What do you do when you were told as a child you aren't lovable
When every boy in the class rated you a three out of ten
How do you make up the confidence torn down
How do you be affectionate when every piece of affection was bottled up
Because no one wanted it

The little girl
Just could not sleep
Because her thoughts
Were way too deep
Her mind had gone
For a Stroll
And fell down
The rabbit hole.

If you look in the dictionary,
Home is defined as; a house, apartment, or other shelter that is the usual residence of a person, family, or household.
I’m usually one that goes by the books but, in this case, the book is wrong
A home is much more than a place that you live.
Home is the peaceful sound of classical music blasting through the apartment we shared.
Home is the smell of earl gray tea and chocolate chip cookies early in the morning.
Home is headlights shining through our window as we sat in the living room talking quietly about anything and everything.
Home is the layer of dust that covers the windowsill of our old bedroom.
Home is an old worn down couch, faded in color but not in memory.
Home is the arguments we got in when we talked about politics.
Home is boxes of countless memories: pictures of him, the ashtray from the palace, his scarf.
Home is the love I feel for him and the love he hid from me.

If you ask my sister, she’ll tell you love doesn’t exist, it’s a waste of time.
I learned a long time ago not to listen to her, her heart was broken since she was young.
I know that love exists, I knew it existed the moment I met him
From the day, I got cold chills when he grabbed my hand as we ran away from the crime scene.
From the morning, I woke up from a night of nightmares and the smell of bacon and eggs greeted me, he never cooked, for anybody.
From the moment he first cried in front of me, he woke up from a nightmare alone and cried out my name, he never did tell me what it was about.

If you asked the public, they’ll tell you he was emotionless, a machine disguised as a person.
They didn’t see the side of him I had the pleasure of seeing.
The childish side of him when he was eating a bagel drenched with honey.
The sleepy side when the mongrels woke us up with their obnoxious barking.
The calm side of him as he composed music, notes flowing easily from his mind onto paper and then the violin.
The quiet side of him when I cleaned his wounds, ashamed of himself but too proud to say it out loud.
The scarred side of him when he learned that there was a shooting at my work.

If you ask me, I’ll tell you that normal days are the ones you want to remember.
They’re the ones that you’ll miss the most when you’re alone.
They’re the ones I remember the best.
The day we picked up a hitchhiker for the hell of it, despite the smell of oil and tobacco coming off of him.
The day we walked through the park, the only sound was the crunch of leaves under our boots as we walked the many paths through the woods, getting away from all the noise and hustle of the city.
The day we sat on the bridge the crisp morning air causing us to sit close together,  with tea and biscuits,  watching as the fog danced across the Thames river, talking about what to do with the rest of our day.
The day his brother came to visit, his stern and angry voice being overthrown by my loud laughter at his attempts to scare me away.
Didn’t he know that there isn’t anything he could say or do to make me stop loving his brother?

Loving him was the best decision I ever made.
To this day, I haven’t regretted a moment of the time we spent together.
He tried to drive me away, thinking I would run as fast as hell the first chance I got.
He tried everything he could think of, almost beheaded me with his sudden interest with medieval torture tools.
The loud thuds of god knows what all throughout the nights, waking me from dreams of the culprit.
Going missing for days on end without a single call, only to come back hungover and grumpy.

Through all of this I stayed by his side and slowly he came to realize that I wasn’t going anywhere.
Once he came to that conclusion he began to open up to me more.
Letting me see behind the mask he wore for everyone else.
And I slowly fell more and more in love with the man everyone else hated.
The taste of I love you on my tongue every day, almost slipping a couple of times.
Now I wish I let it slip into conversation.
Two years ago was when he fell.
Two years ago was when my love was ripped from me so suddenly, I couldn’t believe it.
Two years of pain and heartache.
Two years of missing my best friend, my only friend, really.
But even after two years, I still love him, I still want him here with me.

So listen to me when I tell you this.
Home is not just a place, it’s a feeling.
Love is not just a feeling, it’s a person.
People are not just people, they’re memories.
Memories are not just the big ones, they’re the normal days that seem like nothing.
Take my advice and live every day like it’s your last.
Confess your love to the one you love.
Follow your dreams, even if they seem impossible.
Because life is unpredictable and fate is a cruel thing.

The hardest part about a diet
isn't watching what you eat.
But *watching what other people eat.

Pretty (adj):
1. pleasing or attractive to the eye, as by delicacy or gracefulness;
"Pretty" is a word that's been spewed at you since the day you were born,
A social standard set upon you that you had yet to even hear, but it was being used to describe you instantly;
A "pretty little girl", a "pretty face", "pretty eyes", "pretty smile", "pretty outfit",
Did anyone ever stop to wonder if you'd have a pretty soul?
What about the way you could be brought to tears at the thought of shaming homeless people or victims of abuse, how your heart felt like it was ripping out of your chest when you heard about someone who was struggling,
They didn't seem to care that you tested highest in compassion, they just wanted to know where you got your dress from.
As you grew older the adjective turned from an innocent compliment to what seemed like a snide remark,
The word "pretty" began to eat you from the inside out every time it was said
like you should measure your worth in how delicate others find you;
You stopped accepting "pretty" as a compliment when it turned into an adjective that was only associated with girls that were more than average but less than beautiful,
You stopped accepting "pretty" as a compliment when it became an antonym of strong,
like "pretty" girls were things that would break if you talked too loud, as if loving a "pretty" thing could never be synonymous with loving a durable or sturdy or resilient thing.
D.A. Sharp once said
"You weren't meant to be pretty; you were meant to burn down the earth and graffiti the sky. Don't let anyone ever simplify you to just "pretty"."
And so when someone kindly placed the word in a sentence referring to you you learned to automatically put it into quotations because they were just trying to be nice,
They didn't know they were reducing you to outer beauty, that "pretty" seemed less like a compliment the more it was said, like people couldn't figure out another way to describe you,
As if God hadn't already intricately woven the threads of your DNA, as if he hadn't perfectly tinted every hair on your head to be its crisp burnt color or hand painted the irises of your eyes,
No, "pretty" could no longer cut it.
Because you had been made for bigger and better things,
Those "pretty" eyes of yours will one day see things that God hadn't originally intended anyone to have to see, and those "pretty" hands of yours will have to pick up the pieces of a heartache that God had never wanted you to know and put them back together, and those "pretty" lips of yours are the same lips that will stand in front of sin and tell it that you have chosen Jesus.
Because "pretty" is fine,
but you have been fearfully and wonderfully made, a masterpiece of the Creator.

Before I met you, I never knew what it felt like to look at someone and smile. To be happy just because someone is in my presence. I read somewhere the human heart beats approximately 4,000 times per hour. and if I had to guess, I would say 3,999 of those beats are spent on your laugh and your smile. The way the lines that form at your eyes look like our future together. how your freckles spell out 'i love you' just in case I ever started to doubt you. that one extra heartbeat I save for the moment you touch me because I know once you let go I will miss you so much I will end up sinking into oblivion. when I lay in bed at night I start to see the outline of your body the car headlights form a shadow on my wall. I hear the sound of your voice every time I flick the light switch and most nights I stand leaning against the wall continuously turning the light on and off and on and off and on and off and on and off. I've started sleeping with the phone next to my pillow just in case you call. you're the only one I want answering the phone as if hearing someone else's voice could bury me six feet under. I barely get out of bed anymore and it's not because I'm tired or lazy but because I've been digging my body into my mattress to try and feel your warmth. when you lie awake at night, unable to sleep I hope you think of me and know I've been trying to go to bed but I can't make it past the light switch.