frustration. “I don’t have time for this!”

Just then, a man came over to help me. “Here, I’ll get someone to clean it up. You go get the rest of your stuff.” He must’ve seen that I was in a hurry. “Thank you so much!” I said, and grabbed a new carton of eggs. This time, I placed them in the cart carefully. Moving my cart away from the mess, I went on to go get milk. Then butter. Then chocolate chips. 

I was finally at the checkout, but there was a line. I sighed, knowing that I was going to be late. Closing my eyes, I tried to relax. Everything is going to be alright. 

“Get everything else okay?” asked a voice from behind me. I recognized it as the man who helped me with the egg mess. I turned around to face him. “Yeah, I did. Thanks for helping me.” 

“Not a problem,” he said. It wasn’t until now that I got a good look at him. He was taller than me, but not by much. He had bottle green eyes and brown hair. The smile on his face was genuine. 

[februaryth0ughts]

Writing Prompt “You’re here for Julia.” “No, I’m here for me.”

Making my way slowly down the hall, I looked for room 204. A man was sitting on the floor right across from it, his body curled into a ball. He must’ve been asleep, because the sound of my heels made him jump. He turned his gaze to me.

“You’re here for Julia,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. It was just an observation. Of course, he’d been asking himself too many questions in the past few days to want to ask any more to others. “No,” I said. “I’m here for myself.” He nodded, not a hint of confusion on his face. It didn’t make sense, but then again, his whole life was a big mess, wasn’t it?

I made my way into the hospital room, shutting the door behind me.

[explore-blog]

“Anyone who writes down to children is simply wasting his time,” E.B. White told The Paris Review in 1969. “You have to write up, not down.” What is true of children’s books turns out to be true of science books. While you need not be a physicist to metabolize the narrative, you are certainly called upon to do your own chewing — a rare opportunity in a culture where we are taken for so intellectually inept that our own conclusions are fed to us in listicles of bite-size buzz.

My New York Times review of Harvard cosmologist Lisa Randall’s magnificent book Dark Matter and the Dinosaurs.  (via explore-blog)

[wnq-writers]

I’m sorry for trying to force a love that was no longer there. I should have respected both of us enough to let us grow, even if that meant separately.

paulinacarvajalwriting  (via wnq-writers)

[wnq-writers]

I slowly saw the passion 
fading from her eyes,
as she was forced to become what the world
wanted her to be.

imnina-15 (via wnq-writers)

[jaded-mandarin]

There is so much inside of me, and yet to the world I am barely visible. I stand in lines with no expression, a vessel of unspoken realities. My thoughts are endless tales of strength and passion. My voice is the shaken response to inhibitory surroundings, forever misunderstood. I am made to feel weak and unwelcome. If only they knew the intricacies of my existence. If only they had their own elaborate worlds. If only we could all step away, to live over and over again in fantasy. Rather than continue to die, with our hearts and minds full of fear.

Anon (via jaded-mandarin)

[scribblingwithstardust-deactiva]

I’m a little in love with love stories. Romantic ideas dressed in daydreamed whimsicalities like pressing flowers between antique books for other people to find. Or sitting in a hidden half-empty cafe, ordering a chai-tea latte, and just sitting there writing pretty song lyrics on my hands. I think I could find a love story in almost anything. A baby bird, a sideways growing tree, a puddle of raindrops and a circus. It’s just the way I’ve always been.

A scribbler // Love Stories (via scribblingwithstardust)

[nefariousluminescence]

What if I never forget you? What if, all my life, when I meet someone new, I can never fall for them because they aren’t you?

(via nefariousluminescence)

[writingquotes-deactivated201509]

If you want to write a novel, write a novel. If it’s essays you want or short stories, write them. In the process of writing them you will learn how. You can have the confidence that you will gradually acquire the technique and craft you need. Instead people often begin writing from a poverty mentality. They are empty and they run to teachers and classes to learn about writing. We learn writing by doing it. That simple. We don’t lean by going outside ourselves to authorities we think know about it.

Natalie Goldberg (via writingquotes)

[wnq-writers]

I realized there was no way out, so I sat down and made myself comfortable in the darkness.

Jacob Holguin  (via wnq-writers)

[quotethat]

People inspire you or they drain you - pick them wisely.

Hans F. Hansen (via quotethat)