"When they ask me about my future wife, I always tell them that her eyes are the only Christmas lights that deserve to be seen all year long. I tell them that she has a walk that can make an atheist believe in God just long enough to say, ‘God damn’. I tell them that if my alarm clock sounded like her voice, my snooze button would collect dust. I tell them that if she came in a bottle, I would drink her until my vision is blurry and my friends take away my keys. I tell them that if she was a book, I would memorize her table of contents. I would read her, cover to cover, hoping to find typos, just so we could both have something to work on, because aren’t we all unfinished? Don’t we all need editing? Aren’t we all waiting to be read by someone, praying they will tell us that we make sense? She doesn’t always make sense but I swear to God, her imperfections are the things that I love about her the most. I don’t know when I will be married, I don’t know where I will be married, but I do know this: whenever I’m asked to describe my future wife, I do so as best as I can and every single time, she sounds a lot like you. Every single time, she sounds a lot like you."
"You’re just another story I can’t tell anymore."
"You’ve got to use it, the pain. Use it as fuel to move past the torment, to the light at the end of the tunnel."
"Let’s admit, without apology, what we do to each other."
"My problem was that no one ever needed me as much as I needed them."
"I didn’t realize it, but the days came along one after another, and then two years were gone, and everything was gone, and I was gone."
"All I wanted was to receive the love I gave."
"How can I find the words? Poets have taken them all and left me with nothing to say or do. Except to teach me for the first time what they meant."
"Rain on roof outside window, gray light, deep covers and warm blankets. Rain and nip of autumn in air; nostalgia, itch to work better and bigger. That crisp edge of autumn."
"I lost all interest in my schoolwork, friends, reading, wandering or daydreaming. I had no idea what was happening to me, and I would wake up in the morning with a profound sense of dread that I was somehow going to have to make it through another entire day. I would sit for hour after hour in the undergraduate library, unable to muster enough energy to go to class. I would stare out the window, stare at my books, rearrange them, shuffled them around, leave them unopened, and think about dropping out of college. When I did go to class it was pointless. Pointless and painful. I understood very little of what was going on, and I felt as though only dying would release from the overwhelming sense of inadequacy and blackness that surrounded me. I felt utterly alone, and watching the animated conversations between my fellow students only made me feel more so."
"I may not be happy where I am, but as long as you’re smiling, I would be content with a heavy soul."
- T.B. LaBerge // Unwritten Letters to You (via tblaberge