We think about tomorrow when today hasn’t even finished yet. We plan our future like we’re sure we will have one; we don’t live day by day. Yes, we might stand up everyday and fall onto our bed after school, but we never really stop to notice what is around us. We live like life is something regular, but it isn’t. Too often we forget how fragile it is; how we can die any minute. What if I wake up tomorrow and I forget to even notice that how lucky I am? People die in their sleep sometimes. I walk downstairs and I could have fallen to my death there. I eat my bread with no worries on how I could choke and, yes, maybe die. I will run to catch my bus. It will be a regular day; which means I will survive. Once surviving is no longer regular everyday, you have to start fighting for every tomorrow. What I’m trying to say is that you can die everyday; maybe of a heart attack, or get hit by a car, or maybe about a thousand other possibilities. Humans die every second. Who gives you the assurance you’re not one of them today? Tomorrow? Next week? I don’t want you to wake up everyday and be happy and enjoy the day, because we can’t. I don’t try and tell you to appreciate it more, and to tell yourself this everyday. I want you to stop sometimes, and look at what is around you, and be thankful for your existence. We want to wake up and enjoy the day like it’s our last, but we’re only humans. We forget. You could try to remind yourself, but that will only work for a few days. Maybe writing it on a piece of paper and sticking it on your wall will remind you more often. Tattoo it, then you could remember it for a few months; but, with time we forget. It gets usual. You don’t look at that paper on your wall the same. You don’t notice it anymore. You don’t read your tattoo anymore because it became only black ink on your wrists. No, we can’t appreciate our existence everyday, but we can sometimes stop and look around. Inhale the atmosphere because we never know if we are inhaling it for the last time. My biggest fear is that one day I will be laying on the ground bleeding, knowing I’m going to die. I will die with thousands words that should have been said, with hugs that I gave daily, but now the unattainable wish of just having one more hug; no longer possible because that person isn’t here and you’re going to be away forever. I don’t want to die full of regrets, with things running in my head of what I should have done different; where I just would have been a bit less stubborn, or how I’ve never told the girl how I really felt, or maybe how I will miss the summer light that filters through the leaves of the trees. The simple things will become the most precious ones. We will, and that is makes life so precious… never knowing when your journey ends. All we can do is stop sometimes and inhale what is around us, and hope we learn to appreciate it enough.
written by Elay Neal Moses (via coachela)
You asked me if I wanted to get drunk and stay the night, and I said yes, and we ending up just lying there in bed, my head resting on your chest, thinking about all the parties we didn’t go to or the roads we didn’t turn down or the words we never said because we thought they sounded too foolish or romantic or silly. And eventually we came to the conclusion that there’s always gonna be the nights when we break down in the car by ourselves listening to The Smiths in a dark, empty parking lot, or the days when even opening our eyes requires more effort than dragging someone out of a burning building.
But then your hand drifted down and it rested over my heart, and we sat there like that for a while, smoking, the city outside just breathing and breathing, over and over again, all the lights out there symbolizing college girls pinching their skin in the mirror or two elderly people falling in love for what feels like the millionth time. The awkward first dates at coffee shops and the librarians who go home and watch porn for two hours every night. You told me all these extraordinary things were happening every day and that sometimes it didn’t matter what road we didn’t take or the things we never said because somewhere out there, there was another couple lying in a shabby little bed with only a few covers, touching each others’ skin and trying to feel alright again when everything was crashing down on them.
written by Sleepwalking by Writingsforwinter (via blonde-buddha)
(Source: writingsforwinter, via eau-de-youth)