#and on the other hand i would also do whatever the fuck kafka told me to do

[b1adie]

so they’re all real movie references except this one? she just wanted him to pose for a nice picture???

#i would also make blade pose for a nice picture #and on the other hand i would also do whatever the fuck kafka told me to do #hsr #honkai star rail #blade #kafka #silver wolf #stellaron hunters #my screenies

[randomingoftherandomness]

Would love (!) some OT3 pining

Also for the Anons who sent me Kafka and Mary Oliver. Told you I would put it in a fic ✌🏼

I must apologise for not putting this under a read more. The WiFi in my home is out and I can only type things out on my phone. All typos are mine x

--

The postcard comes on a rainy Friday. It was a simple print out of a coastline with only the line, 'I am fond of lovers but I cannot love, I am too far away, am banished' written on the back.

Kafka.

Joe huffs. Of course, that dramatic bitch. He holds it in his hand half curled to crumple, only to pause. He feels his breath stick in his chest from the sudden rush of gentle wanting and swelling heartache that he has consciously tried not to give in to. Fuck this, he thinks with a short burst of irrational irritation.

Joe stuffs the postcard into the drawer in the hallway. Consigning it to be forgotten.

The next postcard comes a year after. This time, Mary Oliver's 'You want to cry aloud for your mistake. But to tell the truth the world doesn't need anymore of that sound' is scrawled in the familiar handwriting that also pock marks the margins of Joe's own journals.

Nicky had been the one at home to receive it and Joe had come home from the beach to see him sitting there pondering the postcard passively.

"It's not the first," Nicky says, lifting his gaze from the nondescript vista of cliffs and a sunset. "I have a box of six upstairs in my sock drawer."

"There's one in the hallway drawer," Joe offers with a wry smile. Nicky returns it with one that tells him that it had not gone unnoticed.

Taking the seat next to him, he slides their hands together, considering the way the postcard sits on the worn grain of their dining table. The words, written in black ink, are pressed into the fibres of the card. As if the writer wanted to impose some of their intent in each stroke and whorl. The longing for their wayward lover settles heavy in his gut and Joe sits with it.

"I know you miss him. You know I miss him too."

Joe lifts their joined hands to his lips, kissing the back of Nicky's. "We still love him."

Nicky lifts a finger to tap at the line of poetry, humming noncommittally. "But we can't let him back yet, can we? What he did still hangs over us. If we do, we will always hold it against him and he will always wonder if we really, truly forgive him."

"So, what do you suggest we do, my love? We can't leave him, you and I know that will never happen, but we cannot take him back. Not as we are."

Nicky tilts his head, lips pressed together in thought. "Perhaps we could write him a postcard of our own. Just to start."

Joe has to smile at that. Trust his Nicky to know just what to do. Leaning over to slide their mouths together in a kiss, he allows himself that soft longing for their constant shadow. Maybe there could be something to salvage in this after all.

.

.

.

.

.

Booker has not been back to this address for the better part of the decade and therefore had not expected a pastle edged postcard amongst the pamphlets and unopened letters.

It was one of those, upon first glance that looked like it was a loving sketch that should have belonged in the books of a Renaissance master, but Booker knows better. It's one of him from the '30s when the world was tipping over on a universal scale and he was neck deep in love and lingering guilt.

'Lean, love, and look into my soul;

There is no bar 'twixt thee and me,

Thine, mine, a vast Eternity;

Lean, love, and speak unto my soul.'

Nicky's handwriting, for someone who had been trained to transcribe religious texts, is atrocious. But the words from Destin makes Booker smile in the watery autumn morning light. He rereads it, closing his front door, and rereads again for the rest of the morning until he can memorise every horrible scratch of Nicky's hand on the card.

He's written more than a dozen postcards. Sent them to the houses he knows they are at. They've never replied to a single one and Booker does not expect them to. There still was a no contact rule in place even if Nile calls and texts every other week, and Andy chimes in whenever she is in the same room.

Whatever had given his former lovers - because he wouldn't dare presume that they would ever want him back - the push for this, he isn't going to question. Booker is just happy they would even write back.

It's a start.

#joe x booker x nicky #booker x joe x nicky #gab writes stuff #the old guard fic

[el-gilliath]

To Be Near You

This is for my @hannah-writes​, and her prompt of Malex / Mylex : "Since I met you, I’ve felt abandoned without your nearness; your nearness is all I ever dream of, the only thing." (quote by Franz Kafka)

I know I said I wasn't doing a story for you, but I lied. I hope you like it darling .

“I miss you. I always miss you, every day, every hour, every minute. You’re part of me, you’ll always be part of me. Just like you’ve been since back then.”

The look on Michael’s face as he speaks the words is enough to make him want to cry. It rips his heart open in a thousand little pieces, scattering them to the winds of Michael’s powers. It’s painful to be standing in front of him, speaking the little truths he doesn’t want to admit. Michael isn’t his anymore. Maybe he’s never been truly his except for one fleeting moment when he was 17. The following ten years has just been fraught with heartbreak, abandonment and miscommunication, hurt feelings and anger. He’s walked away time and time again, afraid and worried of whatever his father would do if he knew he was with Michael. But the times he’s been back since he first left, all of them has been spent at Michael’s side. Feeling his warmth, rejoicing in having his nearness, his presence around him. Making him not feel so alone.

But he is alone. As always, he’s walked away too many times. Walked away and left the gorgeous being that is Michael Guerin alone to face the world. Walked away and let him think he wasn’t loved. When nothing could be further from the truth. He loves Michael, from the bottom of his broken, three quarters of a man, heart. Loves him enough to color the sky red, to take on his entire family and the entire US Air Force if he has too. Just so he can maybe, hopefully, feel Michael in his arms again in the future. Maybe, hopefully, one day when Michael has had time to heal from the pain he and his family has been the cause of. When he doesn’t feel as scared and worried about what his father would do if he knew he was still standing by Michael’s side. The one place he’s always wanted to stay. Forever.

“Alex-”

“No. I just need you to know that I love you, Michael. I will never look away. Even when I walk away, I never look away.” He walks closer to Michael and presses a soft kiss to his cheek. “I’m going to walk away now. And you won’t see me again for a while. Please, be happy.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to go make sure my father can never hurt you or your family again.” He smiles then, a smile he knows is filled with sadness. Filled with pain, maybe even grief. But he also knows that he needs to go away, needs to leave Michael alone to heal and worry about bringing Max back from the dead. Needs to leave him to be loved by someone who isn’t him. Someone who is brighter, happier. Easier.

