A Hue Of Blu Quotes

That was also the moment I realized how little of myself I had left, when I was trying to please everyone else.

​“Good enough to fuck,” I stated.  “Not good enough to love,” I accepted.

Do you even know what you’re apologizing for?” ​“Yes,” he sighed, taking hold of my hand. His touch pricked me like icicles. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t ready to love you, even though my heart wanted to.

He never did anything with me as the primary focus. I was never a priority, never first. I satisfied him, but I was never enough to fulfill him.

Maybe I fell in love with the potential of people, not who they really were.

Today I chose me. Tomorrow, I'd choose me. Forever.

​Men didn’t respond to desperation. They responded to silence.

​Space. ​Space. ​Space. ​That’s all anyone ever gave me. ​That’s all anyone knew how to give. ​An excuse to leave, an excuse to run. ​No one stayed.

To everyone stuck in a room void of light – Be brave enough to open the blinds. There is a world full of colour beyond the walls of your mind.

You fucked me over," I started, bleeding into the pain I felt for months. "You fucked me up. And yet, you come back every time. Why? Why do you insist on doing this to me?" His response may have been the most honest thing he's ever said, and that terrified me. In one breath, he shattered my soul. "You let me." I don't think he realized the impact of his words until I'd walked away, refusing to turn back, refusing to ever speak to him again. You let me.

Must be nice, I thought. To enjoy things without looking too deeply as to why you enjoyed them, why they existed - why they made you happy.

I live; I die; the sea comes over me; it’s the blue that lasts.” Virginia Woolf

You fucked me up. And yet, you come back every time. Why? Why do you insist on doing this to me?” His response may have been the most honest thing he’s ever said, and that terrified me. In one breath, he shattered my soul. “You let me.

When he reached out to hold my hand, I let him. I fucking let him. Like a breathing girl who claimed her casket, he killed me in all the pleasant ways.

You’ve been avoiding your feelings for too long. It’s time you embrace them, embrace that they are a part of you and they’re not trying to cause you harm. You are capable of healing,” she urged, “And you are owed it.

Karma was a mirror, not a bitch. It reflected the mistakes within me...

​He sucked the life out of me. ​He drained me of all my energy. ​He would do it again if I let him. ​If I let him.

But as I stared at the beautiful man I'd come to know, I realized I never really did. he never really showed me. And it wouldn't be possible for us. We were never made to last.

People can only hurt you if you let them.

Maybe I was his rainy day. And that hurt. That really fucking hurt. Because where I carried clouds and wind and precipitation, he carried the sun, the stars and the sky. Yeah, that's what he was. My sun. And I was his rain. I was his fucking rain.

A part of me died.

Must be nice, I thought. To enjoy things without looking too deeply as to why you enjoyed them, why they existed – why they made you happy.

​Pain became comfort, and that comfort was bliss.

​Distractions are what saved me. ​But we were different people. ​Maybe what healed me, hurt him. ​Maybe what killed me, strengthened him.

​The right person would have never given me those doubts to begin with. ​The right person would have danced with me in a sea of stars or burning lava. The point is – ​They would have danced.

Little did he know how observant I was, how life forced me to pay attention to all the little things.

Maybe I was just a hater of all things. Maybe I liked being a hater.

​Did my mom want this life for me? For herself?

​We watched a couple episodes of Peaky Blinders before my ovaries started to hurt for the main actor, and my eyes subconsciously fluttered between the T.V. screen and my phone.

​Eat less. ​Drink more. ​Raw veggies. Water. Grapes. ​No grease. No junk food. No food. ​No food. ​No food.

Good enough to fuck,” I stated.  “Not good enough to love,” I accepted.

​You could be the greatest person, perform the grandest gestures, but if that someone never valued the love you showed them in the first place, they never would.

The irony, that the people you cared about most were always the ones to leave you in pieces.

​In a world short of love, I had to be wanted. ​I was wanted. ​I felt wanted. ​Never loved, no. ​But I was wanted.

love with the potential of people, not who they really were.

Well Beatrice, people can only hurt you if you let them.

he was the epitome of everything I could have ever wanted – Not needed. Wanted.

I loved him viciously, my entire being stripped raw by his essence. I would’ve done anything for him; he knew that. He took advantage of that.

As long as you begin, you’re one step closer to being where you belong.

A life I could live. A life I will live. When I thought about all the loss I’d endured, the residual ache lingered, but I was no longer suffering. All the precious parts of life conquered the dark, and I was the phoenix that rose from the ashes.

