What we have to remember is that we can still do anything. We can change our minds. We can start over.
What we have to remember is that we can still do anything. We can change our minds. We can start over. Get a post-bac or try writing for the first time. The notion that it's too late to do anything is comical. It's hilarious. We're graduating college. We're so young. We can't, we MUST not lose this sense of possibility because in the end, it's all we have.
I will live for love and the rest will take care of itself
We don't have a word for the opposite of loneliness, but if we did, I could say that's what I want in life.
Do you wanna leave soon? No, I want enough time to be in love with everything... And I cry because everything is so beautiful and so short.
We can't, we MUST not lose this sense of possibility because in the end, it's all we have.
The middle of the universe is tonight, is here, And everything behind is a sunk cost.
What an honor. What a responsibility. What a gift we have been given to be born in an atmosphere with oxygen and carbon dioxide and millions of years and phenotypes cheering us on with recycles of energy.
We have these impossibly high standards and we'll probably never live up to our perfect fantasies of our future selves. But I feel like that's okay.
Let's make something happen to this world.
I worry sometimes that humans are afraid of helping humans. There's less risk associated with animals, less fear of failure, fear of getting to involved.
So what I'm trying to say is you should text me back. Because there's a precedent. Because there's an urgency. Because there's a bedtime. Because when the world ends I might not have my phone charged and If you don't respond soon, I won't know if you'd wanna leave your shadow next to mine.
I plan on having parties when I’m 30. I plan on having fun when I’m old. Any notion of THE BEST years comes from clichéd ‘should haves ‘if I’d’ ‘wish I’d’
But it became clear very quickly that I'd underestimated how much I liked him. Not him, perhaps, but the fact that I had someone on the other end of an invisible line. Someone to update and get updates from, to inform of a comic discovery, to imagine while dancing in a lonely basement, and to return to, finally, when the music stopped.
I'm trying to figure out if I love art enough to be poor.
I want enough time to be in love with everything . . .
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