“I don’t want you to go.”

“I know. But we both know I need to.” Michael nods, looking down for a second before he lifts his head to meet Alex’s gaze. Dropping all walls, they both stand there, looking at each other with all the love they feel for each other evident in their eyes. All the want, longing and admiration front and center.

“I’ll dream of only one thing,” he murmurs in the small space between them. He knows Michael recognizes what he means, knows the real quote rings as true for Michael as it does for him.

“Can I kiss you?”

He nods and closes his eyes as Michael’s hand cradles his face. The soft lips meeting his is perfection in many ways, a goodbye in the moment, a hello in the future. Right now, it’s exactly what it needs to be. Just two men sharing one last kiss, before they part for future’s unknown.

He breaks the kiss after both too long and too short of a time, opening his eyes to look into Michael’s hazel eyes. He commits them to memory and lifts his hand to run though Michael’s soft curls one more time. Then he steps back, breaks away, and once again walks away.

-----

It’s a long time before he sets foot in Roswell again. Two years and counting. He’s been all over the globe at this point, tracking down Project Shephard leads and cleaning up his father’s mess. His father who is out of a coma, but down on his memory courtesy of Isobel. It’s the easiest agreement he has ever given in his life, when Kyle called him a year ago and asked if he was okay with Isobel manipulating his father’s memory as they brought him out of the coma. He’s had to deal with his brothers, forcing them to realize that they are out from under Jesse Manes’ thumb and are free to do whatever they want. Though they might not have had it as bad as him, they didn’t have it easy. He hopes they can all live better knowing that they’re finally free.

He’s kept regular contact with everyone in Roswell. Helped out from the other side of the globe as they finally brought Max back. Sent all the files and research he found at various Shepard sites back to the alien trio to help them understand themselves, their powers and their family.

He gave them their real names from a site in Germany. Zan, Vilandra and Rath. Twin children of the King and Queen of Antar, and son of the Antarian army’s general.

He gave them drawn pictures of Antar from a base in Finland, drawn from descriptions made by Antarians in capture there.

He gave them the name of their planet in DC, his first stop after Roswell. When he was missing Michael so much, he could hardly breathe.

He told them the planet was destroyed in a war a week after that, in New York.

He’s sent science experiments and theories to Liz, medical research to Kyle, arts and samples of music to Rosa. A cure for Maria and Mimi.

He’s sent spaceship parts and theories to Michael. But the biggest piece, the one he found in the wall of his cabin he still has with him. To remind him of why he’s doing this. To remind him that even if he misses Michael with a burning, they need space.

Still, the minute he drives past the Welcome to Roswell sign two years after he left, he breathes a sigh of relief. He’s home again. He’s near the person he wants to be closest too. And he knows Michael misses him too. Michael is 8 months out of a relationship that lasted for longer than anyone gave them credit for. Anyone but Alex. He knew that if Michael and Maria were going to try, they would do it completely. It’s why he left, so they could do it without regret. Without having him hanging over them.

But now he’s ready to be home. He’s ready to see his friends, so see his family. He’s ready to drink milkshakes and dip his fries in it at the Crashdown, he’s ready to go have a drink or five at The Wild Pony, he’s ready to have the lunches Isobel has promised him for when he came back, he’s ready to hang out with Liz, Rosa, Maria and Kyle like it’s 2005. He’s ready to be a civilian again, 12 years since the last time he was anywhere close to being a civilian.

He’s ready to kiss Michael again. Ready to feel him close.. He’s ready to know if they can just be Alex and Michael, not Captain Manes and Alien Guerin. And as he drives to the junkyard, where he knows Michael is, he smiles to himself. He’s already taken on the world. Now he’s ready to live in it.

Michael’s not alone when he gets to the junkyard, Maria’s with him. Then he notices Isobel, Liz, Max, Kyle and Rosa. The entire gang is there. It makes him nervous in a way he didn’t think he would be, makes him freeze in a way he never expected. The usual worry and feeling of not being good enough rears its ugly head as they all turn when they see his car. Though he doesn’t need to worry, if the smile that breaks out on Liz’s face is anything to go by. He hears her squeal even before he stops the car and kills the engine, and as he opens the door she has already run up to the car and is waiting not so patiently.

“Oh my god, Alex,” she says in a voice pitched so high it almost hurts his ears. But he still opens his arms and tucks his face in her neck as she hugs him. She’s sniffling in his ear, so he just hugs her closer. More arms surrounds them as Liz holds on, Rosa, Kyle and Isobel joining in. He hears Max laughing a joyous laugh in the background and Michael’s murmuring which makes Max laugh even more. He’s fairly sure he knows what Michael is saying. They’ve both been dreaming of nearness.

That means only Maria is missing. He lifts his gaze and sees her standing just next to them. She seems unsure of her welcome, and if there is one thing Maria should never have to be, it’s unsure of her welcome. He smiles, stretching his hand towards her. The smile that lights up her face assures him he picked correctly. She looks happier in a way she has in a long time, more safe and secure in her position amongst the group. She should never have been an outsider to the secret, and he’s glad she isn’t any more.

“I missed you,” she whispers in his ear as he she slots herself amongst the huggers. He squeezes her back, not angry or betrayed or anything any more. Just full of love for his friends.

“Alright! If everyone can unhand the Alex and get the fuck out of my junkyard, I would appreciate it.”

He can’t help but grin at the indignation in Michael’s voice. Maria is shaking in silent laughter, as is Kyle at his back.

“Jesus, Michael. Try to be any more impatient,” Isobel says snidely as she peels herself gracefully away from the hug. Rosa, Kyle and Maria follow until only Liz is still holding on to him.

“Don’t worry, I’m here to stay this time,” he whispers in her ear. Which must be the correct thing to say as she moves away from him right after, her eyes filled with happy tears.

“You better,” she replies. A part of him wants to keep them all there, close after two years of hearing their voices and grainy pictures through facetime when time zones lined up. There will be time to reconnect with everyone the way he wants later, the way he has been hoping to for a long time. But as he turns to look at Michael, he knows all of that will have to wait. Because looking at Michael, jeans, dirty t-shirt, boots and black cowboy hat on his head takes his breath away. He knows that he wants Michael more than he needs to reconnect with everyone right now, texts, phone calls and grainy images is never enough when it comes to Michael.

