Brush Stroke

I know you think you define me. But each brush stroke thinks it’s important when it’s on the canvas and each brush stroke thinks that it’s the last and that the painting will be done when the brush leaves the canvas again. But it isn’t. You are just the shading. You are a dot. And I am the one holding the paintbrush.

-I Wrote This For You

Letting Go

It hurts to let go. Sometimes it seems the harder you try to hold on to something, or someone, the more it wants to get away. You feel like some kind of criminal for having felt, for having wanted. For having wanted to be wanted. It confuses you, because you think that your feelings were wrong and it makes you feel so small because it’s so hard to keep it inside when you let it out and it doesn’t come back. You’re left so alone that you can’t explain. Damn, there’s nothing like that, is there? I’ve been there and you have too. You’re nodding your head.

-Henry Rollins

Your Reasoning…

Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathless, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. That is just being ‘in love’ which any of us can convince ourselves we are. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. You had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom fell from your branches you found that you were one tree and not two.

-Louis de Bernieres