With Jace, my world orbited around his. No one could penetrate it. Not even the nicest of guys, the kindest of hearts, the best for me. I was addicted to hurting myself being with him, pushing aside all the things that made me whole and healthy.

Maybe I was his rainy day. And that hurt. That really fucking hurt. Because where I carried clouds and wind and precipitation, he carried the sun, the stars and the sky. Yeah, that’s what he was. My sun. And I was his rain. I was his fucking rain.

​Love yourself more. ​Was that made to be an insult? I did love myself, didn’t I? I showered, I made my bed, I cut my nails and did my hair. My skin was always washed, my clothes neat and pressed. If I didn’t love myself, those chores wouldn’t get done.

It was a weird thing to celebrate, breaking up with someone, closing a chapter that needed to be closed. There was almost a bittersweet taste to an unhappy ending. Everyone knew it was coming, but was still unprepared. I thought I’d feel great, but I felt worse.

But I'd come to realize that taking space from Jace made me feel better about myself, not worse. The pressure I carried to be the girl he wanted was overwhelming and unattainable. I'd broken every part of me trying to fit into that pretty, perfect mold. I'd lost sight of who I was just so he could glance in my direction for one second - because that one second was my heroin. And he watched me overdose.

​It was an awful, shitty feeling. ​Not throwing up, that was the relief. But that desire to be small, to impress, to feel wanted and beautiful. A full time job, I’d say. It consumed me.

​And like the coward, pathetic, attention-craving sadist I was – ​I folded first.

​I’ve come to learn that people enjoyed when you said their name. It was like an extra step at valuing a person’s person. It made them feel seen.

​In a world short of love, I had to be wanted.

​“You didn’t offend me.” Liar. Everything offended me. ​Rejection. ​Judgement. ​Words. ​Actions. ​My past. ​My present. ​Myself.

​She said one word. ​One word that sent all the waves of serotonin into overdrive. ​One word that no one had ever said to me in my entire life. A word I craved to hear. A word that did not exist to my ears. ​“Mine.

​“Okay,” he nodded. ​I won. ​The girl-next-door’s face dropped. Maybe she expected to be his partner – don’t know what kind of delusional world she was fucking living in.

​Every line, every swirl, every sharp edge didn’t touch the red dot. This hue of red was an impenetrable forcefield, protecting him from the outside world. The outside pain. ​In that moment, all I could do was pray and wonder… ​Will I ever find a hue of Blu?

She was my match. An equal. A broken piece of myself, a mirrored shard of glass.

Halloween was my favourite form of self-expression. You could be anyone you wanted, put on a costume and people wouldn’t judge you, wouldn’t try and look any deeper than what you showed them.

​The irony, that the people you cared about most were always the ones to leave you in pieces.

A part of me died.” Because that’s what it felt like. Turning a new leaf, healing. I drowned before I resurfaced. I struggle for breath before I inhaled fresh air. But there was strength in my scars. I finally saw the beauty in that. I chose happiness, just as I chose pain. All choices nonetheless, all mine to make. ​“A part of you died.” She scribbled something on paper. “And the best?

​Today, I chose me. ​Tomorrow, I’d choose me. ​Forever.

If I could feel this way forever, that I fit in with the people who mattered most… I’d never check my phone again.

​That’s when the realization hit me that everything about him was a façade. I don’t know what did it, what clicked in my brain, but I felt more alone in that moment than I had in so long.

It’s never the people I want in my life that come around. I feel like I’m waiting for someone to understand me, and no one ever does.

​A broken shell. A damaged past. Unlovable, reckless,

​Any ounce of love within me died, but it was justified. How could anyone love a fractured soul? A sad girl who couldn’t control the carnage of emotions that lived within her?

​“You fucked me over,” I started, bleeding into the pain I felt for months. “You fucked me up. And yet, you come back every time. Why? Why do you insist on doing this to me?” ​His response may have been the most honest thing he’s ever said, and that terrified me. ​In one breath, he shattered my soul. “You let me.

Ah, that was a long time ago. Best not dwell on the parts of your story you couldn’t rewrite.

​She blushed and walked away, leaving me with a serotonin boost that would last two seconds because it wasn’t a man who complimented me.

the confident girl with a sad soul.

asked her to break that promise. ​I guess we were two sides of the same coin – tarnished, rusted and bruised.

​Fawn repaired me. Her aunt repaired my hair. I mended the broken pieces of myself. ​But broken pieces always remained, especially when they sat right underneath your skin. It looked like flesh, felt like flesh. Shards became soft. Glass became smooth.

​Pain became happiness. Happiness became pain.