The distance between them all of a sudden becomes too much, he needs his nearness. He yearns to hold him in his arms, to smell the scent of oil, sweat and sunshine that is so typically Michael. And Michael is looking back at him, his gaze filled with the same longing to be near Alex knows is showing in his own eyes.

He’s aware of everyone else leaving in his peripheral vision, he’s aware of the catcalls and laughter in his ears as they do. But he only has eyes for Michael now. The dream of him is so close, he can’t wait any more. And like he’s done a million times before, before he has inevitably walked away, he walks closer to Michael who welcomes him with open arms. He lifts his hands to run them through Michael’s curls, lovingly tugging them as Michael wraps his arms around him and holds him close. They both know that this time he isn’t walking away, he’s here to stay.

He can’t help but smile as he snuggles into Michael’s arms, his nose deep in the crook of his neck so he can smell him. But he smiles even wider when he hears the words Michael whispers in his ear.

“You don’t need to dream of the only thing anymore. I’m right here.”

#crashfest #roswellprompts #malex fic #my fic #roswell new mexico #malex #michael guerin #alex manes #mentions miluca #my lady hannah #I hope you like it

[zeemonkey1]

Why?

“I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain.” 

I wish I were lying about all of this.

I used to ask why a lot, y’all. Why Curious George does the things he does, why he gets away with it, why everyone defers to MYH like he is the Shiva, Brahma and Vishnu of the universe. Whatever pain-starved and masochistic readers I have left will no doubt agree that I have attempted in my ramblings to understand the why, and I have failed as utterly as when I tried to play basketball in high school. Know your role, saith the universe, basketball is not for you. Not only was basketball not for me, certain things were for me, and none of them were athletic, nor were they attractive to high school girls. That, in itself, was enough why and why me and why them to keep me filling notebooks with whiny, maudlin, cringy bullshit for years, chasing an unobtainable goal through various adolescent stages of goth, emo, grunge and whatever-the-fuck else in an attempt to be something (anything) different than what I was.

It took longer than it should have for me to realize that ca-caw, ca-caw and tookie, tookie DON’T WORK.

Yell for the monster all you want; he will not show up until his time is fulfilled.

Ask why all you wish; God will ignore you and focus on the what and the who because, if thou canst not draw out leviathan with a hook, then buddy, God ain’t got to explain shit, feel me?

ours is not to reason why, ours is but to do and die

Consider Kafka. There is no point, and that is the point. Sometimes people wake up as insects; sometimes people get arrested and stabbed for no reason at all. Sometimes people get beaten up by hoboes and change their name to “Negro.” Sometimes the moment is structured such that our protagonist lives in a village for no reason, has sex with a barmaid for no reason, and bides his time by fighting against a faceless bureaucracy for reasons he doesn’t understand towards a goal that doesn’t matter and we don’t even get to know what that goal is because Kafka died before he could finish Das Schloss. And anyway we wouldn’t even know or care if Max Brod would have just burned the notebooks filled with whiny, maudlin, cringy bullshit like he was supposed to.

The Man in the Yellow Hat knows what Kafka was throwing down. There is no point to the monkey; there is no purpose to be served. Life is a serious of random happenings that occur without our interaction, without our blessing, and without any manner of the control we like to think we have.

This is why clowns are funny.

This is why clowns are fucking terrifying.

Clowns do not follow the rules society has set down; they perpetually exist in a netherworld of obfuscation and misdirection. Why do they look like that? Why do they do all the patently ridiculous things they do? Why do they exist?

Because they do.

In this episode, MYH and George are traveling to a clown school. Nobody knows why other than a vague MacGuffin of wanting to see Pepe El Loco, ”the world’s greatest clown performer.”

But it is not a clown school.

It is madness.

And I don’t mean Lovecraftian Mountains of Madness, where the countless gibbering things at least have an unfulfilled hunger, a desire to devour , a desperate yearning to escape the foul darkness and feast upon the cracked psyches of all who behold them. I mean the kind of madness that plagues Pink Floyd’s Lunatic on the Grass, a meaningless madness, laughing at things that aren’t funny, laughing at nothing at all.

MYH almost finds a parking space, but then a clown car full of two other clown cars and like fifteen clowns cuts him off and steals it. Thus, it is the parking lot that becomes MYH’s Kafkaesque hellscape, and Curious George must brave the clown school alone. He is told to proceed to the ninth floor, where the Pepe El Loco show will be held.

First Floor: George sees a clown dancing with three dogs dressed as clowns around a fountain that is also a clown. The lobby looks like somebody paid Betsey Johnson to gravely insult Banksy using only decorations available at Party City. Another clown comes in, joy-buzzes himself for no reason, and leaves. Then, a messenger clown gets attacked by yet another clown who comes out of the elevator with a bucket filled with confetti.

Somehow, this means two things:

A. George cannot use the elevator. He must take the stairs.

B. George acquires the messenger clown’s bag, hat, and nose, which now makes George the messenger, like what happens to that suicidal guy in the Piers Anthony book about Death.

doctor you have to help me

Third Floor: George is distracted by a clown walking down the stairs on his hands. He forgets what floor he is on, and so opens the door on the third floor to ask for directions. The third floor looks like the playroom in that Richard Pryor movie The Toy. The woman behind the desk looks like one of the Murmurs joined the Swiss Guard and sounds like Fran Drescher.

She hands George what looks like a twisted green bongpipe and then genuflects to the portrait of Dear Leader Pepe El Loco on the wall. She explains that the bongpipe is part of the “greatest clown gadget ever” and George must go to the fifth floor to pick up another piece of it. George tries the elevator, but as soon as the doors open, a clown shoots another clown out of a cannon. The clown that is thus ejaculated bounces off a trampoline and back into the elevator. Who could use an elevator with all that mindless bullshit going on? Not George—back to the stairs.

Meanwhile, MYH finds another parking spot, but it is reserved for elephants. A clown shows up on an elephant and demands that he move. MYH keeps driving; elephant is parked. The clown leaves the elephant, but only after he hits a button on his keyring and the elephant-car-alarm beeps.

At this point, I paused the show and screamed at the heavens. The heavens did not answer.

i am sad and depressed

Fifth Floor: George is dumber than a football bat. I wonder if his intelligence fades in and out, like a variable Flowers for Algernon. Sometimes he can build fabulous machines. Sometimes he can solve mysteries. Today, trapped in the Tower of Madness, George cannot count from three to five, and thus must walk all the way down to the first floor and start over.

