Fate is immutable and time is unstoppable, but love is always unchanging.
― from an unfinished story #43 (via thoughts-into-ink)
I think the worst part is that we could’ve fixed it, and we just…didn’t.
― from an unfinished story #125 (via thoughts-into-ink)
I’m not going to let you be just another bittersweet memory.
― from an unfinished story #25 (via thoughts-into-ink)
And now I just feel stupid for thinking that things would ever get better.
― because they aren’t (via thoughts-into-ink)
I went back to the old elementary school last week. Our names are still carved into the bottom of the slide, right next to each other, right where we left them. The soccer nets are still falling apart from all the times we climbed them. The tetherball poles where we used to compete, seeing who could climb the highest before they got caught, are still standing, strings swinging in the breeze with nothing attached. That tiny hill we used to build snow forts on has shrunk and smoothed, leaving only a small bump to signify the years of laughter and tears that occurred on it. Some things are still here, and some are not.
― and nothing, nothing is permanent. (via thoughts-into-ink)
I think that’s the difference between immature love and mature love. With immature love, you love someone because they have what you lack. With mature love, you love someone because they give you what you lack.
― from an unfinished story #184 (via thoughts-into-ink)
We’re something straight out of a sad song, all tired eyes and shattered pieces.
― from an unfinished story #186 (via thoughts-into-ink)
I’m falling in love with the person you pretend to be, and you’re falling in love with the worlds I build out of words, and maybe that’s why it won’t end with a happily ever after.
― you’re just a person dressed up in an angel’s clothes (via thoughts-into-ink)
Your heart changes with the seasons, but winter just keeps getting longer and you’re not quite sure spring is coming.
― from an unfinished story #216 (via thoughts-into-ink)
But you are as ephemeral as the seasons, ever-changing without a sign of slowing; and I am stagnant and slow, like a child with their feet stuck in the mud, crying out for someone, anyone, to pull them out.
― you passed by so quickly you didn’t even see me struggling (via thoughts-into-ink)