(A well-lit room)

you could pick up every single broken piece and try, try and try your very and utter best to put them back together.

or you could just leave them and move the fuck on.

People say you deserve better.

They rant on and on and endlessly about how much you deserve someone or something so much better. They tell you could do so much better than what you're doing now. They tell you that the person whom you're with now, does not deserve you. And that you deserve much better.

They tell you all that.
And they're not willing to give it to you.

Muhammad Haziq is definitely hands down, without a doubt the most down to earth guy anyone could every meet. Oh, and did I mention he's an utter flirt too? And that I had no intention of writing this, but he told me to write, so thus I wrote.

(can you remember when you fell in love with me?)

was it across telephone lines? through lies you could see I made up just to find a reason to speak to you in the lonely nights of my room?

(can you remember when you fell in love with me?)

was it from the light in my face when you surprised me with a birthday cake and made all our friends sign a card that only you thought of?

(can you remember when you fell in love with me?)

was it on roller coaster rides or our stop at the top of the ferris wheel. when you lightly placed your hand on top of my shaky knees to calm me (and you) from fear?

(can you remember when you fell in love with me?)

was it when I found myself laying so close to you in your twin bed only fir for you and after hours of conversation, you found a silence in between to fill by kissing me like you've couldn't wait any longer to, like you wanted to for the longest time?

(can you remember when you fell in love with me?)

was it when we accidentally fell asleep at a …

You’re probably thinking I’ve forgotten all about you by now, but that’s far from it. I have missed you every waking day and my heart still hurts, but I’m getting better. I continue to smile and still go on without you. I know I have missed you, but I have kept it all inside of me,only for me to know. I still wonder about your doings, how you are, what you’re doing, what we used to talk about, to the laugh in your voice, just everything.I miss it all. However, I feel that part of us ending was for the best because everything happens for a reason. Should destiny put us into a crossing road in the future, that is when I will see you again. Until then, remember this: no matter what, even through the screaming fights, the disagreements, mistakes,and the tears we’ve cried, never, ever did I give up on you, so if you ever need a helping hand, do not hesitate to ask. I may be far away, but I will always be in reach. Actually; to be honest, I'm so over you.

he was as the sea. I’d like to believe that it was the moon that stole him from me but alas—
“you can’t leave me!” I shouted into the night. hoping to gurgle under his waves, and drown myself in him. but even the tide escaped me. and the growing shores claimed me. I was losing my place just as the sand going out form under me.
the sandbar and I, growing dry.
no, he left me. for why should the sea ever love what is just a man? who couldn’t understand anything the sea breathed. the sea lusted for foreign shores, not drowned sailors. the sea, he wanted more, not me. no, what happened cannot be blamed on the moon. he had left me on her own accord.

I love people watching, I love it when people open up their existence before you for a few minutes and you get a glimpse of what it is to be someone else. You see a split second of their life, who knows what you witness? How many dreams have been destroyed and days made with you in the background? We forget sometimes there is life outside our own, where do these people come from — where are they all going? They all have their hopes and tears and personal tragedies and we do not even know them. They spend their whole lives not even knowing you exist, when just that knowledge could change their life.

I often wonder what lies beneath, what they’re thinking what they’re wishing for. There is so much life outside our own, so many untold stories so many unaccomplished desires. How different things could be, how altered could our lives be, had we done one thing different, had we asked one more question.

The more I live the more I know — life is a balancing act, the only thing …

We live our lives, do whatever we do, and then we sleep. It’s as simple and ordinary as that.

A few jump out windows, or drown themselves, or take pills, more die by accident; and most of us are slowly devoured by some disease, or, if we’re very fortunate, by time itself.

There’s just this for consolation: an hour here or there when our lives seem, against all odds and expectations, to burst open and give us everything we’ve ever imagined, though everyone but children (and perhaps even they) know these hours will inevitably be followed by others, far darker and more difficult. Still, we cherish the city, the morning, we hope more than anything for more.

Heaven only knows why we love it so.

