I find it really strange that when you’re in a long distance friendship or relationship all you want to do is see that person and being around them is the biggest most wonderful deal but there are people who interact with them
all the time, on the street and in the classroom and in the shops and it always makes me jealous because you want to be with this person so much and for everyone else they’re nothing special but for you they’re everything special
You don’t know anyone at the party, so you don’t want to go. You don’t like cottage cheese, so you haven’t eaten it in years. This is your choice, of course, but don’t kid yourself: it’s also the flinch. Your personality is not set in stone. You may think a morning coffee is the most enjoyable thing in the world, but it’s really just a habit. Thirty days without it, and you would be fine. You think you have a soul mate, but in fact you could have had any number of spouses. You would have evolved differently, but been just as happy.
You can change what you want about yourself at any time. You see yourself as someone who can’t write or play an instrument, who gives in to temptation or makes bad decisions, but that’s really not you. It’s not ingrained. It’s not your personality. Your personality is something else, something deeper than just preferences, and these details on the surface, you can change anytime you like.
I think relationships in general are over romanticized like at the end of the day I’m pretty sure a good relationship is just two people who know how to hang out and talk to each other, not whether or not they can right all your wrongs or paint a picture of a thousand suns with the breath from your lungs or some shit.
It’s important to make friendships that are deeper than gossiping and drinking and smoking and going out.
Make friends who you can go get breakfast with, make friends you can cry with, make friends who support your life goals and believe in you.
Three years later, a new girl sits cross-legged on your bed.
She tastes like a different flavor of bubblegum than you are used to.
She opens up a book that you had to read in high school, and a folded picture of us falls out of chapter three.
Now there are two unfinished stories resting in her lap.
Inevitably, she asks, and you tell her.
You say: I dated her a while back.
You don’t say: Sometimes, when I’m holding you, I imagine the smell of her vanilla perfume.
You say: She was younger than me.
You don’t say: The sixteen summers in her bones warmed the eighteen winters my skin had weathered.
You say: It’s nothing now.
You don’t say: But it was everything then.