chittybang:

I’ve learned that you cannot make someone love you. All you can do is be someone who can be loved. The rest is up to them. 
I’ve learned that no matter how much I care, some people just don’t care back. 
I’ve learned that it takes years to build up trust and only seconds to destroy it. 
I’ve learned that it’s not what you have in your live, but who you have in your life that counts. 
I’ve learned that you can get by on charm for about fifteen minutes, after that, you’d better know something.

I’ve learned that you shouldn’t compare yourself to the best others can do, but to the best you can do. 
I’ve learned that it’s not what happens to people, it’s what they do about it. 
I’ve learned that no matter how thin you slice it, there are always two sides. 
I’ve learned that you should always leave loved ones with loving words. It may be the last time you’ll see them. 
I’ve learned that you can keep going long after you think you can’t.

I’ve learned that heroes are the people who do what has to be done when it needs to be done, regardless of the consequences. 
I’ve learned that there are people, who love you dearly, but just don’t know how to show it. 
I’ve learned that sometimes when I’m angry I have the right to be angry but that doesn’t give me the right to be cruel. 
I’ve learned that true friendship continues to grow even over the longest distance same goes for true love. 
I’ve learned that just because someone doesn’t love you the way you want them to doesn’t mean they don’t love you with all they have.

 I’ve learned that no matter how good a friend is, they’re going to hurt you every once in a while and you must forgive them for that. 
I’ve learned that it isn’t always enough to be forgive by others, sometimes you have to learn to forgive yourself. 
I’ve learned that no matter how bad your heart is broken, the world doesn’t stop for your grief. 
I’ve learned that our background and circumstances may have influenced who we are, but we are responsible for who we become.
 I’ve learned that just because two people argue, it doesn’t mean they don’t love each other and just because they don’t argue, it doesn’t mean they do.

I’ve learned that sometimes you have to put the individual ahead of their actions. 
I’ve learned that two people can look at the exact same thing and see something totally different. 
I’ve learned that no matter the consequences, those who are honest with themselves get farther in life. 
I’ve learned that your life can be changed in a matter of hours by people who don’t even know you. 
I’ve learned that even when you think you have no more to give, when a friend cries out to you, you will find the strength to help.

I’ve learned that writing, as well as talking, can ease emotional pains. 
I’ve learned that the people you care most about in life are taken from you too soon. 
I’ve learned that it’s hard to determine where to draw the line between being nice and not hurting people’s feelings and standing up for what you believe. 
I’ve learned.

Omer B. Washington

meaghano:

So on the train home from Ikea today I was sitting there minding my own beeswax reading ma book, listening to the dirty projectors or was it the indigo girls, and mourning the loss of the boy with whom, in the course of 3 stops on the queensbound G train, i had fallen swiftly and perfectly in love.

He looked at me and I looked back. He looked at the seat next to me. It was empty. I gripped my Ikea bag with my calves and pulled it to the right. Pots jangled. I brushed my bangs to the side. Adjusted my watch. Uncapped my pen. Underlined,

In meiner Heimat

where the dead walked

and the living were made of cardboard.

Made a mental note to google Heimat, but felt it otherwise fitting after spending the afternoon at everyone’s favorite Scandinavian superstore. The boy-man sat, our arms touched; I continued to read and our arms touched more and he left. I squinted further into my book and hoped no one could see up my skirt because, frankly, it is hard enough to balance a book and a phone and volume control and people looking at you and a diet coke and a bagful of one dollar birchwood frames without concerning yourself with who-sees-what. I sometimes consider the idea that it is simply not worth the amount of mental and physical energy necessitated by the task of crossing ones legs. I think I am ready to concede that making it through the day without showing at least one stranger an ass cheek or inner thigh is simply not very high on my list of priorities.

Just as I am getting knee deep into my thesis on decency, a swedish meatball of a man wedges himself into my lover’s long since abandoned place beside me. Hello! he gurgles, and I look up and smile into his moustache and he says something cheerily in Polish and the entire car turns to look. I kick my cheap cookware under my seat, shift, hug my overpriced belongings closer to me, and giggle. He points and his friend snaps a picture of us with his digital camera. They prattle on in Polish, and I nod and laugh although I have no idea what they’re saying. I imagine they are asking to take another picture. I take out one headphone and then the other, Oh-ho! I say loudly and more people look. They men are speaking faster and faster now and I look back and forth between them like at a tennis match, each one outdoing the other in what I can only imagine to be outrageously offensive sexual advances. They imitate me turning away from them, hugging the subway pole. This keeps me from doing just that. I smile and nod, two other old Polish men come over and sit down. Everyone joins in, a Polish woman next to me takes out one headphones and says something to them in what I can only hope is admonishment.

“You do not know what we are saying?” the newest member says to me, in a heavy Polish accent. The other men continue, blah blah blah, Polskie, blah, Polskie, blah blah…,” is all I hear. It sounds fun, though. I am not Polish, I say. Ah! they all yell and talk louder.

“We are Poland,” the man next to me says.

“I know,” I say, “I am not.”

The oldest one takes another picture. People on the train laugh. I raise eyebrows, start to collect my stuff. I consider taking the train a few extra stops because I don’t want to insult them by getting off at my stop. I wonder if they would do the same, as we don’t have many things in common, but Catholicism is one of them.

The man hands me a pen. It says NASFT Fancy Food Shows. I click it a few times. They all cheer. I read, “Fancy Food Show, yes, this is you?”

“Yes,” he nods proudly. Then speaks more Polish to me, even though he knows I won’t understand. I love this about people; I’ve found we all do it. I smile and nod because his energy is contagious and, “No, I don’t understand,” seems like such a sad thing to say sometimes, so I nod more and hand him back his pen and he says, No, for you, and I put in in my back and he laughs and claps and they all speak more enthusiastically and I figure I probably just married him without my knowing.

A man halfway down the train car joins in their conversation, and they all yell back and forth and take more pictures of me and I arrive at my stop, praying to dear sweet Jesus up above that my skirt isn’t stuck up my butt when I go to stand up, and it is a little but I yank it out with precision and the men all wave the way you teach babies how to wave, very deliberately, very slowly, yelling, “Bye-bye! Bye-bye! Bye-bye!” after me, my huge blue bag, filled with cardboard, slung over my shoulder.

 You need to write a book my friend. I enjoy seeing your stuff on my dashboard.