i have a bad tendency of thinking that words are always better than no words. so at times when i don't know what to say, my foot seems pretty tasty. i guess i just always felt the need to let the people around me know how i feel. and i guess i always thought it was a good thing, and that i was good at it. but i guess the only thing i have realized is that i'm really not good at the one thing i mistook as my talent. so i guess now the only thing i'm good at is misinterpretations and too-little too-late situations.
my life can get pretty bubbled over here. things are so busy and hectic that i saw my roommate today for the first time in a week. the city moves fast and you have to move faster to avoid the undertow, and every now and then i find a moment to myself and i reflect on how good i have it. and my reflections are based solely on my unbelievably amazing family and friends; my reason for being. so in these calm moments i sometimes have the time to shoot a quick message, or drop a line. with nothing but the utmost interest in what's happening with them, the conversations inevitably begin with small chat about the day and what's happening presently, then generally progress into larger, sometimes more serious antidotes, and plateau with the i miss you's and let's do this more oftens. but when i get nothing back, i go into pilot mode. passengers if i can get your attention please, we're going to have to make an emergency landing, there seems to be no wind under wing and we are going down..
crash and burn.
i guess that's the best case scenario; go fast, hurt less.
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“In a word,” he concluded, feeling that his argument was getting tangled up, “it’s much better not to suppose anything at all.”
My friend was perfectly right, though it was not till long long afterwards that experience of life taught me the evil that comes of thinking—still worse, speaking—of much that may seem very noble but which everyone ought to keep hidden in his own heart, and that noble speeches seldom go with noble deeds. I am convinced that once a good intention has been put into words, for that very reason it becomes difficult, nay almost impossible of fulfillment. But how refrain from giving utterance to the lofty self-satisfied impulses of youth? Only much later in life does one remember and regret them, as one regrets a flower which one has heedlessly plucked, ere it had opened, and subsequently seen lying on the ground withered and trampled on.
-Tolstoy
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