Can someone just give me a bajillion dollars to travel the world for the rest of time I don’t even care who you are you can come with me
Starting the semester has re-sparked this feeling of hope and warmth about the future and all that this great wide world has to offer. My brain has been dormant too long.
You are in a city that is not this city, but still, I want to scour the neighborhood picking up your lost hairpins, smell last night in your hair. It’s a good thing, you never forgetting my waist. Maybe I’m in love or maybe I’m not in love or maybe I’ve tasted love before and haven’t brushed my teeth in a while, but you look so good in that dress I want to bake you a pie. In one of these sentences I say something important. I was never good at math but I’m adding up the miles to your hips. Come over, I want to sober up inside you.
Gregory Sherl, “I Will Take My Pants Off While You Videotape the Moon” (via alabasterblues)
More and more its becoming painfully clear that you truly can’t “go home again”. You can’t long for the way things used to be and sometimes the harder you try to the worse the pain gets.
Life is too short.
the mistake ppl make is thinking that this life is all about humans, it isn’t. we r just tiny little creatures ruled by clocks, running all over earths surface being bad guests. we need 2 tread lightly and love a lot, and not get caught up in what does not matter
And kid, you’ve got to love yourself. You’ve got wake up at four in the morning, brew black coffee, and stare at the birds drowning in the darkness of the dawn. You’ve got to sit next to the man at the train station who’s reading your favorite book and start a conversation. You’ve got to come home after a bad day and burn your skin from a shower. Then you’ve got to wash all your sheets until they smell of lemon detergent you bought for four dollars at the local grocery store. You’ve got to stop taking everything so goddam personally. You are not the moon kissing the black sky. You’ve got to compliment someones crooked brows at an art fair and tell them that their eyes remind you of green swimming pools in mid July. You’ve got to stop letting yourself get upset about things that won’t matter in two years. Sleep in on Saturday mornings and wake yourself up early on Sunday. You’ve got to stop worrying about what you’re going to tell her when she finds out. You’ve got to stop over thinking why he stopped caring about you over six months ago. You’ve got to stop asking everyone for their opinions. Fuck it. Love yourself, kiddo. You’ve got to love yourself.
I think I'm so tired all the time because I put every ounce of energy into not letting this place get to me.
Despite what you’ve read, your sadness is not beautiful. No one will see you in the bookstore, curled up with your Bukowski, and want to save you.
for a salvation that will not come from the grey-eyed boy looking for an annotated copy of Shakespeare,
for an end to your sadness in Keats.
He coughed up his lungs at 25, and flowery words cannot conceal a life barely lived.
Your life is fragile, just beginning, teetering on the violent edge of the world.
Your sadness will bury you alive, and you are the only one who can shovel your way out with hardened hands and ragged fingernails, bleeding your despair into the unforgiving earth.
Darling, you see, no heroes are coming for you. Grab your sword, and don your own armor.
Unknown (via perfect)