Me: A year has 365 days for you to study. After taking away 52 Sundays, there are only 313 days left. There are 50 days in the summer that is way too hot to work so there are only 263 days left. We sleep 8 hours a day, in a year, that counts up to 122 days so now we're left with 141 days. If we fooled around for only 1 hour a day, 15 days are gone, so we are left with 126 days. We spend 2 hours eating each day, 30 days are used in this way in the year, and we are left with 96 days in our year. We spend 1 hour a day speaking to friends and family, that takes away 15 days more and we are left with 81 days. Exams and tests take up at least 35 days in your year, hence you are only left with 46 days. Taking off approximately 40 days of holidays, you are only left with 6 days. Say you are sick for a minimum of 3 days, you're left with 3 days in the year to study! Let's say you only go out for 2 days... You're left with 1 day. But that 1 day is your birthday.

"I told the girl that I like that I liked her, and she told me that she has fallen for and has kissed another boy. She told me that if she were sensible, she would fall for and date me. I don't know what to do. I'm lost, really. What should I do now? My heart is not broken, but slightly torn. sincerely, a messed up boy"

My advice? Run. Now. As fast as you can. If anyone EVER tells you anything along the lines of “if I were ____ then I would do this, this, and/or this with you. I would feel this way, do anything for you, be with you, blah blah blah.” It’s complete bullshit. Whenever anyone says that I just have to roll my eyes and shake my head because we’re fickle little things, humans, we really are. She wants to have her cake and eat it too. Lock her out. In my experience people only say that because they themselves are greedy and selfish. She acknowledges, at least, that you deserve to be liked and to be loved and to really be with someone but her wor…

Food, fire, walks, dreams, cold, sleep, love, slowness, time, quiet, books, seasons – all these things, which are not really things, but moments of life – take on a different quality at night-time, where the moon reflects the light of the sun, and we have time to reflect what life is to us, knowing that it passes, and that every bit of it, in its change and its difference, is the here and now of what we have.

Life is too short to be all daylight. Night is not less; it’s more.

noun •
the moment you realize that you’re currently happy — consciously trying to savor the feeling — which prompts your intellect to identify it, pick it apart, and put it in context, where it will slowly dissolve until it’s little more than an aftertaste

Heart weeps.
Head tries to help heart.
Head tells heart how it is, again:
You will lose the ones you love. They will all go. But even the earth will go, someday.
Heart feels better, then.
But the words of head do not remain long in the ears of heart.
Heart is so new to this.
I want them back, says heart.
Head is all heart has.
Help, head. Help heart.

Sempiternal : everlasting; eternal.Quiescent : a quiet, soft-spoken soul.Redamancy : an act of loving in return.Billet-doux : a love letter.Chimerical : merely imaginary; fanciful.Ephemeral : lasting a very short time.Susurrus : a whispering or rustling sound.Aubade : a song greeting the dawn.Clinquant : glittering; tinsel-like.Euphonious : pleasing; sweet in sound.Raconteur : one who excels in story-telling.

Please watch this, thanks loves

Please watch this, thanks loves

“…and I remember the skin of your fingers, the spot three quarters up I’d always touch when I was out of things to say. You held my hand, but you were too afraid to speak and I could never understand. I remember when you leaned in quick to kiss me, and I swear, that not a single force on earth could stop the trembling of my hand. And I remember how you smiled through the smoke in a crowded little coffeehouse and laughed at all my jokes. And I remember the way that you dressed and, how we wasted all the best of us in alcohol and sweat.”

You love me and oh that was such a shock. I want to curl up in your lap and ask you to say it a thousand and one times, or at least until I memorise the way you look and sound when you say it. And right now everything is so simple and everything is so clear. There’s never been any competition because who could ever compare to you? And I would give up everything and everyone if I meant you’d want to keep me around forever. I’m so exhausted and I feel misplaced but relieved.

Maybe tonight I can get some sleep.

I feel shitty and dumb and it's all my fault and I fucked up so many things which I sort of think I did on purpose.

I just need a break from everything from people, from friends, from internet, from life.

Everyday, the though of hopping on a plane with everything I can carry and just going somewhere - anywhere then seeing how it goes and where life takes me becomes more and mroe tempting.

I just need a change and I don't know but I fucking hate my guts right now. Cut me open and string my organs along a clothesline; let the seagulls eat my insides.

"We make such messes in this life, both accidentally and on purpose. But wiping the surface clean doesn’t really make anything any neater. It just masks what is below. It’s only when you really dig down deep, go underground, that you can see who you really are."

I will make it. I will make it to one year without cutting. I will be clean for one year. I will prove you wrong. I can do it.

