same way
i’ve been thinking of
you all day; i wish you felt
the same freaking way.
Everyone should check out this tumblr. I rarely recommend people, but this girl has such a rare talent in putting across the most complicated feelings with the simplest words. You skim past entries so quickly but don’t realise how much each one stays with you until you find yourself going back to it over and over again.
something too large to be called love, but not as big as Russia
One. I got your name tattooed on my arm. And if you leave me, if you leave me, I will go through hell just to get it removed; I will stand there crying with my hands over my eyes, the kind of crying that makes you feel like the weight of all the stars just dropped on your chest. And I will stand there as the lazer removes that tattoo and removes your name from my arm, from my skin, from my world.
Two. I have given you everything. When you told me you had OCD, I told you I loved you anyway. I will you tell again. I will tell you as many times as you need me to repeat it before every syllable sounds perfect and clean and pristine and you can stop washing your hands of the mispronounced consonants. One. I love you. Two. I love you. Three. I love you. Four. I love you. Five. I love you. Six. I love you. Seven. I still love you, I love you, I love, I. You.
Three. The therapist called up yesterday and suggested I make a few extra appointments per week. But I have already nailed this heart to the stars in an effort to rid myself of its weight. You want to know how it got so heavy? I was busy carrying yours too.
Four. Your skin is a band-aid and I will plaster myself with you then peel you off again and again until I no longer get the urge to hurt myself. In return I will be your antiseptic and you can take me any damn time you need. I hid all the knives, so we can only cut our steak with forks and spoons now.
Five. No snowflake is exactly the same. There are over 189,437,321,098,567,8932 different snowflakes in the entire world. I’d catch every fucking one on my tongue and count every edge, every hollow and dip and crevasse that made it unique, if it meant that winter would come another year. It’s your favorite season.
Six. I made a boat out of my bed so when you get depression again you can sail away on the sea; I’ll man the rudder so you can relax and enjoy the view. Just make sure to let me know if you need any more pillows.
Seven. I hope the next woman that tries to sleep with you trips in a puddle on the way home. I have never wanted to kill myself, thought about it maybe, but when I see you talking to another girl I want to step into a lane of fast-paced traffic.
Eight. I found you in the bathtub last year. I fucking found you in the bathtub. In the bathtub. The bathtub. If you ever paint the water that shade of red again I will personally tear that canvas up with my own bare hands and force you to start over, this time with the brightest color of yellow I can find.
Nine. Don’t bring me home to dinner. I won’t impress your parents. I’ll fumble over everything and drop the plates of turkey and mashed potatoes and I’ll somehow manage to smear butter all over your dad’s shirt. I’ll break a wineglass. I’ll throw up out of nervousness in your little brother’s lap and my hands will be shaking because I will be so anxious; I have stage fright in your presence; I want to spend the rest of my life with you but I’m afraid I have to make a good show for your parents
and I don’t
want to mess
that up.
Ten. I dreamt that you died, and I went to pick out a coffin for you. But when I got to the funeral home, the director said I couldn’t because I already had one of my own. We were both dead. If you died, I’d die too.
Stay committed to your decisions, but stay flexible in your approach
“
| — | Tony Robbins (via milkchugger) |
Sometimes you’re 23 and standing in the kitchen of your house making breakfast and brewing coffee and listening to music that for some reason is really getting to your heart. You’re just standing there thinking about going to work and picking up your dry cleaning. And also more exciting things like books you’re reading and trips you plan on taking and relationships that are springing into existence. Or fading from your memory, which is far less exciting. And suddenly you just don’t feel at home in your skin or in your house and you just want home but “Mom’s” probably wouldn’t feel like home anymore either. There used to be the comfort of a number in your phone and ears that listened everyday and arms that were never for anyone else. But just to calm you down when you started feeling trapped in a five-minute period where nostalgia is too much and thoughts of this person you are feel foreign. When you realize that you’ll never be this young again but this is the first time you’ve ever been this old. When you can’t remember how you got from sixteen to here and all the same feel like sixteen is just as much of a stranger to you now. The song is over. The coffee’s done. You’re going to breathe in and out. You’re going to be fine in about five minutes.
“
| — | The Winter of the Air (via sourwolfie) |