​I was too young. ​I wouldn’t understand their careers. ​I wasn’t good company. ​I was inconvenient. ​Fuck was it ever painful sometimes. I never wanted to beg for someone’s affection, let alone my brother’s time.

​But then the voices hit. ​No, no, no, Blu. Don’t do this again. Don’t fall in too deep with someone you barely know. ​I wanted to block them out but they kept coming. ​He’s only saying these things to get a reaction. ​He’s only complimenting you because he’s in a good mood. ​You’re nothing special, don’t ever fucking think you are. ​I wanted to scream, to shut my mind off, to burn the thoughts that made me anxious. But I couldn’t. I spiralled. I constantly worried. No reassurance in the world could settle my nerves.

​She didn’t reciprocate. Maybe it was because she had a boyfriend. Maybe it was because she was into me.

So when he refused to dance, I knew. I knew we were over. We'd been over for a long time now and I just didn't have the heart to accept it. But we all had our breaking points. That was mine.

I fucking ran rogue. I ran even though I knew he wasn’t chasing me, because he never would. It would always be me. Days, months, years later – It would always be me.

You fucked me over,” I started, bleeding into the pain I felt for months. “You fucked me up. And yet, you come back every time. Why? Why do you insist on doing this to me?” His response may have been the most honest thing he’s ever said, and that terrified me. In one breath, he shattered my soul. “You let me.

The pressure I carried to be the girl he wanted was overwhelming and unattainable. I’d broken every part of me trying to fit into that pretty, perfect mold. I’d lost sight of who I was just so he could glance in my direction for one second – because that one second was my heroin. And he watched me overdose.

This man, smiling beside me, could break my heart any day. And I’d let him. That was the problem. Wherever his eyes would lead me, storm or shore, I’d follow.

In a world short of love, I had to be wanted. I was wanted. I felt wanted. Never loved, no. But I was wanted.

You could be the greatest person, perform the grandest gestures, but if that someone never valued the love you showed them in the first place, they never would.

It was exhausting to chase after someone who never wanted you from the start. It was even more exhausting to pretend that there was a chance in hell you could change their mind.

You fucked me up. And yet, you come back every time. Why? Why do you insist on doing this to me?” His response may have been the most honest thing he’s ever said, and that terrified me. In one breath, he shattered my soul. “You let me.

I feel like I’m waiting for someone to understand me, and no one ever does.

No one had ever paid attention to me before. Not like this. Not ever. ​“Jace –” ​“I understand you,” he whispered. “I understand you.

To everyone stuck in a room void of light – be brave enough to open the blinds. There is a world full of colour beyond the walls of your mind.

Good enough to fuck,” I stated. “Not good enough to love,” I accepted.

The scars beneath the black ink were no longer a part of me – I assigned them a new meaning.

​For so long I felt like I could only amount to the affection Jace showed me, that my worth was a ball of power he held in his hands.

​A long paragraph was typed out on my behalf, but I thought better than to send it. ​Men didn’t respond to desperation. They responded to silence.

A tear broke out but I wore it proudly. Sometimes it was better to show someone the hurt they brought upon you. Sometimes people were visual learners.

​I loved him viciously, my entire being stripped raw by his essence. I would’ve done anything for him; he knew that. He took advantage of that. ​And he still continued to do so. To play on my emotions. To see if I would run back all to boost his ego. ​One. ​Year. ​Later.

I wanted someone to hear my innermost thoughts. I didn’t want to be alone with them any longer.

​Either way he wasn’t worth it. ​He’s not worth it. ​He’s not worth it. ​He’s not worth it. ​But you know who was? ​Me. ​I was worth it.

​Five months I’d lived in Paris, four months in Italy, and three months in Dublin.

Everything was art in its own way; if you just opened your eyes to see.

But over time, I learned to be everything that everyone wanted. I learned to match the energy of others, to morph into whatever they liked and remained that way until I didn’t need to anymore. That was the moment I realized how to win people over. That was also the moment I realized how little of myself I had left, when I was trying to please everyone else.

Tomorrow, I’d be Jace Boland. The man who wished the world would save him.

​“I love you, Fawn.” I wasn’t much of a sap, but after three glasses of wine and a food coma, sweetness oozed out of me. ​She tapped my knee and pressed her lips into a smile. “Love yourself more.

​I wanted to scream, to shut my mind off, to burn the thoughts that made me anxious. But I couldn’t. I spiralled. I constantly worried. No reassurance in the world could settle my nerves.

I was the firecracker. He lit the spark. I was the puppet. He was the puppeteer. I was the colour. He was the hue. He was the hue. My fucking hue.