“But rarely do you ever tell people about the true depths of your loneliness, about how you feel more and more alienated from your friends each passing day and you’re not sure how to fix it. It seems like everyone is just better at living than you are.”—Ryan O’Connell (via coffeeqveen)
“It’s about misunderstandings between people and places, being disconnected and looking for moments of connection. There are so many moments in life when people don’t say what they mean, when they are just missing each other, waiting to run into each other in a hallway.”—Sofia Coppola (trying to explain what Lost In Translation is about)
“…and you will somehow get through
the slow days and the busy days and the dull days
and the hateful days and the rare days,
all both so delightful and so disappointing because
we are all so alike and so different.”—Charles Bukowski, from “Gamblers All” (via thatkindofwoman)
“Thin-shaming is wrong. It is bad and it is harmful and I long for its eradication and I will dance upon its corpse with my fat feet. But it’s important to note that thin-shaming is a symptom of the fact that all women’s bodies are policed all the time—not evidence of some culture-wide, systemic campaign to stigmatize thinness. Thinness is valued. Thin bodies are privileged over fat bodies. Despite the efforts of body positive activists (whose express goal, by the way, is to promote the acceptance of all bodies, including fat ones, not to further women’s oppression by gratuitously shaming the thin), “I’m proud to be fat” is still a radical statement. “I’m proud to be thin” is the status quo.”—Thin Women: I’ve Got Your Back. Could You Get Mine? (via albinwonderland)
Find what you love and let it kill you.
Let it drain you of your all. Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness.
Let it kill you and let it devour your remains.
For all things will kill you, both slowly and fastly, but it’s much better to be killed by a lover.”—Charles Bukowski (via nadleresque)
“I buy all your favorite foods so I will be ready when you come home
because once I did this and you said “This is how I know you love
I go on long walks alone and think about a poem my friend wrote
that goes ”This is how you die by distance.”
I hum the sound of the dial tone under my breath.
I stare at my hands and wonder at their uses. I consider pawning
my thighs. I consider auctioning off my hip bones. I put my breasts in
a box on the top shelf of the closet. I do not need them now.
I think of all the things I have to tell you when I will see you.
Stories like: I just found out pumpkins are technically fruits
and Cary Grant’s first job was in a traveling circus
and Most mammals are born able to walk and learn to run within minutes, so we are not crazy for moving so fast.
This morning I wrote your name in the steam on my mirror, even though I knew it would fade within minutes
In my best notebook I wrote “I miss you” ten thousand times.
I wrote “I think I am missing one of my ribs”
I wrote “I envy the way leaves know exactly when to fall from the branches and when to come back in the spring”
“She saw him the first day on board, and then her heart sank into her shoes as she realized at last how much she wanted him. No matter what his past was, no matter what he had done. Which was not to say that she would ever let him know, but only that he moved her chemically more than anyone she had ever met, that all other men seemed pale beside him.”—
my favorite part of sleepovers is when its like 4 am and everyone is laying down trying to go to bed and its silent and then someone says something like “ass butter” and we’re so tired that we can’t stop laughing