!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> The Adventures Of Janna Banana

"Remember that I never lied to you when I said I loved you, or when I told you that you were beautiful, and every second I spent with you was greater than the rest of my life jam packed into a minute. You are amazing, you are light, you are life, a living, breathing, feeling, thinking, conscious epitome of infinity, and of life and love. But there is a bigger infinity out there for you… There is someone who is a bigger person than me, someone who is a better fit for you, and I’m willing to accept that, so you should be too. Don’t let me stop you from being with him. You’ll know when you find him. And know that I never planned this, but some things are inevitable, and some things no human or anything imaginable can stop… And know that you really meant the world to me” - The last thing you ever said

"I grabbed her by the throat but I didn’t choke her. Just kissed her so deep she forgot whose air she was breathing."
- Oh my god. (via bl-ossomed)

(Source: i-am-my-own-mind, via acilegnasol)

How can you leave a mark on something without leaving a scar?
This question crossed my mind a lot, when I found myself spending time with people. It’s funny how people who become suicidal… How most of the time the only want to die when they think they don’t matter anymore. But, how could this be true?..
You don’t remember everything that happens in your life. Like the simple days you spent with someone.. and maybe it was something you said, or the way you looked at them. Not always in a romantic sense.. Something you said when you were walking that you didn’t really think about, or maybe it was something you did. You didn’t really think it mattered or that it was a big deal even . So you forget about it, and it floats away but it stays implanted in somebody memory. You made a mark on them even if you didn’t intend too. It mattered, to someone in someway it meant something. & Disappearing or dying on them doesn’t make it go away, it just makes more scars. The worst kind, the kinds you can’t see but are a constant reminder of things we struggle  to forget. But the thought also crossed mind that so many people would rather be loved widely and in vain.  They want people to remember them so they put on a show, and call themselves artist or “free spirits” ..  Exploiting vague emotions, to make excuses for poor behavior.  And, as they sip from there cheap bottles of alcohol they will ask themselves,  do you think they’ll remember me now?”.
But, they won’t remember you they remember the alcohol you puked,
or the guy you slept with. Your name becomes a rumor mill,
and long after you die they will talk about what you did and not who you were. The suffering of human nihilism seemed to be a forgotten one. We grow up and they tell us to be something!. Make your family proud. So
you go to college or you make a career. But none of that really matters..
None of that explains the person you are. Even if you dedicated your life
to art or making music that’s still barely scratching the surface…
We are humans not an art exhibit people pay money to see, we are more than just suits and ties, or music we sing , write , or play.. We aren’t just writers, teachers, blue collar workers, or even just artist. We are people with stories , sad and happy. We are the things we think about, we are what we love, and not who loves us.. We are the things we do when when no ones watching, what we notice that no one else notice’s..Everyone’s wasting there time trying to create the bigger
picture, the grand scheme.. But, we almost never admire the details..
Even the ones you can’t really see.. Before anything was a masterpiece
it was an idea, sketch , or even just notes on disposable paper.
Those are things that don’t matter to people.. How sketches become
well stitched clothing on runways or how an idea becomes an invention.
Or, even how people become well who they are. We only remember the pieces they give us, and the remembrance is only surfeit by the scars they leave. - JoHanna Marie (Theadventuresofjanna)