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06 January 2014
10.58PM
It was never about the way he looked at me. Never about the way I would smile when we looked at each other and I would try to give a straight face after. It was never really about the things he'd say, nor the way he would try to impress me.
It was the way he tried to make me smile, even when I didn't feel like it, even when I didn't want to. It was the way he was worried and made sure I was fine before he carried on with whatever that was important. It was how he continued his goodnights even when I refused to say the same. It was the way he tried breaking down my already built-up walls and tearing them apart and almost succeeded.
It was the way I thought he'd never give up on me, even though he left me too.
“I used to think I was the strangest person in the world but then I thought there are so many people in the world, there must be someone just like me who feels bizarre and flawed in the same ways I do. I would imagine her, and imagine that she must be out there thinking of me too. Well, I hope that if you are out there and read this and know that, yes, it's true I'm here, and I'm just as strange as you.”
“This is how you do it: you sit down at the keyboard and you put one word after another until it's done. It's that easy, and that hard.”