Not everyone you lose is a loss.
—(via sowintergirl)

(Source: starlate)

(Source: youarecaliforniabeautiful)

I cried in the shower.
The water was turned up all the way to the highest temperature. I looked at my wrist. The skin around my old scars turned red and the the scars themselves turned white.
It reminded me of how I used to take a shower right after making the scars and beg God to take them back. I would stand there for twenty or thirty minutes, thinking that if I stood there long enough, my pain would just wash away. I would apologize and promise never to do it again. It was a neverending cycle.
Today, I just looked at them and tried to figure out why I was crying. Nothing is currently as bad as it used to be. Why am I so angry?

Today did not go as planned…

Be in love with your life. Every detail of it.
—Jack Kerouac

(Source: free-wilderness)

It’s not that they’ve given up on me…

It’s more like they’ve lowered their standards. They’ve dropped their expectations. I don’t know whether to be offended or relieved. My parents are angry that I won’t skip school to go on a road trip with them. They tell me to go to sleep when I’m trying to study when it’s only ten o’clock. They won’t even leave me alone when I’m reading the bible; they don’t respect my time with God. They look at me like the “golden, hopeless child”; the one who hasn’t messed up yet but will soon. The one they can prepare for failure like a pig fattened for slaughter.

D says their parenting “is questionable to say the least”. They’re good people. They just value money too much. “I’ll be alone for two weeks. What am I going to do?” I questioned. He replied ,”I’ll give you money, you can go to any restaurant you want or have all your friends over”.

They mean well. I know that they do. I just feel like sometimes they’re so blinded by what’s in the future that they forget what they’ve learned in the past. They forget the fact that God’s got this all figured out. They forget that I have my own opinions and feelings.

I just need some time to prove to them. God and I are working through this.

 I miss this show.

 I miss this show.

incidentalcomics:

Styles of Writing

It’s not butterflies.
It’s fear. I fear losing you.