When I die do not tell about how wonderful I was. Tell about the days I was sad, or what made me cry. Talk of the times I snapped, and then felt guilty. Talk about how much I worried, and hated the thought of being hated or wrong. Tell of my insecurities, my hopes, my dreams. Tell how I loved grey cloudy days, because it made the green on the trees and grass stand out. Tell about the sunrise being my favourite, and how I loved the colour blue, the same colour as the sky after it rains. Talk about my passion for running, and writing, and reading. Talk of how I enjoyed nothing more than a rainy day and a good book, or a good long run to clear my thoughts. Tell how much I loved to write, how I hated words, and loved them. Tell about all the silly dreams I thought up, and the stories I creates in my head. Talk about the times I didn’t pay attention, the times I almost failed, or did. Tell of how I tried my best to be kind to everyone, and how I believe my smile to be my greatest asset. Tell how sometimes I did not love myself, hated myself and wished I was different. Please tell all about me, not just the great amazing things I did or was. I want to be remembered as still human, with as many flaws as I had perks. I want other people to find comfort in my humanity, and remember me for all that I was. A person who lived their life, a spectacularly ordinary life.
You don’t pass or fail at being a person, dear.
I secretly loved him. Yet he hardly knows I exist.
I’ve been making a list of the things they don’t teach you at school. They don’t teach you how to love somebody. They don’t teach you how to be famous. They don’t teach you how to be rich or how to be poor. They don’t teach you how to walk away from someone you don’t love any longer. They don’t teach you how to know what’s going on in someone else’s mind. They don’t teach you what to say to someone who’s dying. They don’t teach you anything worth knowing.
Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.
We are so lucky we are still alive to see this beautiful world.
Look at the sky. It’s not dark and black and without character. The black is in fact deep blue. And over there, lighter blue. And blowing through the blueness and the blackness, the wind swirling through the air and then, shining, burning, bursting through, the stars. Can you see how they roar their light?
Everywhere we look, the complex magic of nature blazes before our eyes.