Real love doesn’t necessarily knock you off your feet. It doesn’t fix you or your life. Real love is something that can be felt in the depths of your soul and seen in the smallest actions between two people. Real love is the love between two people, that makes both people better, but not in the way that it is making them whole. Real love starts with complimenting the soul, complimenting the real person. it comes when you’re at peace with yourself, when you know what you want, what you like, and how what steps you feel you need to take you there. At the very least, you need to be in touch with yourself, and know how to take care of yourself, because that is when you can let someone else in.

There has to be a compatibility and a sense of excitement, but this will change over time. It’s the syncing up of two people in this respect that equates to great love, and when it isn’t working, the great loves can talk about it and know how to fix it. Real love is the feeling of kno…

We live in a modern society. Husbands and wives don’t grow on trees, like in the old days.
So where does one find love? When you’re sixteen it’s easy, like being unleashed with a credit card in a department store of kisses. 
The peck.  The first kiss.  The sloppy kiss. The sympathy kiss.
The backseat smooch.
The I wish you’d quit smoking kiss. 
The we shouldn’t be doing this kiss.
The but your lips taste so good kiss.
The bury me in an avalanche of tingles kiss.
The I know your tongue like the back of my hand kiss. 
The I accept your apology, but you make me really mad sometimes kiss.

As you get older, kisses become scarce. You’ll be driving home and see a damaged kiss on the side of the road, with its purple thumb out. If you were younger, you’d pull over, slide open the mouth’s red door just to see how it fits.
Oh, where does one find love?  If you rub two glances, you get a smile.
Rub two smiles, you get a warm feeling.
Rub two warm feelings and presto-you have a kiss.
Now wha…

I think you know why I am writing to you. I have been putting this off, pushing you to the back of the shelf. But I love you too much to lose you to dust.  Everyone is always curious to know what you have learnt, as if everything must be reduced to a neat conclusion, a complete and tidy revelation of why and how and what for. Some sort of truth that was lost and now found. I know that after 365 days (and years on top of that) you may be expecting at least some sort of answer, but my body of writing whispers like an ocean, ephemeral as a set of liquid transparencies laid one on top of the other.  Well, here, Lesson 1 - nothing is repeated, but all your stories rhyme. Dear, dear,
let me explain. Do not chase the tales of a hundred abandoned stories and try to claim them as your own. Your story is your story, and it is enough. You are enough. Do you remember when my body was a house that was haunted? I struggled to hold my head up, I would appear late and vanish in …

These are my favorite sorts of people: tragically uncomprehended fools, dreamers, introverts, bashful lovers, raindrop runners. The ones with rebel imagination and throughshine skin. The ones who don’t sleep at night. The ones who draw mermaids and wildflowers into notebooks soiled by handling. The ones who talk in archaisms. The ones who are gentle, secretive and endessly vulnerable who spend their lives escaping against themselves.

And by everything, I literally mean everything. I notice when someone stops hitting me up like they used to. I notice when the way someone talks to me starts changing. I notice the little things that people do, and the little things they used to do. I notice when things change, and when it’s no longer the same. I notice every single little detail. I just don’t say anything.

It doesn't sneak up on you. It' always been there. Lurk- ing in the shadows. you know it's there. but you can't fight it. When the moment is right, it swallows you whole, and everything you ever loved gets swallowed too. You learn to want the sadness, crave it. It is the only feelings you have left. the only proof that you are alive. they don't understand. they don't care. So why tell them? Sometimes you feel perfect.  Like the world is finally back to how it is meant to be. But then something small changes that. A comment, a picture, a thought. And it all comes spiraling in again. And the black- ness is now your enemy as you try to come up for air. As you try to hold on to that small glimmer of hope you once has. But it is not a glimmer of hope anymore. it never was. your mind was just tricking you, and now you're just drowning. Now you're just an empty shell.

(brackets make me feel safe.)
(they remind me of cupped hands.)
(and whispered secrets.)
(they hold extra things like hands do.)
(and it feels like i could say anything in the world and no one will judge me for it.)
(in them we whisper secrets, and looks in our eyes wispy.)

I warned you that I was complicated, don't you dare fucking say I didn't warn you. And you told me you could handle it. Well fuck you. Over time, I trusted you and opened up to you. And do you how fucking hard that is for me? Do you even have a single fucking idea how fucking hard it is for me to open to not just you, but people? And once you saw how much of a mess I really was, you got up and walked away. Like a little bitch who can't even keep to their word.

