“This is one more piece of advice I have for you: don’t get impatient. Even if things are so tangled up you can’t do anything, don’t get desperate or blow a fuse and start yanking on one particular thread before it’s ready to come undone. You have to realize it’s going to be a long process and that you’ll work on things slowly, one at a time.”—Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood (via purplebuddhaproject)
I love being horribly straightforward. I love sending reckless text messages (because how reckless can a form of digitized communication be?) and telling people I love them and telling people they are absolutely magical humans and I cannot believe they really exist. I love saying, “Kiss me harder,” and “You’re a good person,” and, “You brighten my day.” I live my life as straight-forward as possible.
Because one day, I might get hit by a bus.
Maybe it’s weird. Maybe it’s scary. Maybe it seems downright impossible to just be—to just let people know you want them, need them, feel like, in this very moment, you will die if you do not see them, hold them, touch them in some way whether its your feet on their thighs on the couch or your tongue in their mouth or your heart in their hands.
But there is nothing more beautiful than being desperate.
And there is nothing more risky than pretending not to care.
We are young and we are human and we are beautiful and we are not as in control as we think we are. We never know who needs us back. We never know the magic that can arise between ourselves and other humans.
“They’ll grab your waist and whisper in your ear but six months later you’ll find yourself drunk texting them that you miss them and they won’t respond.”—GUESS WHO WROTE THIS FUCKERS IT WAS ME (via extrasad)
i can’t even appreciate the beauty of the sunrise after staying up all night because it’s just like. fuck. there it is. there’s the sun. i fucked up. why am i laughing. nothing is funny. the sun is there and it’s harshly reprimanding me for being awake all night. “this is the life you’ve chosen for yourself fucker” it says. i’m not laughing. i’m crying. there’s the fucking sun
“Who taught me to suck in my stomach,
or my cheeks?
Who told me to stand with my legs apart
and my hips thrust back
to create the illusion of a gap
between my thighs?
Who made me believe that the most beautiful part of me
is my negative space?”—this is painful (via thinsquids)