And then I screwed up and the Colonel screwed up and Takumi screwed up and she slipped through our fingers.
And then I screwed up and the Colonel screwed up and Takumi screwed up and she slipped through our fingers.
Fuck Lara, fuck Jake because I do, Alaska Young, I do love you and what else matters but that.
I must talk, and you must listen, for we are engaged here in the most important pursuit in history: the search for meaning. What is the nature of being a person? What is the best way to go about being a person? How did we come to be, and what will become of us when we are no longer? In short: What are the rules of this game, and how might we best play it?
It was an indulgence, learning last words. Other people had chocolate; I had dying declarations.
She's cute, I thought, but you don't need to like a girl who treats you like you're ten: You've already got a mom.
Things never happened like I imagined them.
You're awfully philosophical for a girl that just got busted.
And then I was asleep. That deep, can-still-taste-her-in-my-mouth sleep, that sleep that is not particularly restful but difficult to wake up from all the same.
Getting pissed wouldn't fix it. Damn it.
I ran like a cheetah - well, like a cheetah that smoked too much.
It was not an eventful day. I should have done extraordinary things. I should have sucked the marrow out of life. But on that day, I slept eighteen hours out of a possible twenty-four.
She's just playing a trick on us. This is just an Alaska Young Prank Extraordinaire. It's Alaska being Alaska, funny and playful and not knowing when or how to put on the brakes.
We are as indestructible as we believe ourselves to be.
And then something invisible snapped insider her, and that which had come together commenced to fall apart.
How will we ever get out of this labyrinth of suffering?
I vaguely hoped that someone would come up and talk to me.
It's not life or death, the labyrinth. Suffering. Doing wrong and having wrong things happen to you. That's the problem. Bolivar was talking about the pain, not about the living or dying. How do you get out of the labyrinth of suffering?
Sunlight feels warm and rough against your skin like a kiss on the cheek from your dad.
We are engaged here in the most important pusuit in history. The search for meaning. What is What is the nature of being a person? What is the best way to go about being a person?How did we come to be, and wha will become of us when we are no longer? In short: What are the rules this game, and how might we best play it?
At some point we all look up and realize we are lost in a maze.
I began to swim, an armless silver mermaid, using only my hips to generate motion, until finally my ass scraped against the lake's mucky bottom. I turned then and used my hips and waist to roll three times, until I came ashore near a ratty green towel. They'd left me a towel. How thoughtful.
I wanted to be one of those people who have streaks to maintain, who scorch the ground with their intensity. But for now, at least I knew such people, and they needed me, just like comets need tails.
Last words are always harder to remember when no one knows that someone's about to die.
That didn't happen, of course. Things never happened the way I imagined them.
We didn't talk much. But we didn't need to.
Az emberek, gondoltam, biztonsßgra vßgynak. K?ptelenek elviselni a gondolatot, hogy szeretteik mßr nem l?teznek, ?s magukat sem tudjßk nem l?tezo"nek elk?pzelni. V?g?l azt ?rtam, hogy az emberek az?rt hisznek a t·lvilßgban, mert nem tudjßk elviselni, hogy ne ?gy tegyenek.
I believe now that we are greater than the sum of our parts.
I was caught in a love triangle with one dead side.
Let's make a deal: You figure out what the labyrinth is and how to get out of it, and i'll get you laid. -Alaska Young
That is the fear: I have lost something important, and I cannot find it, and I need it. It is fear like if someone lost his glasses and went to the glasses sotre and they told him that the world had run out of glasses and he would just have to do without.
We think that we are invincible because we are.
Because memories fall apart, too. And you're left with nothing.
I can't be mad at you, you harmless scrawny bastard.
I wasn't disappointed. My expectations had been met.
Like Rabe'a, I didn't think people should believe in God because of heaven and hell. But I didn't feel a need to run around with a torch. You can't burn down a made-up place.
The Colonel explained to me that 1. this was Alaska's room, and that 2. she had a single room because the girl who was supposed to be her roommate got kicked out at the end of last year, and that 3. Alaska had cigarettes, although the Colonel neglected to ask whether 4. I smoked, which 5. I didn't.
We'd failed, maybe, but some mysteries aren't meant to be solved.
A dolgok sose ·gy t÷rt?nnek, ahogy elk?pzelem o"ket.
Because no one can catch the motherfucking fox.
I can't remember, because I never knew.
I wouldn't have cared if my girlfriend was a Jaguar-driving Cyclops with a beard - I'd have been grateful just to have someone to make out with.
Like the way the sun is right now, with the long shadows, and that kind of bright, soft light you get when the sun isn't quite setting? That's the light that makes everything better, everything prettier, and today, everything just seemed to be in that light.
The light filtered throught the leaves and pine needles above as if through lace, the ground spotted in shadow.
When I look at my room, I see a girl who loves books.
A woman so strong she burns heaven and drenches hell.
Because you simply cannot draw things out forever. At some point, you just pull off the Band-Aid and it hurts, but then it's over and you're relieved.
I didn't know whether to trust Alaska, and I'd certainly had enough of her unpredictability - cold one day, sweet the next; irresistibly flirty one moment, resistibly obnoxious the next. I preferred the Colonel: At least when he was cranky, he had a reason.
I'd rather wonder than get answers I couldn't live with.
Most loves don't last. But some do.
The nature of the labyrinth, I scribbled into my spiral notebook, and the way out of it. This teacher rocked. I hated discussion classes. I hated talking, and I hated listening to everyone else stumble on their words and try to phrase things in the vaguest possible way so they wouldn't sound dumb, and I hated how it was all just a game of trying to figure out what the teacher wanted to hear and then saying it. I'm in class, so teach me.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories