I must stop reading Pablo Neruda and crying into my milk tea. I must stop listening to Tracy Chapman and other sinfully sad music, I must stop this slow heavy desolation which is infusing my bones. I will put aside tonight to weep. I will weep for the grandmother I never met. I will weep for my old love’s grandmother, too. I will weep for Joash, who should still be here today. I will weep for...
The problem with falling in love with an older man is that it is always, always, always too late.
Dear You, Hi. This is an open letter meant for you, and I hope you find it, because there’s no way I could send or say this to you. Here’s hoping you’re still stalking and you think it’s brave instead of absolutely crazy. I realize that’s ridiculous as I’ve never given you the link for my tumblr and there’s no way you’re this good at your job. I realize we haven’t known...
Come away with me.
And live on what?
1. Black and blue. 2. Aqua and blue. 3. Olive green and khaki. 4. Black and blue again. 5. Soft grey and khaki, then soft grey and blue (and some camel). 6. Ecru and black. 7. White and green and plaid. 8. Orange (no, man. No.) 9. Black and khaki. 10. Blue-grey. This post has no point.
Who are you? You’re that feeling of You make me feel When I think of you I Summoning up memories of you, I see that Looking back, you were I wish that I could … You don’t move me. You sad, sad little thing. You don’t move me. Your living so small and dreaming big doesn’t move me. Your pretensions don’t move me. The notches on your bedpost make me...
There are things which you have done, the memories of which I cannot help but cherish. These little gestures I find so immensely precious, heartbreakingly sweet or painfully infinite when experienced by someone as bitter and broken as I. (Just so you know, it’s totally irresponsible to take up with someone as neurotic as I am. I hope you weren’t assuming sex with the crazy girl would...