regret

Look up, always. Look back, never.

To regret your soul is to regret your past.

My animal howlsMy angel's upsetBut I'm not allowedA trace of regret

It takes courage to own up your actions that hurt others, to look Into the eye and to mean the sorry, To accept the mistake and not deny, all of this needs courage.

I'd felt the pop of the needle sliding into my veins, like a fang into flesh. I'd been enveloped in the golden haze where nothing is wrong even when everything is falling apart. A dance with a hypodermic fiend, my hands in the claws of a vulture.

I never wanted to regret the kisses I missed.

I was so ashamed for a mistake I made unknowingly when I was completely out of control and lost my mind for some reasons. I thought about to end my life next day at some point. I was struggling to cope with my pain, shame and thinking about others who I had hurt unintentionally. The worst moment came when people who I loved most had pulled out their support and threatens me to end relationships. Lesson learns hard way that people who are not with you at worst time of your life have no right to stand beside you when you are at best. Life goes on...........

Too often we look back on our lives with regret. What is done, is done. We learned lessons from those mistakes. Every day is a new beginning.

It all feels so different than it did yesterday. Is it because I'm aware of your feelings now? Or is it something else? Is it that...I know...what love is?

I miss you so much. I miss us. There__ not a day goes by that I don__ regret walking away from you.

There will be days you wish you__ never done it. And thosewill be the good times, when it__ only days of regret and notmonths.

Has there always been someone like me to bury the bodies, to have regrets, to carry on after everyone else was dead?

The cost of not following your heart is spending the rest of your life wishing you had.

I do have a reason for my insanity. I fear regret.

I am your little ram,burying his muzzle in thick grass of your pasture,folded by you at night, herded by day,a dedicated dog nipping at my hocks.The day will come for you to drawthe bright sickle of the moonacross my wooly throat.Do it with love, without regret.

He is precisely the young man to fall headlong in love and repent it for the rest of his life.

She could, she thinks, have entered a different life. She could have had a life as potent and dangerous as literature itself.

He felt what a murderer must feel, when he sees the body he has robbed of life. That body, robbed by him of life, was their love, the first stage of their love. There was something awful and revolting in the memory of what had been bought at this fearful price of shame. Shame at their spiritual nakedness crushed her and infected him.