Coco J. Ginger Quotes
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If I had no imagination, I would hate you. But I don’t want to be part of your reality.
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He's just not that into you if he is a sociopath.
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I am torn open, unabridged, hot and a bit crazy inside. This is the feeling which belongs to me, she has always been mine.
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Dear Heart, please go away.
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You’ll lie again, you’ll do it again. Friends, not friends, friends, not friends, I’m on your dime, I’m on your time, and I don’t exist where there is a YOU.
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To say “I love you, but….” is to say, “I did not love you at all.
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If I wasn't so phenomenal. I would go back to you.
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You'll never like me, but you'll always love me.
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You're too big for another heart beat, unable to sync with my capricious heart beating.
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Here I sit like a brainless robot writing the uncensored, chaotic, evil thoughts springing about in my temperamental female brain.
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What I knew, adored, and fell for was a fantasy. He did not exist in human terms.
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I wear my heart on my blog.
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I hate you. I hate you like the girl who hates cake because it makes her fat and she can’t stop eating it.
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I won’t let you have it. I won’t give you this moment. I won’t let you fill up this valuable organ...I own it. I won’t do it. I can’t think, I won’t think about it.
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He brought out the worst in me, and was the best thing that ever happened to me.
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Love is not of value when this superficial contract must be drawn up, representing the two worlds that enclose us.
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Bittersweet? No, just bitter, the taste of your tongue. Words you can’t have back, so they linger.
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Sometimes you want to say, “I love you, but…” Yet the “but” takes away the ‘I love you’. In love their are no ‘buts’ or ‘if’s’ or ‘when’. It’s just there, and always. No beginning, no end. It’s the condition – less state of the heart. Not a feeling that comes and goes at the whim of the emotions. It is there in our heart, a part of our heart…eventually grafting itself into each limb and cell of our bodies. Love changes our brain, the way we move and talk. Love lives in our spirit and graces us with its presence each day, until death.
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You own me, because you are me.
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You are my counterfeit mystery. My artificial company. My forged reality. My imaginary friend I can’t eradicate.
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Some chase after their dream job, while others CREATE their dream job.
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Some girls need men to take them places. Others just click their heels, spread their own wings, and fly.
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Writer? A complimentary term to conceal one’s insanities.
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....hurts not just the heart, but every part.