But he doesn’t stop there. “I think you’re the sort of person who finds money on the ground and waves it in the air and asks if anyone has lost it. I think you cry in movies that aren’t even sad because you have a soft heart, though you don’t let it show. I think you do things that scare you and that makes you braver than those adrenaline junkies who bungee-jump off bridges.” He stops then. I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out and there’s a lump in my throat and for one small second, I’m scared I’m going to cry.
Gayle Forman, “Just One Day”
"It is the broken
the shattered inside of us
that makes us perfect."
"It’s how you say it,
it’s the way my name dances,
when it leaves your lips."
Who am I -
But a shell filled with the ashes of my hopes and dreams.
I would secretly wish that hope is likened to flash paper. They ignite quickly with the slightest of sparks. Bursting into flames, a blinding hot flash before disintegrating into nothingness. Leaving no trace behind, as if it never existed.
But I am left with these ashes of the things that I once held dear. The stuff of naïveté which were once budding but now, inevitably crushed. I carry this blackness in my hollow shell. My memories will not fade, the ashes continue to remind me of …
Who I am -
A little piece of flash paper - Once ignited, disappears from existence, leaving no trace behind.
tips to write college papers
- begin with “buckle your seatbelts, motherfuckers, because in eight short pages i am going to learn u a thing that i only learned myself about two hours ago, so sit down, shut up, and enjoy the experience of my 4-am-redbull-induced-self-hatred-fuelled-writing-extravaganza”
- erase when finished with the paper
I clap until my hands sting. I clap as if doing so can prolong the evening, can transform ‘Twelfth Night’ into ‘Twenty-fourth Night’. I clap so that I can hold on to this feeling. I clap because I know what will happen when I stop. It’s the same thing that happens when I turn off a really good movie - one that I’ve lost myself to - which is that I’ll be thrown back to my own reality and something hollow will settle in my chest.
Gayle Forman, ‘Just One Day’