On the first floor the clown and his dogs are still dancing. Stop asking why—hear you nothing that I say?

On the fifth floor a clown riding a baby’s tricycle and sounding like Snagglepuss gives George some sord of weird-ass metal thingie with a red disk on the end of it like that orgasm-game Commander Riker played on TNG. This clown says go to the second floor. George still can’t count, so he goes down to the first floor and watches the clown and his dogs for a bit.

A worm crawling in my brain tried to make me say WHY? but I ignored it.

life is harsh and cruel

Second Floor: Second floor was just Paul Lynde bouncing around on bedsprings tied to his shoes. George collects another piece of metal tubing, heads down to the first floor to watch the dogs-and-clown, and then climbs the stairs up to the eighth floor.

pagliacci is a famous clown

Eighth Floor: Edith Bunker is dusting a bicycle seat in front of the Macedonian flag. She gives the seat to George and tells him to go to the fourth floor.

George has an epiphany. Instead of walking back down to the first floor and then up to the fourth, he can instead tape numbers to all his fingers and use them to subtract eight from four.

MYH is still circling the parking lot. As soon as he says “I’ll NEVER find a parking spot!” a clown jumps out of nowhere and paints a parking spot around his car.

I begin to believe Marcel Duchamp and Frank Zappa wrote this episode in a Navajo sweatlodge.

pagliacci is in town today

Fourth Floor: The fourth floor is the swimming level from Super Mario Brothers. A seal gives George something that looks like a can of pepper spray. A clown with a Minnesota accent unfolds from a filing cabinet and tells George to go to floor ten.

Now, follow me on this. We were told at the beginning that Pepe El Loco’s show happens on the ninth floor. That was the whole reason George and MYH came to the clown school. Now we know there is a floor above nine. Why this made me want to eat aquarium gravel will be soon made clear.

you should go see pagliacci

Tenth Floor: Clown on stilts gives George a toilet plunger and says he better hurry to the first floor to meet Pepe El Loco. George hurries. The clown and dogs are gone. MYH and the great Pepe El Loco are there.

pagliacci will cheer you up

FIN: They all take the stairs to the ninth floor. Pepe El Loco’s all-important gadget is a disassembled pogo stick with the plunger as the bouncy part. He gets to the center ring of a three-ring circus just in time to bounce around and do little flips with it.

Y’all.

Y’ALL.

The ninth floor of this ten-floor building is a cavernous bigtop the size of the dadgum Astrodome. The ceiling is made of vaulted tent-canvas.

There is no tenth floor. THERE IS NO TENTH FLOOR EVEN THOUGH I SAW GEORGE GO TO THE TENTH FLOOR AND RETRIEVE A TOILET PLUNGER FROM A CLOWN ON STILTS

but doctor I am pagliacci

#mocg #curiousgeorge #manintheyellowhat #myh #clowns #kafka

[austennerdita2533]

A/N: Thanks for another fantastic fandom event ya’ll! I can’t wait to finish reading all the goodness over on A03. Anyway, here’s my contribution to the KC Vaycay Exchange for the lovely @honorableotp. (Post-canon AU. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. No Hayley or magical spawn.) I played this song on repeat for a while as I wrote in case anyone’s interested or wants to listen to it while/after reading. I hope you like it. :)

Links here if you prefer:

(A03) (FF.net)

Comments are always lovely

xx Ashlee Bree

Emptied of You

“You are the knife I turn inside myself; that is love. That, my dear, is love.”—Letters to Milena, Franz Kafka

“Go on and think of me as a she-wolf with a heart made of teeth if it makes you feel better,” she said, “I don’t care. But I’d do it again.”

Jaw taut, Klaus stood at the far end of his en suite balcony with his left hand tucked into his pocket and his right hand holding a drink made of something smooth and strong. He glared out at the rising moon, almost wishing his siblings weren't out of town so he could use them as bait. Or shields. Anything to save him from this bleeding hell!

Caroline approached from behind, her boots clicking against stone, conviction resounding louder with every step she took forward.

“Did you hear me? I said I’d do it again.”

“Yes,” he replied as he emptied his liquor in one swig. He let the glass slip from his fingers to crash down onto the street below. Ah, such sweet music destruction made. “Yes, love, I’m sure you would.”

“Don’t you understand why? Can’t you—” Her voice dropped to a whisper, almost trembling, and Klaus tensed as her touch ghosted hesitantly over his shoulders but never made contact. “Won’t you at least turn to look at me?” she asked.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It would be foolish. Reckless as hell.”

“Oh.” He heard the uncertain shuffle of her feet as he exhaled, the quiet sniff of her nose, and he swore the light she wore around her in aura dimmed for a moment before it shined something warmer but more clutching against his back. He felt that invisible tether between them, tugging, tormenting him like the lash of a whip.

Although it was difficult, he knew he needed to resist falling back toward her again. Klaus swallowed hard, then dropped his head with his fists clenching at his sides, “I’m always soft for you, Caroline, that’s the problem,” he sighed.

“You’re the sun beneath my bloody skin that I can’t stop chasing. You’re the light zipping through my veins that I can’t keep myself from reaching out to try and hold no matter how many times I’m left burning or singed through with holes…and yet you still have the audacity to ask me why. Truly?” His laugh was wounded, caustic. “We both know you’re smarter than that.”

“Tell me, love, why would I be daft enough to turn around,” he added, grumbling, “when I know one look at you would melt me directly where I stand?”

“Right,” she deflated. “Okay.”

He nodded, “I’m glad we understand one another.”

She took a step back.

“Of course.”

Frustrated, weary, conflicted, and more than tempted to drink away this surprise confrontation with alcohol, he massaged his forehead.Then, after he dragged a hand down his face and closed his eyes in anticipation of her imminent retreat, dreading and desiring it simultaneously, something strange happened: Caroline moved closer. Lunged, truth be told. Her arms snaking around his middle without warning.

A noise somewhere between a whimper and a sigh escaped her when she pressed her cheek against the fabric of his shirt and breathed him in. Pulling him close—too close. Reeling him in on that god-awful tether like prey. She melded into him like a solid into a liquid, her heartbeat a frenetic song against the muscles of his back, her tears a tap dance along the exposed skin of his neck, the darkness of separation vanishing beneath the fire of her desperation since she seemed determined to hang from the ladder of his spine. To never let go of it again.

