love is painful. love hurts. so who do we constantly crave for someone's times and effort for no one else but us. it seems special at first. you talk day and night. you give each other cute nicknames. you get comfortable with each other. you confess to each other. you get together. you do everything together and anything under the sun together with them. one day, the sparks dies. the little things like good morning texts, words of appreciation, surprising each other gets less significant.it gets tiring. seeing their face every time get boring. soon after, one stops trying. they leave even when they said they wouldn't. but that's not the point. i was there when you were at your worst. i was the one who love you through thick and thin. what was all that for? we loved just to see us give up on everything we had? we loved just to let everything go? we loved just to feel alive and when everything gets dark, we go to someone else to exist again? maybe love does not really exist. maybe what exists is the fact that we only want who we claim t love till the little infinity we have to over.

• #sommethingtothinkabout

lifestyle is not a competition and there are different ways to get a lot of things done, different lanes all leading to the same destination. just because your neighbor is doing things faster does not means you are falling. happiness doesn't come from having everything, but making the best out of what you have, it's all abut how you see yourself. happiness is not having what you like. happiness is liking what you have and being content.

• moving on

Moving on is not forgetting about someone in an instant. It is not as simple as deleting a phone number or burning old pictures. It is not a slam of the door, walking away without looking back. There is no erasure, no wiping away. It’s never a clean break. It’s never a clean slate.

Moving on is pretending not to see his face every time someone mentions the color blue. Moving on is lying awake at night, trying so hard to sleep but you can’t, telling yourself that it’s not because you miss him, you’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine. Moving on is walking past his house and sipping your coffee, trying to focus on how bitter it tastes. Don’t look at that house. Don’t look in his window. Don’t hope that he’s there. Moving on is batting your eyelashes at another boy and trying to ignore the rock in the pit of your stomach, heavy and hard. Moving on is eating his favorite cereal for breakfast but wondering why. You never even liked Cheerios. You never even liked cereal in general. Moving on is fingers hovering over the delete button of a voicemail from twenty-seven weeks ago. You’ll press it eventually.

Eventually. Eventually, you’ll move on. Eventually you will forget what his voice sounded like, what his skin felt like, what his shirts smelled like. No more missing him, no more losing sleep, no more knots in your stomach or in your hair. Moved.

But for now you are just moving. And you will move as slowly as you need, for as long as it takes.