Coffee. Sleeping in. Rainy mornings. Lazy days.
Books. Magic. Love.
Stars. Stripes. Black and white photos.
New York <3
Good music. Good food. Good company.
I don’t know. There’s just something about you. Perhaps it’s your total lack of ability to appreciate me, or your nest of hair that I adore too much.
I try. I try really hard to ignore you and your feelings and your wants and your stories and your being. But every complaint, every insult, every little joke brings me back.
I do not love you like I have loved you before. That is gone— or I would like to think that it is gone. I know you do not love me anymore, that’s why I want to not love you the way I have. It’s fleeting, the feeling.
You are the most inconsistent person I have ever had the pleasure (displeasure?) of meeting, but you are my constant. At the end of the day, you are, you are.
I am happiest when you are around. Also, I am weakest, most vulnerable, most scared, and most doubtful.
I am proud of myself with the things I have done since that day. I’m doing better and better, but a single thought would ruin it. Then a single action that would take a whole day’s regret. Regrets, regrets, I am ashamed and guilty.
I’d do anything to have the taunting, idle thoughts in my mind come true. I have the ability and the power to do it, just not the courage. I want it so badly sometimes I make it my drug to fall asleep.
Sometimes I feel useless and irrelevant. Like if I’d disappear today, no one would even come looking for me. Well, my mom would look for me. But that doesn’t count, she’s always looking for me anyway. I don’t think I’m actually doing anything with my life. I don’t feel ~alive~. Just merely existing without any significance. Or perhaps I have just too high standards for myself that I wake up everyday feeling disappointed and going to bed feeling the same.
The perky neon sticky notes that tell me to be happy and to enjoy life does not work, in all honesty. I am NOT depressed, just to be clear, I am just— meh.
Where is life’s Great Perhaps? Where are the stupid decisions that would make me Gandalf the Wise in 30 years? Where is my big adventure?
I am in fact a walking talking mass of fat who does not have the slightest idea about anything.
I just fell in love with a poem.
wow this is lovely
jesus i just got chills
SO MANY FEELINGS I CAN’T EVEN PUT THEM INTO WRITING
Start the year with an empty jar and fill it with notes about good things that happen. On New Years Eve, empty it and see what awesome stuff happened that year.