Remove yourself from the situation, change it, or accept it totally. If you want to take responsibility for your life, you must choose one of these three options, and you must choose now. Then accept the consequences. No excuses. No negativity. No psychic pollution. Keep your inner space clear.
Intimacy is not who you let touch you. Intimacy is who you text at 3am about your dreams and fears. Intimacy is giving someone your attention, when ten other people are asking for it. Intimacy is the person always in the back of your mind, no matter how distracted you are.
"Tell me the story about how the Sun loved the Moon so much he died every night just to let her breathe." She asked.
"Once during a time when the earth was simple, the Sun shone brighter than anything. People were grateful and rejoiced every time the Sun shone. He brought them joy and he was the source of their warmth.
But he was lonely, all by himself in the vast skies. He would look down at people dancing in his radiance and wonder if he was simply destined to a life of solitude. That was the price he paid for being the brightest, he reasoned.
Then there was the Moon. As the Sun grew weary and began to disappear, she would rise into the sky, flanked by millions of stars. Her radiance was a sad kind of beauty, one that went unnoticed as people slept. The stars watched her with wishfulness, hoping that one day they could get close enough so she wouldn’t feel so empty. But they couldn’t. The Moon was untouchable, surrounding herself with a blanket of darkness through the cold nights.
Until one day when the Sun was sliding out of the heaves, he caught a glmpse of her. She was peeking up, a rare side of her being exposed to the light. And while the Sun could shine, he knew the Moon could glow, with a faithful whisper trumped an arrogant shout any day.
So just as the stars were wandering into the night, the Sun fell in love like a snowball hurdling down a mountain. How he wished to see her more than the fleeting moments he shared with her at both dawn and dusk. But the Moon was untouchable. Uncurable. Unfreeable.
"Go," she whispered to him one of those nights, her voice as sweet and sorrowful as the last light of morning, "Go and let me breathe, for you and I have decided fates. You iluminate the day, and I cast a glow on the night. We will never be. Our connection would go againts what all people believe, all they know." During the summer he would stay a little longer just in case she would change her mind. It was no use.
"Don’t you dare abandon your blessing of light for my darkness." Those were the last words the Moon was strong enough to speak to the Sun," I responded.
Few more weeks til I’m here.
I lie to myself all the time. But I never believe me.
—S.E. Hinton, The Outsiders (via feellng)