Smoke that cigarette like it will not end in your demise

There are few people that relish in my ability to care as hard and as fully as I do. I thank them; it is no easy task to watch someone surrender so easily to the emotions around them. I am truly grateful.

I feel everything, every sour moment, every nightmare, and every sincere laugh. I feel it all as if physically they are separate object’s being thrown towards my body. Anger burns my chest, disappointment aches in my lungs. Someone else’s pain cracks my hands; every tear splits my lips. I am a series of invisible scars, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Let us not runaway from the intensity and affection we so frantically want to give, but from a world that idolises the people whom embody an escape from the harshness of having a heart.


Smoke that cigarette like it will not end in your demise; kiss that lust as if it will definitely not destroy you, hold that hand like it will never eventually stop reaching for you and sip that drink even though it wont make it all okay.


This is our very own experience of life and light and everything that comes in between. Perhaps we did not ask for this, but it sure as hell beats not being able to connect with anyone in the most raw and enlightening way



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