Our lives are made up of choices. Big ones, small ones, strung together by the thin air of good intentions; a line of dominoes, ready to fall. Which shirt to wear on a cold winter's morning, what crappy junk food to eat for lunch. It starts out so in...
Our lives are made up of choices. Big ones, small ones, strung together by the thin air of good intentions; a line of dominoes, ready to fall.
His eyes lingered on me, and I wondered if that was a message. Was he danger? Was I supposed to run? I wasn’t afraid.
Some pieces couldn’t be glued back together. Some people weren’t for fixing. Sometimes, the only thing to do was burn the whole fucking world down and start again.
The truth is, it's not the act that I'm scared of, but giving myself so entirely to someone. As long as there are lines to draw and boundaries to cling to, I can pretend that I'm safe from the wanting that threatens to consume me. I'm separate, still...
