Among my stillness was a pounding heart.

Every night, I laid awake with your memories flooding through my eyes with the hope to be with you when sleep arrived.

Think of it, I literally had to touch death and be born again to live a glimpse of the life that I never had.

I don't defend pain, But I do respect its ability to make us stronger and wiser after it stings.

We cannot achieve personal enlightenment – a clarification of our souls – until we cease deluding ourselves. We must accept that life includes witnessing and personally experiencing pain.

I knew that the pain I felt now was here to stay. In many forms. Through many nights.

Withdraw from talking about leaving someone behind. Just rekindle the friendship and love while you still have that moment together.

Sometimes we hurt the ones we love, but hurting ourselves to avoid it doesn’t make it better.

Suffer you will, one way or another

He started to estrange her... And they became strangers Who knew each other's heart, So broken as they drifted apart.

Every heart needs a cutting part sharper than a blade to stab agony

When the person you love can't see your love for them beneath the painful things you say when they reject you, remember this: Love is blind.

In fact, she [Pamela Flitton] seemed to prefer 'older men' on the whole, possibly because of their potentiality for deeper suffering. Young men might superficially transcend their seniors in this respect, but they probably showed less endurance in sustaining that state, while, once pinioned, the middle-aged could be made to writhe almost indefinitely.

...and said with the softness of repressed violence, 'I am not one to stick his neck out; it is a bit of a reach. I was waiting for the smallest sign that you could love me... I never got it.

To him, freedom was greater than love. She hated that. Because she had always thought that love was freedom.

I always knew death of this relation would be the death of my life.

True love is many things and can survive the strongest and most painful of times. When love comes out the other side of a fire, it may be scarred forever, but this bruised love is somehow only greater for having survived the pain.

February 2009 January 4. January 4. January 4. I rubbed the paper on my red calendar. I cried into the little box, into the last day we had sex.I was a tornado. I puked hurricanes. I was Jodi Arias. There were no more tears for him. Swirling eddies of vodka, pills, fattening food, and tears. Vortexes corralled other vortexes. They joined forces with the eyes of other storms far out into the Gulf, and Atlantic, and castrated my heart first, then everything below the neck. Fuck the heart; my brain was mauled into mush. He didn’t have a heart—and possibly, neither did I. The heart had nothing to do with a whirlpool of circles and left and rights I navigated.

My heart is not brave or big. It is not cruel either. It is not strong at all. I keep it within this iron cage for a reason. Breathe on it wrong and I will die... Just go now. I would rather let you see my face, than my heart.