This new proximity to her created a vortex in his chest which cracked like icebones then stitched him up like needleheat. One of his hands slipped near hers of its own volition: hovering but not touching, wanting but not taking.

Klaus couldn’t bring himself to fight against her warmth. He couldn’t fucking breathe.

How did this happen, he wondered? To armor himself in iron only to be disassembled by a single touch. Why was her embrace a nirvana no mountain of pain could snuff out?

Anger and grief lingered, of course. It proliferated in the air around him, piercing his heart like a storm made of daggers every time he attempted to speak, but not enough of it remained to shrug her off. To break free. In the end, she stuck to him like a lost shadow while he choked on the pleasure of suffering.

“I need to tell you something even if you refuse to look at me,” Caroline said in a tone which was equal parts cautious, pleading, and wishful. “Will you let me?”

“I’m listening,” he replied.

Six months ago, Caroline had thrown his name at the dark like a spear and fled. She’d let the bold, broken letters of him bleed from red to black to gone against the fabric of her retreating back, her doubts muffled by the sound of her scurrying feet as she’d taken off with nothing— except a mouthful of forevers.

(Those, as consequence would have it, she’d left unsaid.)

With a lump of cowardice in her throat, plus a mixture of guilt and woe rawing her stomach, Caroline had freaking run. Run away from it all.

She’d hastened away from a southern city pulsing with magnetism; its streets crowded, forever bustling, as shouting friends reveled in culture or debauchery. It was a place she knew she’d thrived for the past five years. A place she’d grown to love for its sultry sunset moods, its whispered twilight lovers, and its jazzy saxophone blues which soothed lost or lonely souls beneath the moonlight. It was where cobblestone histories wrote tomes against stones and buildings and people who were too wrapped up in cuisine or celebration to lend an ear, the wind full of forgotten moments. It was where agelessness chimed from chapels, where flowered herbs grew atop graves but never disturbed the consecrated bones.

She’d first tasted the power of possibility there. Yes, Caroline had folded herself into New Orleans’ arms with her eyes wide open, her heart neither open nor closed but eclipsing as she’d strolled beneath the eye of her first hurricane to (finally) dance to the tune of dangerous beauty.

Throughout her stay, she’d helped witches set fire to the clouds, the sky purpling with magic that deserved to be returned to their capable hands. She’d schooled vampires on how to fight with control, patience, and fortitude by using their minds as well as their enhanced senses. She’d chewed through the bonds which had chained werewolves to the phases of the moon and had set them free to follow their own feet, all the while encouraging them to stay with smiles which promised mercy. Loyalty. Friendship. Family.

She’d also killed with kindness almost as often as she’d seethed with rage to become a weapon of her own making: gracious, grisly, and great. The city had taught her that true magic sometimes dwelled in shadows beyond the reach of the sun, its black sparks sleeping perhaps, but never dying. And although New Orleans had enchanted her with its ambiguity, Caroline had panicked when she’d realized how exquisitely darkness suited her and had decided to escape before it could claim her completely.

But there was also more to this getaway. Something worse, and, arguably more…problematic. (Borderline reproachful, honestly.) You see, it wasn’t just a what she’d fled from, but a whom. Plural.

The Mikaelsons.

Rebekah, Kol, Freya, Elijah, and Marcel, who, with their offerings of blood, censure, teasing, bickering, and protectiveness, had come to regard her as kin (with a ‘double-cross-me-and-I-will-stab-you’ kind of attachment, of course, but whatever), indulging her with things like a a room of her own, beignets, excellent booze, bitching, arguing, broken furniture, and headaches for days. They’d welcomed her as one of them with fangs and fists, with trust and reliance. Not only had they fought with her side-by-side to bring peace back to New Orleans, but they’d also managed to find time to initiate her into their (ridiculously) dysfunctional family tribe. That meant Caroline had participated in everything from Thursday night sing-offs with Kol and Marcel to screaming matches with Rebekah over ‘borrowed’ shoes, and from French Quarter ‘suit’ business with Elijah, to discreet matchmaking for Freya, to swanky parties with costumes, and to refereeing over presumed family betrayals.

It had been absolutely freaking exhausting at the time, and, yet, weirdly… enjoyable, too.

All that said, Caroline had left them all behind. Deserted them all without warning. She’d left no crumbs for them to follow, no allusions as to where or when she could be reached again. No explanations as to why. She’d done nothing but tuck this short, half-assed note between the pages of Elijah’s favorite Mozart symphony before strolling out the front door:

I’ll already be gone by the time you read this. Off somewhere on my own. I promise I’m safe so it’s no use coming after me, especially considering I learned how to disappear from Katherine. Stay put, do your thing. Know I don’t want to be found.

Don’t kill each other, okay? I’ll miss you.

—Caroline

P.S. Tell him I’m sorry, but my heart’s a wandering thing.

Yes, she’d run from, him, too. (Run from him most, probably.)

Klaus.

She’d abandoned the tortured, tender man who unapologetically bulldozed every damn wall she’d tried to erect between them since their worlds first collided back in Mystic Falls. A man who, when he wasn’t shoving her out of her comfort zone (and on her ass), or driving her mental with his arrogance, cynicism, jealousy, paranoia, temper tantrums, etc. would scrape the pits of heaven or hell to give her anything she desired. Everything. Oh, how he would kill to kiss his dynasty of night beneath her skin! How he would die to feel her soul finally sink into his with a wolf’s bite, clutching almost possessively! How brutally bad he wanted this “thing” between them to last!

Despite his patience and how he’d never prodded for more than she gave him, however, Caroline could feel that one unfulfilled hope of his growing hungrier and hungrier with need the longer she’d stayed. Intensity had rippled from Klaus like a soft, shimmering shadow. It’d stretched out like it wanted nothing more than to caress the monsters free from her head, and she’d watched as it clouded over his face with worry and disappointment each time she’d retracted, pulling away from him and into herself. Tucking her monsters into coffins he couldn’t penetrate.

“Please, why won’t you let me?” he’d seemed to ask without speaking, his eyes searching, his touch digging gingerly for skeletons he couldn’t find. “Why won’t you let me in to comfort you? We’re the same, you and I, we’re the same.”

