reality sucks, that’s probably why we dream. Why our bodies need sleep. So we can escape. Escape this earth, at least just for a little while. Everynight, we get to go away. Sleep is the only time I feel safe. The only time I can leave this place. This reality that feels like needles sticking...

But more words tumble out. ‘You’re a painter. You’re a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces.’Then I dive into my tent before I do something stupid like cry.

… You have to pull the feet to break the neck. They let the loved ones do it.

I am lonely, I am lonely, I am lonely, I am lonely, I am lonely. How appropriate that I write this to myself.

So many times it seemed like there were chances to stop things before they started. Or even stop them in midstream. But it was even worse when you knew in that very moment that there was still time to save yourself, and yet you couldn’t even budge.

This time I read the title of the painting: Girl Interrupted at Her Music. Interrupted at her music: as my life had been, interrupted in the music of being seventeen, as her life had been, snatched and fixed on canvas: one moment made to stand still and to stand for all the other moments, whatever...

These times of woe afford no time to woo.

true apothecary thy drugs art quick

Don’t you realize the Internet is just a way for millions of sad people to be completely alone together?

There is nothing for you in this bleak hospital room but a cold and empty nothingness that has no answers, can give no peace, will provide no comfort to the living.

Nobody has ever taken a photograph of something they want to forget. We can build a wall of happy Kodak moments around ourselves, a wall of our Christmases, birthdays, baby showers and weddings, but we can never forget that celluloid film is see-through, that behind it, all the misery of real life waits for our...

I’ll remember you… I remember everyone I’ve lost.

You don’t even like me, remember?” That’s what I try to say. What actually comes out of my mouth is closer to a baby’s first attempt at babbling. “Shh.” He runs his fingertips along my cheek, caressing my face. “Hush. I’m right here.” He looks at me with deep anguish in his eyes. Like there’s...

NO!” Raffe grips me as if he can bind my soul to my body. An upside-down view of the doorway shows up in my field of vision. Smoke waft through it. Although the pain obscures Raffe’s warmth, I feel the presure of his hug, the rocking of our bodies back and forth as he repeats...

What’s her name? Claire, what’s her name?

No day shall erase you from the memory of time

God is such a cruel godfor making you so wonderful,and for making me so weak.

I spend my nights thinking the worstAnd telling myself that everything’s going to work outI keep kicking myself in the mouthOpening up every cut that should be a scar by now

Love is like fire.Leave it alone and you will be okay,play with it and you get burnt

It doesn’t sound so far-fetched, right? When two people love each other? While a part of me still wants to believe it’s possible, I know it’s not going to happen

He’s always been something like a star to me

Eyes so young, so full of pain … Two lonely drops of winter rain … And no tear could these eyes sustain … For too much had they seen.

Some mornings when I wake up, it takes a long time to remember who I am. Like, it takes a while for everything that’s happened in last month to download into my brain. It’s nice, not knowing. Even if it’s just for five minutes.

I have never been sad because my losses are my profits

Gue cuma pengen lo ngerasain rasanya dibohongin. Nggak enak, kan?

They tear each other apart. Sometimes there aren’t any happy endings or logical explanations and we just have to accept that and move on. Sometimes it really is that simple.

When it’s quiet in my head like this, that’s when the voice doesn’t need to tell me how pathetic I am. I know it in the deepest part of me. When it’s quiet like this, that’s when I truly hate myself.

That’s not cruel. This is. You come here in the middle of the night, expecting me to be awake, and ask—no, demand—me to give you things that belong to me as much as they belong to you. Never mind what it does to me. Never mind that each time I see you, I wonder if...

I wasn’t a complete bastard. If she liked to think she saw good in me, if she wanted to take credit for it, I’d let her. She deserved that much.

This softening she sees in me isn’t enough to make me affectionate, but it’s just enough to render me inept. I can’t give her what she wants — virtuousness — or what she needs — protection.

What was once my FUTURE is now my PAST

It wasn’t that she was sad—sadness had very little to do with it, really, considering that most of the time, she felt close to nothing at all. Feeling required nerves, connections, sensory input. The only thing she felt was numb. And tired. Yes, she very frequently felt tired.

Love has different shape, like this falling snow in winter

I decided I would fill the emptiness in me with God and with paint.

No! Please no,” she feels the cool metalof the handcuffs again. “Please, I’mMadison, I’m Madison!”Her arms lock into place above her head.She jerks her body, pain snapping at hermuscles.”You can stay like this for the day.” Herises from the bed, bends down, andblows out the candles on her birthdaycake. “Night, night, Rosie.””No!”He opens the door,...

Every child should have love, every person should have it. She herself would rather have had her mother’s love – the love she still continued to believe in, the love that had followed her through the jungle in the form of a bird so she would not be too frightened or lonely.

Someone somewhere may be one of the most important person to you currently but you will always be nothing more than a backup plan to them.

perhaps like me she’s vainly hopingand some news awaits,but the moist earth already holds himin her strong embrace…

Every kid’s afraid of that right? That someday you’ll be left in a corner, like a toy, staring with button eyes and a broken heart.

I should be happy, but instead I feel nothing. I feel a lot of nothing these days. I’ve cried a few times, but mostly I’m empty, as if whatever makes me feel and hurt and laugh and love has been surgically removed, leaving me hollowed out like a shell.

The whiskey was a good start. I got the idea from Dylan Thomas. He’s this poet who drank twenty-one straight whiskeys at the White Horse Tavern in New York and then died on the spot from alcohol poisoning. I’ve always wanted to hear the bartender’s side of the story. What was it like watching this...

I felt significantly insignificant, as if my presence in the world, albeit small, was still necessary.

Taking a sip of the hot chocolate he’d made her, she met his gaze, those eerie eyes of endless black impenetrable, unreadable. “Max?” “Yes?””Will you remember me?”His heart broke into a thousand pieces. “Always.

From midnight to 4: 00 AM is the loneliest time in the world. Because for those of us too sad to sleep, the only thing we have to look at is an empty bed, and the only thing we have to think of is every single person who didn’t want to fill it tonight.

When you’re alone and you feel sad, try reading a book. Try touching someone’s heart. Try to imagine what they were thinking, what they wanted to convey. If you do that, you might get something amazing.

I’m sorry and I believe in you and I’ll always be near you, protecting you, and I will never leave you, I’ll be curled around your heart for the rest of your life.

The sky was electric blue above the trees but the yard felt dark. Stephanie went to the edge of the lawn and sat her forehead on her knees. The grass and soil were still warm from the day. She wanted to cry but she couldn’t. The feeling was too deep.

Kathy was a Republican, one of those people who used the unforgivable phrase “meant to be”–usually when describing her own good fortune or the disasters that had befallen other people.

You’ve changed me forever. And I’ll never forget you.

On those nights, the words were for me alone. They came up unbidden from my heart. They spilled over my tongue and spilled out my mouth. And because of them, I, who was nothing and nobody, was a prince of Denmark, a maid of Verona, a queen of Egypt. I was a sour misanthrope, a...