If you can't fucking handle something, don't lie and pretend like as if you can cause you're just going to make things worse.

My mother said your name in the car and this crystal-shatter silence settled over, just for a brief morning-mist moment. How much you must have grown. Why haven’t I realized how brown your eyes are? I didn’t even know your eyes were that brown. You meant something to me, you know. You don’t forget the person who’d give you so much hope. (You don’t fucking do that to someone you gave hope to, by the way.) A carousel of lives and our just had to entwine again. My mother’s lip twitched and I looked outside the window, traffic lights flaring up. I closed my eyes, as how you must have closed yours.

sometimes i really do feel like i need help. sometimes the moulding alley doorways in my mind start opening with creaks and they let angry hisses out like shadows and then they start screaming, the doors start screaming, the birds and vultures scream and then the eternal downpour begins, all until something bright closes the doors, but the doors can only remain closed for so long.

One day, I'll get out of here. I'll leave and never even take a second glance at the rear-view mirror. I'll drive and drive till my car breaks down in a small and quaint town. I'll probably get a part-time job in the small cafe by the street which pays just enough and spend the other half of my day in the bookstore around the corner.

You may not understand, you may not remember -who am I kidding? You won’t remember, can’t remember- but in another life we have met. In another life, in another time in another dimension rather far away, we have met and we have fallen in love. In another time, you don’t haunt my dreams, because we are together. I see you here but I cannot keep you. Right here, right now, you don’t understand, it’s okay. I’m sorry. This isn’t fair to you if I don’t let you be, because I know you’ve got your life in place and you don’t know me, don’t know what I felt or what I’ve experienced. . I’ll leave, I’ll leave and never come back, simply because I don’t belong here, but you do.

Nights like these I wish I told you I loved you. Maybe you’d tell me that you love me too. Then maybe I wouldn’t be so lonely and be feeling this empty glow where my heart should be, and instead be thinking about how it’d feel to have your arms around me. How warm and alive we are. Then maybe tears won’t spill without me knowing why.

Maybe you don’t hate me. You never wanted me to die.
Maybe you don’t hate me. But maybe you never wanted me to live either.

"And I think it’s exciting that at any moment, in any given day, you could meet someone you will fall in love with. That’s what makes life worth living. That chance. That hope."

secrets are only temporarily exciting before they become excruciatingly limiting.

If one day you regret the things you said, or the things you didn’t, and you come back to seek me out again.. I can’t guarantee that I will always be here. Maybe I’ll still be waiting for you the same as I’ve ever waited for you, but this room inside this little red house may no longer be mine and the places we used to go to together will have had all traces of our DNA wiped from the surfaces with disinfecting products rubbed in circular motions over wobbling tabletops and so(u)le-stained tiled floors.

The grooves we wore into the ground beneath the swings in the playground would have had a thousand feet pass over them since, and the battered green bench with all its paint chipping off would no longer be standing sentinel by the same weary tree because it would have tired of waiting for two part-time lovers to return to dig up the skeletal remnants of their affair gone bad, at the very end.

 And maybe in the future, if it’s true that I loved you as much as I believe I do, I would stil…

"I want a soulmate who can sit me down, shut me up, tell me ten things I don’t already know, and make me laugh. I don’t care what you look like, just turn me on. And if you can do that, I will follow you on bloody stumps through the snow. I will nibble your mukluks with my own teeth. I will do your windows. I will care about your feelings. Just have something in there."

“Some people don’t understand the promises they’re making when they make them,” she said.

“Right, of course. But you keep the promise anyway. That’s what love is. Love is keeping the promise anyway.” I told her.

Get stuck. Stay in one place your whole life. Always order vanilla even though the menu is four pages long. Become the type of person who sends back lattes. Save up your money for a plasma TV instead of a plane ticket. Talk a lot about things you know nothing about. Have an affair with someone you don’t even find attractive.

    Refuse to forget your ex. Make it impossible for yourself to do anything without remembering that you used to do it with them. Hug your knees under the sheets and think about how safe you felt when they held you at night. Remind yourself daily of how empty you feel. Find new ways to make yourself sad.