His wishes thumped. They’d sparked beneath his chest with a fire that melted into honey each time their eyes met or their limbs had tangled beneath the sheets until morning. Like a hummingbird, he’d hovered. He’d waited, and waited endlessly, for her to invite him all the way in so he could entomb his lovelines somewhere precious and warm around her heart where they would keep. Wanting only to know he belonged to her in a way that tackled levity and uncertainty for good.

But all Caroline had for him at the time were little half-smiles. And lips that half-kissed. And forever dreams that half-existed. And fears which had compounded into restlessness so strong and so irresistible, they’d ushered her away from him with no farewell spoken between them.

It had been unbelievably cruel to do that, not say goodbye, selfish even, but that word always tasted like rubber in her mouth any time she’d tried to say it to him in the past—wrong somehow. So she’d kept silent. She’d let it crash and burn in the blackness behind her while she’d chased the sunrise alone.

In the end, the colors of dawn had streamed in through that still-misty window to grip Caroline by the soul. They’d stirred her to her feet as a message had ribboned through her bones, pleading for her to heed it:

Seek.

Find.

Learn.

Know.

Go on now. Go, go…

And she had. She did.

“I left to hunt the light,” Caroline announced after clearing her throat.

“The light?”

She nodded against his shoulder. “I followed it in order to see where it led…to explore places I never knew I needed to see.”

“Without me.” Klaus meant it as a question but it came out blunt and flat. Like the period at the end of a lazy sentence.

“Yes,” Caroline said, exhaling slowly, “without you.”

“With no forewarning, no parting line?”

“Yes.”

Klaus frowned. Repressed the urge to mutter something about her ‘tiresome bloody explanations’ by scraping his knuckles across his lips. “Why? Why couldn’t you have at least tried talking to me about it first?”

“Because I…because I couldn’t.”

“Why?” he repeated.

“There was so much blood between us, Klaus! It was everywhere, it was in everything,” Caroline said, each syllable fraying his confusion into disillusionment, “rushing so hard and clumping so deep that most of the time I couldn’t tell where the hell you ended and where I began. We were bound by blood in too many ways, you and me, and I didn’t want to see it, okay? I didn’t want to know it. I was so—”

“Ah, I see,” he interjected. He stiffened when he perceived her intended meaning: so soft but puncturing, so honest but injurious. It caused him to razor his reply with more sharpness than wryness, “And I suppose you’re saying it’s too messy for your liking, right? That my past atrocities have stained too much of your life for you to have been able to stay or truly care for me?”

“What?”

“Really, sweetheart,” he continued in that brusque, callous way of his that made a laugh sound diseased, “I thought you’d shoulder guilt better than this by now. You should’ve saved yourself the expense of a trip back here because—”

“Stop.”

“It’s fine. Go.” He waved her away. “I understand.”

Using her fingernails like a vise, Caroline clamped down hard on his elbows before he could break free to sulk. Or worse, to tear into an innocent throat. Tension plucked between them like pliant tendons refusing to snap. It stretched his thoughts in so many different directions he couldn’t weave them together in a manner which made sense or didn’t ache from the strain.

“My God, why are you so freaking infuriating!?” she asked, probably rolling her eyes. “You can’t survive without hearing the sound of your own voice for five seconds so you jump to conclusions before you give me a chance to finish speaking! I can’t take it!!!”

“Perhaps you should’ve stayed away then.” He hated how bitter and waxy the retort tasted on his tongue, how hollow it sounded as it left his mouth, but he said it anyway.

“I have tried, Klaus! Believe me,” Caroline snorted weakly, her voice resigned to some emotion he couldn’t decipher, “I have tried long and hard to stay away from you. Do you have any damn idea how much time and energy I’ve wasted trying to keep myself from crashing into the truth?”

A jolt of something old and familiar fired across his chest at this. He inclined his head to the side ever so slightly, ears burning. What was it? What was she saying?

“I mean, not only did I baulk at princess bracelets and shred horse drawings, but I spent months in Mystic Falls being bitchy and hostile and mean. I hurled insult after insult at your face! I told myself one romp in the woods would be enough to get you out of my system. I helped my friends devise ways to kill you, remained with Stefan despite knowing he’d always put his brother and Elena before me, swallowed all of my cares for your family, for New Orleans, and cursed when the universe saw straight through my charade.”

“Writing off our connection as ‘no biggie’ for years,” she paced behind him, “I tried to deny. Ignore. Forget. And push it all away. I’ve wanted to believe that we, us, were casual and not meant to be more so I snipped the dark from my heart. I sprinted after the light because I thought it’s where I belonged.”

Klaus gulped, his throat dry and rough all of a sudden. “And is it?”

“I know I’ve been awful, hurtful beyond words,” Caroline continued, “and I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry, Klaus…” She paused for a moment. Collected another breath before reaching out to touch him again with tender trailing fingertips, “But I can’t do it anymore, okay? I can’t.”

“Do what?” he said.

She sighed heavily. “Pretend.”

“Pretend…what?” Confusion, so many conflicting thoughts, galloped in his head.

“That I can endure a life emptied of you,” Caroline offered simply, “because I can’t. I won’t.” In an effort to somehow illustrate this point further, she shook her head, letting her forehead roll back-and-forth along his shoulder. “Am I making myself clear yet?”

“And your wandering heart?” Klaus asked as he scratched his teeth along his bottom lip and remembered the pain that line from her letter had wrought. Recalling the overwhelming sense of loss that’d slammed into his chest like a skyscraper full of bricks, his knees nearly shuddered as the memory hit him afresh.

He’d sensed her hesitancy toward commitment throughout their five years together, of course, but he thought it’d give way with a little more time as a couple. Months, years, decades, centuries—who cared precisely when? He’d been in no rush. He’d believed her nomadic feelings were bound to settle eventually. Or perhaps it would’ve been more accurate to say he’d ‘naively hoped’ they would. That is, until she took off with her fucking wanderlust and had left his heart to rot without her. “What of that? Hm?”

“It wandered away so it could drift back. Back to where it’s belonged all along,” Caroline answered.

“I suppose you mean here?”

“I do. Only I was too stubborn to see it. Terrified, really.”

“How illuminating. So after all this, after everything,” Klaus started, his tone harsh, “you expect me to forget the torment of losing you? Forget how you left me feeling both drowned and deprived at the same time?”

“No,” she replied, “I don’t. All I’m asking is for you all to try and forgive me enough so I can care for you like I couldn’t before.”

