When I was little, I longed and longed to be older, expect now I can’t recall what exactly it was that I most keenly anticipated. Being allowed to stay up as late as I wanted? To wear or eat or read whatever I pleased? Well, I could do all those things now, but mostly, I don’t—either because I have to get up early for work the next morning, or haven’t enough money to buy the outfit I really love, or for some other boring, grown up reason. Also, children don’t realize what a huge proportion of adult life is used up worrying about things—from what to make for dinner and whether one’s sheets will get dry in time to make the beds that night, to whether one will ever manage to meet the right man and marry him. Shouldn’t being a grown up be slightly more exhilarating?
— Michelle Cooper (via wordsthat-speak)
You make me feel like when someone wakes up thirsty and reaches for a drink, but there’s never anything there. Then comes the cold, awkward steps to the kitchen for water. After they’ve drank it they realised that they could’ve done without it if they’d just gone back to sleep. I feel like that most days, I can’t explain why. Maybe because you’re over there and I’m over here, I don’t need you but I want you, even though I’d have to awkwardly step my way into your heart. Now I keep a glass on my bedside table, every night without fail, just so I stop thinking about you. Dry throat or not.
— dan (via 5ft1)
You know, they say that there is a part
of the human chest that if you strike it hard enough
the person’s heart explodes. This sounds like such a lie
that I have to believe it’s the truth. If I were science,
I’d never tell anyone where this place is. If I were science,
I’d have named this place after you.
— ~ Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz, excerpt from “Not As Smart As I Think I Am” (via a-thousand-words)
Tell me what it’s like,
to forget someone you’ve loved.
Every time I try,
I just remember better.
As if forgetting is
another way to undress you,
another way to lay you down
and lose myself in you.
— Peregrine Falcon (via wordsthat-speak)
I have emotions
that are like newspapers that
I go for days at a time
trapped in the want ads.
I feel as if I am an ad
for the sale of a haunted house:
ghosts and all.
— Richard Brautigan, Revenge of the Lawn: Stories 1962-1970 (via sad-plath)