How do you know? How do you know when something’s really for the better? How can you say something was a waste of time? How can you judge these things when they’re all tangled up in your emotions and you can’t even decide if your heart’s still in the right place?
Have you ever gotten that feeling when you lie down on the floor of your room and stair up at the ceiling and suddenly, it seems as far as the sky? You stretch out your hand and it’s like you can’t ever reach it -it’s too far- and eventually your arm starts to tingle from lack of circulation and you have to drop it and so you do. You drop your arm. You stop reaching. Stop trying.
I think that’s what’s happening now. A lack of circulation. But when -if ever- when will it come to the point where we stop trying?
For every hundred nights you make me happy, there’s always that one where you make me cry and god it gets to me more than anything. Love is irrational, love is stupid, love is the most beautiful thing on earth and half the time it pisses you off so much you want to swallow then vomit it into dog poop. I’ve spent a lot of nights here, on my bed, with my own personal roll of tissue because I’ve cried so many times I’ve learned to have one so I stop getting up to get some from the bathroom. For every hundred smiles you put on my face, there’s always that one time you have me in tears and god I love you, I love you, I love you so much that I get like this and you -you just have to understand that a heart is a fragile thing, and a heart that has been broken before is doubly so. I’m not asking for the world, I’m not asking you to launch a thousand ships… no. I’m just asking that every once in a while you think to care enough to watch what you say and not think so much.
Please.
(Source: fatalisticmornings)
Sometimes a year seems so long, sometimes it’s short. It drags and swirls and moves around you, filling you with memories, experiences, emotions. As The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus said once,
days grow longer and nights grow shorter
And yes, stars fell all for us. Our love grew and moved with the time and suddenly a year flew by and we are where we are today. Stronger, happier, wiser -and still in love.
Yes, I love you. I love you so much. A friend of mine once said we have the kind of love people would kill for. Love people write about. Blog about. Dream about. I don’t really know if that’s true, but I’d like to believe it is. To have the chance to love at all- that in itself is a wonderful thing. But to be able to love someone like you is a once-in-a-lifetime thing, and I’m glad I got the chance to be with you, to be yours. To be able to run to you, call you home, fling myself into your arms and feel safe in your embrace. To love you and be loved by you. Passive tense doesn’t do it justice. Nothing would. I know I’m lucky, lucky to be loved so much every day, to be made so happy.
And so I stay. I stay with you and let our love grow. And I hope this is not the only anniversary we celebrate. I hope we never celebrate a last one.
I want to be the Summer to someone’s Tom. The Alaska to your Miles. I want to be someone’s Great Perhaps, to be that elusive scent of violets you try to hard to keep, to grasp, but you never quite succeed and you lose it and then it hits you again, hard and intoxicating as ever. I want to be a butterfly, a hummingbird, but only to one flower. A salmon forever swimming back upstream to the place it knows as home. You’ll have me and you’ll lose me and you’ll wonder, wonder at the strawberry scent of my hair and the thin exhalations of cigarettes and the smile that comes and goes like the laugh you try so hard to incite. I want to be your 11.11 -there for one, beautiful, fleeting moment, then you open your eyes and now I’m gone.
(Source: ledanseurrouge)
I put a pillow over my head today.
Now, you have to understand that it wasn’t so I could sleep better. I don’t even understand how it helps people. I’d be scared to sleep like that, with a pillow over my face. The possibilities would keep me up half the night -and not even those of what other people could do to me. The possibilities of what I could do to myself.
I put a pillow over my head and left it there. I didn’t try to apply any pressure. I just lay there and let myself struggle to breathe, struggle to get enough oxygen to fuel my brain, and I think that’s really what I wanted. To cut off my brain’s fuel so it wouldn’t work so much. So it wouldn’t think so much. So for once in my life I could get some inner peace without having to go to sleep because in sleep you see things you spend your waking moments keeping hidden.
So I lay there and I struggled for breath and even if I knew I was cheating I lay there. And tried not to think about not thinking about thinking.
Dear lord. It’s so easy to lie to other people but when your heart and your mind finally decide to work in tandem for once in your fucking life it ain’t easy to lie to yourself.
(Source: ledanseurrouge)
I’m seventeen right now, and I don’t know who I am. Now, I know I’m not supposed to, but I’d have thought that by now I’d at least have some general idea of who I am, or even of where I’m going. You’d think, now that I’m starting to cement in my life, that Fate or Life or something would give me a little nudge or a sign saying “Hey bucko, here’s there road you’re gonna have to take.”
I’ve spent the last seventeen years trying to build a character for myself, gathering experiences and feelings and hopes that somehow determine how I think and feel and act. And now I’m at the time where I’m supposed to be discovering myself, but I don’t know if I can because this random mess of… things I have doesn’t seem enough to remind me of myself, of who I am, was and can be. Should be.
Did that even make sense?
(Source: ledanseurrouge)
One of the better gifts I’ve received from the girlfriend came today (but they’re all awesome -just that some I like better than others). She’s been meaning to give it to me for a while now. And now I have it.
2.92 beautiful gigabytes worth of yaoi. 8D Which, incidentally, I am watching right now. HEHE.
Dear girlfriend. Have I mentioned enough times that I love you?
Another list of books I want. This time, am adding movies!
BOOKS
MOVIES
I want a life’s library, but not just of books. I want photographs, movies, CDs, posters. I want a mess of things to show people the mess of my life.
I want a new book.
I want one so much that sentence needs a swearword. I want a goddamn new book. Or, I goddamn want a new book. Or even, I want a new goddamn book. However and wherever you put the emphasis, though, it comes out the same.
I really fucking want a new book.
I want the new book smell. The sight of an uncracked spine. Pages that haven’t known the touch of receipts or tickets or Post Its, or any other random scrap of paper I’ve used as a bookmark. Pages that haven’t inhaled the scents of food I eat while reading them. Pages that haven’t known the smell of an ocean breeze or the touch of a car seat or the sound of a boring lecture. Pages that haven’t experienced being hidden under desks or stowed roughly in bags or shoved under pillows as I finally cave into exhaustion at five in the morning.
I want a new book to imbue with memories as I take it around with me, reading it in the best, most random places.
And dear Lord, I want words.