    Get drunk all the time. Consider no Saturday night, national holiday or extended happy hour complete without a vodka-induced breakdown. Graduate college but keep drinking like you’re still in it. Notice that cheap beer tastes watery and stale when you drink it alone but drink it anyway. Look at old Facebook photos wasted and wonder where everyone went.

    N…

There’s this constant thought,
always running throughout my mind that here.
I am living but I am not alive.
That I can feel invincible and infinite anyway but here.
Here I am a ghost trapped in limbo.
I can’t wait for the days I leave this city and get to feel alive:
get myself one of those bordeaux-colored velvet dresses and a blazer with elbow pads,
travel far out,
and sit and laugh and talk and fall in love with someone beautiful on a perfectly tiled rooftop.
All underneath an ink-black sky,
stars sewed together in constellations.
Rooftops sound good to me.

"To live in this world

you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go."

When you wake up happy for no reason at all, and that happy lasts the whole day.When you can sit with someone in perfect, non-awkward silence, and just watch the world go by, knowing that someone under this sky has your back. Following a series/band so far and so long and then finally see it in film/live and just feel so utterly proud of everything that has happened.Being able to see the stars each night.Being able to see the sun rise and set.Having a jacket during a cold day.Being able to have at least one person to say ‘I love you’ to each daySaying ‘I love you’Have people say it back.See someone drop everything, every act and every mask, and just act of blood-raw emotion and fire-raw passion, because it’s one of the few rare and real things happening everywhere, every moment.Knowing that somewhere, a couple has just fallen in love; a woman has just given birth; someone has just taken all their bravery into admitting their affections; someone has just lain down flowers on a grave.Kn…

Find me by the ocean, watching the waves roll in and out like they’re not tired of this. Find me where the wild winds blow, and maybe you could follow me so. Find me where time stands still, in words: in books, in ink on the back or my hand, or carved into the bark of an age-old tree. Find me somewhere in my fifth lifetime, drinking cider on a rooftop underneath some sort of infinite sky. Find me where the roses grow to the songs of a loved one. Find me looking for affection in all the wrong people. Find me watching, find me breathing, find me writing, find me alive.

So tread lightly. Take only what you need -shards of a heart or the twinkle of gloriously dark eyes; a wisp of a memory; a word of charm and heroism. Only what you need. People like you, people like me: we don’t settle. We walk as the lines blur like the winds in a dream. We are the hurricanes forced into jars, and we are the racing wolves that keep people like you up at night and we know it.

We’ll grind chocolate into powder and smoke it, our legs tucked under the grass, kissing the Earth. People like you and me, we like things that breathe. We like holding ladybugs in the palms of our hands and watching their wings flutter, and pressing our wrists together and imagining that we might be able to feel the pulse of each other. So you can take me, whichever part it is you might want, the tip of a finger or the softness of my earlobe or my kneecap, the pearl of my eyes. I know you’ll keep them safe, I know you’ll keep them alive.

time healsthe sunrise is a constantsalt water stingsI am worth all of itdriving calmsthe music will never endbooks finish(sometimes happily)locked doors can be unlockedtrees produce oxygenI produce carbon dioxidestars die all the timesthe sun burns

in a gothic cathedrallying in bed, listening to dawn raina hot bubble bath on a cold daya bookstore or a librarypine forest, neck craned upwards at trees against the skynatural history museumsunrise from a hilltop, with only the birds for companynear a crackling fireplace with a good book and a teacupin the grass at sunset, watching the clouds and the butterfliesriding a bike down unknown roads and getting lost

"That’s the thing: You can change things. You can repair mistakes. You can restart your whole life if you have to. But some things you never get back. Certain people. Certain moments in time when you don’t know better than to shield to your heart. You don’t see those moments coming, you don’t know it when they’re happening, but later, as the plainness of life begins to show itself, you realize how important they were. You understand who really changed you, who made you what you are."

-watching a star explode and fizzle out into flakes of dust and be taken away by the winds and scattered off into oblivion.

It’s a curious feeling, getting the confirmation that you don’t mean -or ever meant- anything to someone. Someone you thought once a upon a time, cared.

It’s just like-

― Violet and Claire by Francesca Lia Block

I feel as though I am merely on the periphery of everyone else's lives; never central to the story, never the leading lady. I am not anything to anyone, neither girlfriend nor best friend - I am the enigmatically transparent, loose girl who wanders alone staring into the dark vastness of the universe wondering. I am waiting in the wings behind velvet curtains as the minutes hours days pass me by sweeping in and out inconsequentially hoping someday you'll remember me.

