You Can't Heal If You Keep Pretending It Doesn't Hurt.

A Letter I Will Never Send

This is not a love letter.

This is me pouring out my love, not the kind you think of, the mushy gushy romanticized crap you want. No, this is raw, unadulterated affection for you and your soul.

For the purposes of this letter, I am going to disregard the fact that you are ignoring me and that we do not talk anymore. That is irrelevant. We have both argued, screamed, apologized, and cried to each other too many times to count. Even if we did still talk, I would be saying this to you, maybe in different words, but telling you all the same.

Since the very first day we became friends, you have been a constant in my life, a constant amidst the tumult and drama of high school. You listened to me and offered advice with your perspective that is so opposite mine. I love the way you live in the moment and risk the superficial things that I hold dear. Being your friend made me come to the profound realization that life is so much more than turning in homework on time and getting straight As. Because of you, if a friend needs me the night before a paper is due, I will be there for my friend (hopefully I wrote the paper ahead of time).

You were the glue that held my life together when I was on the brink of destruction. Everything in my world was falling apart, but you and your friendship remained. I took that for granted. You taught me the value of true friendship, even if it does not last. I hope that I meant something to you, that I somehow repaid in part what you had given to me in full.

To this day, I still look for you in the hallways and listen for your voice among the tenors in choir. Even when we see each other or talk, it is all superficial. We barely graze the surface of what once existed.

I hate superficiality.

After three years, how could we, how could I, throw it all away?

Losing your friendship has been a process more painful than any breakup. It feels as if someone has taken a part of me; there is a hole in my soul where you once were. As if the physical pain was not enough, the process of emotional detachment from you has been long and rocky. After weeks without thinking of you, a single song or a memory or a Bible verse makes me recall how much I care for you, still, after all this time.

You know more about me than any other person on this earth. And even though you leave me behind, you will carry pieces of me with you forever. Treasure them. I do not regret giving them to you, for I trust you will keep those pieces of me safe.

Life is too short to be silent about the ones we love. The other day, I was thinking about the people I will miss most in college, and as much as I love my friends, I will miss you the most. I already miss you. I suppose our separation is merely a preparation for what is to come.

This is not a cry for you to come back to me, nor an invitation for a pity party on my behalf. We both know that “us” would never have worked in our favor. I just wanted to let you know how much you mean to me, and how much pain I am enduring as you ignore my snapchats and avoid eye contact. But still, this is not me trying to guilt you or regain your attention.

This is me telling you that I love you. Not as a boyfriend or as a lover or even as a friend. I love you as a person. You are so extraordinarily special, and I am blessed to have spent so much time with you as my best friend. I wish it did not have to end.

But alas, all good things come to an end, right?

i agree that happiness is a choice but i have also realized that not everyone has happiness in their options

felt this on a spiritual level

Being a psych major is a wild combination of learning about interesting topics, people trauma dumping in class, and still getting so much work about burnout that you get burned out.

Because women don’t have to be men’s equals to be considered contenders; they have to be better. That’s the lie of it all. You have to be better to prove yourself worthy of being equal.

Mackenzi Lee, The Lady’s Guide to Petticoats and Piracy (via awesome-books-you-must-read)

More controversially young girlfriend x sidney please I beg 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 my fave thing on tumblr rn

Sidney was a lot of things.

Disciplined. Respected. A goddamn adult man with a fully formed brain and a career built on structure.

And yet.

Yet, when it came to you?

He had nothing. No defenses, no strategy, no self-preservation instincts. Nothing except the overwhelming, all-consuming, slightly humiliating urge to make you happy.

And it wasn’t just that you were gorgeous—though, obviously, that was a problem in itself. You had this effortless, natural beauty that made his head spin, sure. But it went so much deeper than that.

It was the way you looked at him. With amusement, with curiosity, with something warm and open and unfiltered. Like he was just Sid—not Sidney Crosby, not the face of a franchise, not a legacy—just your Sid.

It was the way you laughed—loud, unrestrained, with your whole damn body. You were playful, always ready with a joke, always willing to poke at him, never afraid to give him shit when he needed it.

And it was the way you felt beside him, your energy all light and easy, like you could take anything serious and make it a little less heavy.

You made him feel young in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with age.

Not young in the reckless, careless way of twenty-something athletes who had too much money and not enough foresight. No, you made him feel young in a way that was alive. In a way that reminded him that life wasn’t just training schedules and game film and calculated, responsible decisions.

And that was the real reason he couldn’t say no to you.

Because the world saw you as his young, spoiled girlfriend, the girl with the wide eyes and the expensive bags, the one they thought had him wrapped around her finger with a pretty pout and a bat of her lashes.

And, okay—fine. You did have him wrapped around your finger.

But not just because you were pretty.

Because you made him happy.

And Sidney, for all his discipline, for all his control—Sidney liked being happy.

Which was why, despite knowing better, despite all logic and self-restraint, he found himself in the same situation over and over again.

Like right now.

"You are not pouting at me right now," he said, watching you with a raised brow.

You blinked up at him, so falsely innocent it was insulting. "Pouting?" you echoed. "Me?"

Sid gave you a look. "Yes. You. The pout. The eyes. The whole act you’re putting on."

You gasped dramatically. "Are you saying my feelings aren’t genuine?"

"I’m saying," he exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose, "that we both know exactly how this ends, and you are still going through the motions like I have even a fraction of a spine when it comes to you."