“Oh?” he clenched, his back still turned to her, his heart pumping loud and red with a yearning just at the edge of a bruise.“And how’s that exactly?”

“Recklessly. Completely.”

Klaus bit back a scornful sound. All of his undead fears pricking, poking, prodding at the  shreds of hope which still survived in a small area behind his ribs. “Why should I believe you?”

“Maybe because I’ve never lied to you before, so why would I start now? Or maybe because I needed to leave,” she sucked in a breath, “for my heart to know home was more than a place for me, and that I’d want to find my way back to it for good someday soon.”

Stepping closer, Caroline folded her hand into his then twined their fingers together with a squeeze so ripe with feeling, that it was as if she’d crossed the world just to hold it again.

“I’m done making wrong turns, Klaus. No more running, no more careless mistakes. Home is forever now, okay?”

“Home for me is…” She paused, but there was no shame in what came next, no irony. “Well, you,” she said frankly.  

One. Two. Three seconds of hybrid defibrillation. Then—

A growl which disintegrated into a moan almost immediately. His head spinning, spiraling, his stomach lurching up into his throat only to plummet down through the ground past his toes to feast on disbelief. Fists of fury unraveled like rope, his posture softening the moment he pulled her in front of him and caged her between his arms against the railing with no way out. She would listen now.

“Damn you,” he blurted out.

Silence.

“How in hell do you always manage to say things that have me dying to kiss you when I should want nothing more than to tear you apart with fangs?”

Caroline shrugged then. Reached up a hand to cup his face.

“Sorry, but it’s not like I can help that I’m in love with you, you know? Besides,” she added with a twitch of her lips, thumb scratching along stubble, “it all comes out in moron supposedly, anyway. Or so they say.”

Trounced, conquered, and not to mention a tad stunned, Klaus raked over her face with a combination of anger and attention in his gaze at this. He drank her in like the starved beast he was while the knife of her words—which she’d never spoken before but were ones he’d longed to hear for many years past—twisted and turned inside of him, slicing deeper this time, making him pant because he still hungered for the blade of her mouth. Still coveted the spikes of her heart. He always had. And in that moment when he pulled her against him to let their mouths and bodies collide, shutting her up hard and fast, her love’s blood seeping in to fill up all the places she’d emptied inside of him six months ago, magicking the two of them back together like a dawn-kissed midnight which could bloody well last forever, the poor bastard knew he always would.

#klaroline #klaroline drabbles #klaroline fanfiction #klaroline vaycay exchange #half agony half hope #ashlee bree's writing endeavors #otp: lips that taste of love's blood #otp: sitting waiting wishing #otp: i am your future; i am your past

[marcusssanderson]

50 Letting Go Quotes For Finally Moving On

Looking for inspirational letting go quotes to help you make the tough walk forward?

One of the most difficult tasks any individual can master is the ability to let go of the past, and move forward towards their future.

There is a saying that depression is living in the past, anxiety is worrying about the future, and true contentment is living in the present. I know this to be true for my patients and in my work.

However, if an individual can learn to master the skills of letting go of past hurts and grievances they are holding on to, and to stop worrying about every possible case scenario in the future that can go wrong – then they can truly feel a sense of peace, and have a more successful and meaningful present, in all areas of their lives.

Below are some quotes on the ideas of letting go and moving on, that I hope will plant kernels of inspiration and grounding for your life. With this new found peace and lightness, great things can be accomplished, and your life can be more fully enjoyed.

Letting Go Quotes about Relationship

1.) “The truth is, unless you let go, unless you forgive yourself, unless you forgive the situation, unless you realize that the situation is over, you cannot move forward.” ― Steve Maraboli, Unapologetically You: Reflections on Life and the Human Experience

2.) “Incredible change happens in your life when you decide to take control of what you do have power over instead of craving control over what you don’t.” ― Steve Maraboli, Life, the Truth, and Being Free

3.) “Sometimes it takes a heartbreak to shake us awake & help us see we are worth so much more than we’re settling for.” ― Mandy Hale, The Single Woman: Life, Love, and a Dash of Sass

4.) “Every woman that finally figured out her worth, has picked up her suitcases of pride and boarded a flight to freedom, which landed in the valley of change.” ― Shannon L. Alder

5.) “If letting go, if letting people and things work themselves out in the way that they needed to without your help was the most important thing, then it was also the hardest.” ― Deb Caletti, The Six Rules of Maybe

6.) “When someone you love says goodbye you can stare long and hard at the door they closed and forget to see all the doors God has open in front of you.” ― Shannon L. Alder

8.) “When we think we have been hurt by someone in the past, we build up defenses to protect ourselves from being hurt in the future. So the fearful past causes a fearful future and the past and future become one. We cannot love when we feel fear…. When we release the fearful past and forgive everyone, we will experience total love and oneness with all.” ― Gerald G. Jampolsky

9.) “If you spend your time hoping someone will suffer the consequences for what they did to your heart, then you’re allowing them to hurt you a second time in your mind.” ― Shannon L. Alder

10.) “If you want to forget something or someone, never hate it, or never hate him/her. Everything and everyone that you hate is engraved upon your heart; if you want to let go of something, if you want to forget, you cannot hate.” ― C. JoyBell C.

11.) “There is no such thing as a “broken family.” Family is family, and is not determined by marriage certificates, divorce papers, and adoption documents. Families are made in the heart. The only time family becomes null is when those ties in the heart are cut. If you cut those ties, those people are not your family. If you make those ties, those people are your family. And if you hate those ties, those people will still be your family because whatever you hate will always be with you.” ― C. JoyBell C.

