Sometimes unneeded pain is the only way I learn to pay attention to myself.
Sometimes a fictional character is the only one that can convince me I’m worth loving.
Sometimes the stories in my head are the only way I can remember to hear what I’m saying and to watch for what I’m feeling.
Stories are a balm to my soul.
Reading is an escape, a way to breathe, a moment to stare into infinity and the most finite pebble all at once.
Sometimes a little excess is the only way I realize I respect myself too much to keep soaking in the opposite extreme.
It’s okay to enjoy. To spend a little extra on myself, whether that be time, money, patience, love, or whatever I may be denying myself.
Sometimes something new is the only way I can realize how much I love what I already have.
Sometimes success is the only thing that allows me to look at the failures no one else sees of me. The ones that hide inside me, hidden away from all other eyes.
Sometimes telling myself ‘no’ is the only way I find that the truth inside me is actually, ‘yes’.
Sometimes being redundant is the only way I learn.
“Vitality shows in not only the ability to persist but the ability to start over.”
-F. Scott Fitzgerald