Your lips twitched, and he knew—knew—you were thriving off this.

"So," you said sweetly, stepping closer, tilting your head up at him, "*what I’m hearing is… you’re gonna get me the bag?"

Sid sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. "God, I’m a fool."

"You’re a very generous fool," you corrected, standing on your toes to press a quick, teasing kiss to the corner of his mouth. "My favorite kind."

Sid muttered something about being so whipped it was embarrassing as he pulled out his phone, already texting his assistant to make the purchase happen.

And then, before he even hit send—

"Wait!" you gasped, grabbing his wrist. "Oh my God!"

He stilled, immediately on alert, brow furrowing. "What? What happened?"

You placed a hand over your chest, eyes wide and serious. "I think I just realized—"

Sid’s heart actually skipped a beat. "What? What is it?"

You squeezed his wrist. "I might need the matching wallet, too."

Sid groaned, head tilting back as you cackled. "I hate you."

"Liar," you grinned, nuzzling into his chest. "You love me."

And—yeah. Yeah, he did. Like a damn fool.

And Sidney wasn’t proud of how easily he folded for you. But in his defense, you made it really, really hard to say no.

So, of course, despite all his grumbling, despite rolling his eyes and pretending to put up a fight, the second you started up with that sweet, pleading voice and those ridiculously big, unfairly pretty eyes—he caved. Like he always did.

Which was why, less than a day after your little performance, a sleek black shopping bag from Chanel was sitting on the kitchen counter, filled with the bag you wanted (and the matching wallet, because he was so far gone it was pathetic).

And the second you saw it?

"Oh my God," you gasped, dropping your phone onto the couch as you all but floated toward the counter, eyes shining like you just saw heaven itself. "Baby, no way—"

Sidney, already leaning against the counter with a lazy smirk, shrugged. "You really didn’t think I was gonna get it?"

You turned to him, clutching the bag to your chest dramatically. "I hoped," you sighed, "I dreamed—"

Sid chuckled, shaking his head. "Unreal."

But before he could get another word in, you were launching yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck, peppering his face with quick, giddy kisses.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," you murmured between kisses, your happiness so damn pure that Sidney actually felt something in his chest clench.

This was the part he could never prepare for.

Yeah, he liked spoiling you. Liked making you happy. But the way you reacted? The way you never took it for granted, the way you always lit up, always made it feel like the best thing in the world? That was what got him.

You pulled back slightly, your nose brushing his, voice softer now. "I love you."

And just like that, he knew.

Knew he’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.

But, of course, he couldn’t let you off that easy.

"Wow," he hummed, lips twitching. "Now you love me?"

You narrowed your eyes. "Shut up."

Sid laughed, his grip tightening around your waist. "You weren’t saying that when you were trying to manipulate me yesterday—"

"Manipulate?" you repeated, scandalized.

"—with your little pout and those fake sad eyes—"

"FAKE?!"

"—and now that you’ve got your bag, it’s all ‘I love you’—"

"Sidney Crosby, you take that back this instant," you demanded, poking his chest.

"Mmm, I don’t know," he mused, enjoying this way too much now. "Maybe I should return it. Can you even appreciate something if you got it through emotional deception?"

Your jaw dropped.

"You are so dramatic," you muttered, pulling away, clutching your bag tighter like you thought he’d actually take it from you.

Sid grinned, tilting his head. "You gonna pout again?"

You glared. "You are the worst."

"And yet," he smirked, leaning down, voice dropping to a low murmur against your lips, "you love me."

You exhaled sharply, your resolve cracking. "Unfortunately."

Sid chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead before wrapping an arm around your shoulders, guiding you toward the couch. "C’mon, princess. Let’s see what other trouble you can get me into."

And just like that, the cycle would start all over again.

“Knowing your own darkness is the best method for dealing with the darkness of other people.”

— Carl Jung

you know how sunflowers turn to follow the sun? to feel the warmth bless their faces? that’s how I feel around you, I can’t take my eyes off you, can’t look away from the way you shine

Believe that you deserve a future you enjoy. Believe in your ability to transform yourself. No one can do this for you, but yourself– you are the wild card, you are the changemaker, you are your own light.

Sydney Correa, Stop and Smell the Roses: The Little Book of Loving Myself (via inspirationalinsight)

Don’t fall in love with a good guy. Because when he leaves, you cannot hate him. You will think of all of the things he always did right; hating him will be so impossible, and loving him will still be so easy. Because he’ll want to be your friend. And you’ll want to be his, too. But catching up with him every 6 weeks will not be enough for your heart, and being his friend will be the most elaborate method of self-harm. Because he’ll still be the boy you fell in love with. When it’s all said and done, he won’t be anyone except exactly who you knew he was. And how do you fall out of love with the same exact characteristics that made you fall in love in the first place? So don’t date a good boy. Because when a bad boy leaves, at least you saw it coming. When a bad boy leaves, at least you can hate him. When a bad boy leaves, at least you can tell yourself that you were an idiot for falling for him in the first place. But with him— you did not see it coming. You can not hate him. You can not tell yourself you shouldn’t have fallen in love. Because he was a good boy, and good boys are good even when they leave you.

excerpt from an unfinished book #53 // “breaking up is hard to do” chapter: “let’s be friends” (via wherewritersblockcomestodie)

dude, Q is surely growing on me