“You surrender to instantaneous instincts then mourn over becoming a slave.”

Every attachment is naturally temporary. It is made permanent by conscious thinking – sticking to moments and replaying memories.

The peak of intensity is numbness not emotionless.

Because sometimes the value lasts only as long as the distance does.

Forever is timeless, time changes everything, a forever battle against time.

And then there are people who try to fix themselves by fixing others only to end up more unfixed than ever.

At times this thought makes me arid, if the vibe was mutual, why is this reminiscence one sided.

Don’t tell me to not daydream. That’s the only place where I live and don’t think.

What more is loneliness if not the longing to be understood? The longing to be understood by the self.

Look at us. Always choosing devastation followed enlightenment over spoon fed lessons.

Are disappointing patterns just patterns only? Or are they a mockery of your stupidity?

You hypnotize yourself with memories that were meant to be forgotten, then wonder why destiny never favors you.

Because I have seen a rare kind of peace in the eyes of loners. Because I have heard whispers of battles of the accompanied.

Transient emptiness over irreparable brokenness.

Falling for superficial costs depth its entire existence.

Is it a loss that is still present? Or a presence that seems to be lost?

How is it that the colors don’t seem colorful anymore? How is it that the child in me wants to live yet keeps dying more and more?

A photograph on every mantlepiece. And all this mourning has veiled the truth. It’s not so much lest we forget, as lest we remember.

Death ends our woes, and the kind grave shuts up the mournful scene.

I rejoiced in my progress, mourned my weaknesses, and commiserated the universal instability of human conduct.

If you want him to mourn, you had best leave him nothing.

How do you mourn the loss of someone who was never yours to begin with?

What did I hope for, what did I expect, what rich future did I foresee, when the phantom of my first love, rising up for an instant, barely called forth one sigh, one mournful sentiment?

Now let the weeping cease; Let no one mourn again. These things are in the hands of God.

You say: you are mourning a man that could not love you. Full stop. Cover the last word. There’s the truth.