12.) “If you didn’t love him, this never would have happened. But you did. And accepting that love and everything that followed it is part of letting it go.” ― Sarah Dessen, Dreamland

13.) “I realize there’s something incredibly honest about trees in winter, how they’re experts at letting things go.” ― Jeffrey McDaniel

14.) “Let go of certainty. The opposite isn’t uncertainty. It’s openness, curiosity and a willingness to embrace paradox, rather than choose up sides. The ultimate challenge is to accept ourselves exactly as we are, but never stop trying to learn and grow.” ― Tony Schwartz

15.) “Being different is a revolving door in your life where secure people enter and insecure exit.” ― Shannon L. Alder

17.) “The greatest step towards a life of simplicity is to learn to let go.” ― Steve Maraboli, Life, the Truth, and Being Free

18.) “Love is never supposed to hurt. Love is supposed to heal, to be your haven from misery, to make living fucking worthwhile.” ― Mia Asher, Arsen: A Broken Love Story

19.) “The most difficult aspect of moving on is accepting that the other person already did.” ― FaraazKazi

Inspirational Letting Go quotes about Life

20.) “The beautiful journey of today can only begin when we learn to let go of yesterday.” ― Steve Maraboli, Unapologetically You: Reflections on Life and the Human Experience

21.) “We can’t be afraid of change. You may feel very secure in the pond that you are in, but if you never venture out of it, you will never know that there is such a thing as an ocean, a sea. Holding onto something that is good for you now, may be the very reason why you don’t have something better.” ― C. JoyBell C.

22.) “There are times in life when people must know when not to let go. Balloons are designed to teach small children this.” ― Terry Pratchett

23.) “Some birds are not meant to be caged, that’s all. Their feathers are too bright, their songs too sweet and wild. So you let them go, or when you open the cage to feed them they somehow fly out past you. And the part of you that knows it was wrong to imprison them in the first place rejoices, but still, the place where you live is that much more drab and empty for their departure.” ― Stephen King, Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption: A Story from Different Seasons

24.) “Some people believe holding on and hanging in there are signs of great strength. However, there are times when it takes much more strength to know when to let go and then do it.” ― Ann Landers

25.) “Even on my weakest days I get a little bit stronger” ― Sara Evans

26.) “Most things are forgotten over time. Even the war itself, the life-and-death struggle people went through is now like something from the distant past. We’re so caught up in our everyday lives that events of the past are no longer in orbit around our minds. There are just too many things we have to think about everyday, too many new things we have to learn. But still, no matter how much time passes, no matter what takes place in the interim, there are some things we can never assign to oblivion, memories we can never rub away. They remain with us forever, like a touchstone.” ― Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

28.) “I’m guilty of giving people more chances than they deserve but when I’m done, I’m done.” ― Turcois Ominek

29.) “I demolish my bridges behind me…then there is no choice but to move forward” ― Fridtjof Nansen

30.) “I just wanted to tell you that I understand if you go. It’s okay if you have to leave us. It’s okay if you want to stop fighting.” ― Gayle Forman, If I Stay

31.) “Letting go doesn’t mean that you don’t care about someone anymore. It’s just realizing that the only person you really have control over is yourself.” ― Deborah Reber, Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul

32.) “A star falls from the sky and into your hands. Then it seeps through your veins and swims inside your blood and becomes every part of you. And then you have to put it back into the sky. And it’s the most painful thing you’ll ever have to do and that you’ve ever done. But what’s yours is yours. Whether it’s up in the sky or here in your hands. And one day, it’ll fall from the sky and hit you in the head real hard and that time, you won’t have to put it back in the sky again.” ― C. JoyBell C.

34.) “One of the best times for figuring out who you are and what you really want out of life? Right after a break-up.” ― Mandy Hale, The Single Woman: Life, Love, and a Dash of Sass

35.) “If people refuse to look at you in a new light and they can only see you for what you were, only see you for the mistakes you’ve made, if they don’t realize that you are not your mistakes, then they have to go.” ― Steve Maraboli, Life, the Truth, and Being Free

Letting Go Quotes about Forgiveness

36.) “Inner peace can be reached only when we practice forgiveness. Forgiveness is letting go of the past, and is therefore the means for correcting our misperceptions.” ― Gerald G. Jampolsky, Love Is Letting Go of Fear

37.) “Letting go. Everyone talks about it like it’s the easiest thing. Unfurl your fingers one by one until your hand is open. But my hand has been clenched into a fist for three years now; it’s frozen shut.” ― Gayle Forman, Where She Went

38.) “The truth was, he now belonged only to my past, and it was time I begin to accept it, as much as it hurt to do so.” ― Tammara Webber, Easy

39.) “And I told him, I said: “One day you’re going to miss the subway because it’s not going to come. One of these days, it’s going to break down and it’s not going to come around and everyone else will just wait for the next one or will take the bus, or walk, or run to the next station: they will go on with their lives. And you’re not going to be able to go on with your life! You’ll be standing there, in the subway station, staring at the tube. Why? Because you think that everything has to happen perfectly and on time and when you think it’s going to happen! Well guess what! That’s not how things happen! And you’ll be the only one who’s not going to be able to go on with life, just because your subway broke down. So you know what, you’ve got to let go, you’ve got to know that things don’t happen the way you think they’re going to happen, but that’s okay, because there’s always the bus, there’s always the next station…you can always take a cab.” ― C. JoyBell C.

40.) “There ain’t no way you can hold onto something that wants to go, you understand? You can only love what you got while you got it.” ― Kate DiCamillo, Because of Winn-Dixie

42.) “Last night I lost the world, and gained the universe.” ― C. JoyBell C.

43.) “The day I understood everything, was the day I stopped trying to figure everything out. The day I knew peace was the day I let everything go.” ― C. JoyBell C.

44.) “Your time is way too valuable to be wasting on people that can’t accept who you are.” ― TurcoisOminek

45.) “No matter how much suffering you went through, you never wanted to let go of those memories.” ― Haruki Murakami

46.) “When you leave, weary of me, without a word I shall gently let you go.” ― Kim Sowol

47.) “Nothing ever happens like you imagine it will… but then again, if you don’t imagine, nothing ever happens at all. Imagining isn’t perfect. You can’t get all the way inside someone else… But imagining being someone else, or the world being something else, is the only way in. It is the machine that kills the fascists” ― John Green, Paper Towns

48.) “Today expect something good to happen to you no matter what occurred yesterday. Realize the past no longer holds you captive. It can only continue to hurt you if you hold on to it. Let the past go. A simply abundant world awaits. (January 11)” ― Sarah Ban Breathnach, Simple Abundance: A Daybook of Comfort and Joy

50.) “Sometimes the hardest part isn’t letting go but rather learning to start over.” ― Nicole Sobon, Program 13

Which letting go quotes stood out to you most and why?

Letting go and moving on of love, anger, expectations or burdens is never an easy thing to do. But it’s something we all need to learn if we want to discover better things in life. Hopefully, these wise words have given you strength and inspiration to do what you believe is right.

The post 50 Letting Go Quotes For Finally Moving On appeared first on Everyday Power Blog.