I was like “Am I your favourite extra curricular activity?”

and he said “Honey, you ARE the curriculum.”

If you don’t believe in miracles then perhaps you have forgotten you are one.

A message to freshmen going into high school:

After the first couple of weeks fly by in a colourful, dizzying whirl of over-priced outfits, strangling smell of Axe body spray, and burnt hair curls, there is a short period of self-discovery as you are forced into a place- or lack thereof- in high school and then all at once you are slapped in the face by the harsh reality that you’re going to be at this school, with these people for the next four years—

*deep breath*

you’re probably going to want to take up heaving drinking and/or hard drugs to numb the suffocating sadness of crushed individuality, and hopeless dreams. It would be my advice to avoid doing this if possible, because the thing is: eventually you will graduate (assuming you didn’t screw everything up) and it will all be over sooner than you think. The once debilitating feelings of anguish and longing for freedom will instantly be replaced by a certain joy and peace unable to be overshadowed by anything, as you walk up those steep steps to receive the ticket out of hell. A diploma.

So honestly, the best advice I would give you is to do what you think is right, don’t start anything you can’t finish, and try to hold onto who you are. You’re gonna lose friends, and get bad grades, and some days you’re just going to want to stay in bed all day and cry into a pillow. But trust me, when it’s all over, you’ll be so glad that you’re out of there that it makes every moment worth it. It’s not all bad, and a lot of it has to do with attitude.  

(tl;dr?)

"

when I first fell in love with the woman who ended up being my wife, someone said to me: “all good things must come to an end.” They didn’t say it in direct relevance to my relationship with my girlfriend, but the words still stuck with me. I came to the realization that this woman was the best thing that had ever happened to me, and in that moment I made the decision that I wasn’t going to let her go without a fight.

From that day on, I made sure I didn’t take a single moment with her for granted. I made sure she knew how much she meant to me. Sure- we’ve had our ups and downs, every relationship has them, But she’s been my rock, my friend, the person who’s not afraid to tell me the truth, and she was, and is, the answer to my prayers. When I first met her, 13 years ago, she swept me off my feet, and to this day, my feet have still not touched the ground.

"

My fictional character Daniel Carson. I wrote this a year ago. It’s part of a grander story, but this was the best part I think.

"I don’t know what you’re doing with the rest of your life, but I’d like you to include me in it."

It Hurts To Wonder… (Inner thoughts)

It Hurts To Wonder… (Inner thoughts)

Call Me Never

It was a rainy day.

The wind forced the little drops of water onto the window, and I watched the droplets as they chased each other down the glass, collecting at the bottom. I thought about everything, and yet nothing at the same time. I thought about the past week’s events and felt the goosebumps rise up on my arms. The week’s therapy had helped. I was finally starting to live again. But no amount of therapy could have ever prepared me for what happened in that one moment.

The phone rang.

my sister peeled her eyes away from the chattering t.v. and looked at me. She put the T.V. on mute, then slowly stood up from the couch and made her way to the phone. She picked it up and put it to her ear.

"Hello?" she said casually, examining her nails.

then after a moment her eyes widened. I immediately felt a sense of panic and fear in the air. and I knew- even though she glanced at me for a fraction of a second- I knew who it was. It was him.

My heart began to race, as her conversation turned hushed, urgent and argumentative. My breathing became staggered and I felt as if my lungs were full of lead. Finally, she slowly turned to me with the phone in her hands, reached out to me. I forced myself to take the phone. I felt as if I had just signed away my life, and I could feel the lump in my throat forming.

I held the phone in my hand for a moment and hesitated. I could see my sister looking at me, her eyes wide and severely concerned. She nodded at me quickly, and tried to smile assuringly, but it looked more like a pained grimace. I looked down at the phone then raised it to my ear. 

"Hello?" Said the voice on the other end, muffled and worried. "Hello? Violet?"

The sound of his voice.

My lips began to shake.  Tears began to well up in my eyes and I couldn’t hold back anymore. My hands began to tremble, and soon my whole body was shuddering with sobs.

I could hear the stunned, excruciating silence on the other end of the line, as my body convulsed and crumbled. 

"Violet…Violet please, I- I’m so sorry, Violet, please, please, talk to me-" 

I could bear it no more. The phone fell from my fingers and I could hear his last words echo though the ear-piece as it landed on the floor: “I love you.”

But it didn’t matter. My face fell into my hands and the emotions overtook me. My sister swooped in and snached the phone off the floor.

"Don’t call again." She hissed into the phone. I heard her slam of the phone, and then her hurried footsteps as they shuffled toward me, then she wrapped her ever-caring arms around my shoulders. 

She said nothing, just sat in silence holding my shuddering body and waited- waited for what she was always waiting for: the rain to stop.

"Don’t believe all those web sites that say: “You know He/she loves you if…”- it’s all bogus. The way to REALLY tell if a person loves you is if they are present when you need them most."

Karen Alloy (On YouTube)

Did you hear about the italian chef that died?



He pasta way.

we cannoli do so much

his legacy will become a pizza history.

here today, gone tomato

How sad that he ran out of thyme.

Sending olive my prayers to the family.

you don’t need to cross your arms

nobody’s trying to steal your nipples.