I’m just tired of being thrown between happy and sad and angry and grateful and suicidal and empty and hopeful and hopeless and cold and hot and blue and red and always empty and I just want to run away and hide somewhere so I can escape into a world where I don’t have to think about sad things like the future and growing up.

I’d rather be a character in a story book.

We write because we cannot speak. Our minds only undress themselves on sheets of leaf. It is not nor will it ever be anything more or less than what it seems. We often find ourselves loitering inside a beautiful metaphor leaking from the books we read or the titles on our record sleeves.

We seek hope in absolutely anything, especially that which is deemed uninspiring. When we hear a piano, we drive inside its wiring, hoping on a rest stop, but never slowing down when they indetify themselves on dirt marquees. (Just to know that they are an option is enough, we believe.)

We are a wonderful and wretched deceit; turning a concrete slab into a work of art, birthing that which has been aborted decades in between. We neglect a;; that we need, replacing meals with long black cigarettes and nerves and substitute cups of caffeine for sleep.

We are not afraid to die, but rather of living passively instead of passionately. We never needed a map because the longer we are lost, the stronger that w…

‘You don’t do that to someone you gave hope to, you know,’ I say as I take a step towards him. It’s bright out and he’s squinting but he looks away from me the whole time. Hiding behind enigmatic syrup-brown eyes. I don’t blame him. This is not pretty. ‘Never meant anything.’
Now I’ve got his attention. He opens his mouth to speak, ‘can we still stay friends?’

‘I don’t know. Ask my twelve year old self and I say yes like someone’s asked me if the sky is blue. Ask me now and I don’t know.’

This is for the people who feel like emotional wrecks, the ones who can’t turn their minds off at night. The ones with their slutty, whoreish, wanton hearts. The ones who have been let go. The ones who can’t let go. The ones who believe everything is a lie.

It’s okay.

You are afraid of a lot of things. But you try to escape these fears by making impossibilities probable, by writing fictional realities. Everything you are not able to say, you write. Fiction is your defense mechanism. You isolate yourself mostly from people, sometimes even those closest to you. You’re pragmatic, but you have a lot of dreams too. You try to be in control a lot of times. You are highly dependent. You live on your own, abide by your own rules, live by your own pace. And you are selfish too. To hell with what other people think. You do as you please and do not so much care about what others would say and think of you as.

Let me unmask you;
You cannot fool me with words. You are not a bad person like you want others to believe you are. I see through your mask. I see through your defenses. Hire a better defence force, will you? You try to put up this thick wall around you because you are scared of getting your heart broken again. You have lost the skill to regenerate that …

"It was him not fighting for me. I gave him the ultimatum and he let me walk away. I didn’t want a life separate from him, and that's all he could give me. It’s like he’s driving a car and I just want to be in the passenger seat. He’s locked the door and I have to hold onto the bumper. I am not even asking him to open the door for me, just leave it unlocked and say come in, but he didn’t do that. So I am hanging on to the bumper and life goes on. And the car goes on and I get really badly bruised and I’m hitting potholes and it hurts, it really hurts. so yesterday I had to let go of the bumper because it hurts too much."

No matter where I am or what I do to try to heal myself, my heart has been putting itself back together and breaking apart endlessly all this time. I don’t know how to hurt it or heal it permanently and the most horrifying thing of all is- I’m not sure I want to give myself that sense of closure, in all its ambiguity and lines of doubt.

Because some things inside me I can’t bring to forgive myself for and I hate myself so much for feeling this way but I don’t know how to not, and there is no one in this world that I can think of to turn to for this because face it- I am running, always running, and I am so, so scared of the idea of people loving me in any way because in all of my experience, I’ve learned that eventually it gets too hard for them to handle and they stop. I am terrified that they will all someday just cease to care that I do my best to keep them from starting, but some people just slip under your skin and inject their love into your bloodstream and far too quickly, ther…

all this running will get you nowhere  just because that string is red doesn’t make it red pretty-eyed boys will hurt you (even when, and especially if they know not your name) you will be crushed these cards are yours to paint it easier to be fake than to be brave trust no one (trust everyone) you can run with wolves but the wolves won’t run with youthe wilderness will call you, and no one can ever take that away from you