Why is it so hard to accept things as they are? Why do we struggle and fight against the inevitable? Is it the knowledge that things could be better? Or is it the hope? The hope that if things were different, we would be different. Better. Stronger. Complete.
The kisses you put on my forehead when you think I’m off dreaming in my sleep, those are the ones that mean the most, because you did it because you wanted to, not because you feel you have to.
There is an important distinction between not giving a fuck about what other people think of you and not giving a fuck about other people’s feelings.