Life is an absolute trip.
"Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth."-Henry David Thoreau
Life is an absolute trip.
I’ve become a living apology, I am sorry
— an eight word poem (via iwasiamishallbe)
They told me I could be anything I wanted but all I ever wanted was my mother. I was somehow meant to love myself when the woman who created me couldn’t even look at me.writing idk trigger warning
AND I have my first Australian barbecue this evening and my foreign self is hyped.
I’ve been living in Brisbane for three weeks today… what.time flies life's a trip brisbane
All I can think of is how I’m supposed to be there with you right now and I’m so sorry that I’m not. I said I would do anything for you but I can’t even be by your side when you need me. Please be careful with your heart until I can hold it again. Please let soon be soon enough. Be okay. I love you I love you I love you i love you I love you I love you.
UmmMMMM nope, but hey Sarah what’s up
EXCUSE ME no sorry wait WHAT IS THISomg what are you people doing is this what internet relevance feels like
The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.
— Albert Camus (via notebookings)
leaving is not enough; you must
stay gone. train your heart
like a dog. change the locks
even on the house he’s never
visited. you lucky, lucky girl.
you have an apartment
just your size. a bathtub
full of tea. a heart the size
of Arizona, but not nearly
so arid. don’t wish away
your cracked past, your
crooked toes, your problems
are papier mache puppets
you made or bought because the vendor
at the market was so compelling you just
had to have them. you had to have him.
and you did. and now you pull down
the bridge between your houses,
you make him call before
he visits, you take a lover
for granted, you take
a lover who looks at you
like maybe you are magic. make
the first bottle you consume
in this place a relic. place it
on whatever altar you fashion
with a knife and five cranberries.
don’t lose too much weight.
stupid girls are always trying
to disappear as revenge. and you
are not stupid. you loved a man
with more hands than a parade
of beggars, and here you stand. heart
like a four-poster bed. heart like a canvas.
heart leaking something so strong
they can smell it in the street.
— "A Letter From Frida Kahlo to Marty McConnell," Marty McConnell (via notebookings)
They follow me and have reblogged a lot so they could probably still find me if they wanted to if I changed the URL. I’m pretty sure they can still view my blog if I block them, too.
You think you’re okay and you’re not bitter about that place and that you and those people anymore and each day goes by and you’re happy and this is your new life and then something small happens and burrows under your skin and you feel it everywhere and you’re so angry that you can’t breathe.
It’s been one of those weeks.
Maybe one day I’ll actually completely let this go and when it taps me on the shoulder, I won’t turn around and I won’t feel anything. I really hope so.