martes, 15 de julio de 2014

Your name hurts.
unlike you, the ache will not leave.
— feelings 9:38 p.m.
Do you ever wish you had a second chance to meet someone for the first time?
I felt a tremendous distance between me and everything real.
— Hunter S. Thompson 
I felt so much, that i started to feel nothing
To get over one addiction, you have to become addicted to something else.
“It’s not that people can’t love you if you don’t love yourself. It’s that you won’t feel it because it’ll always seem like you don’t deserve it.”
But It’s Not a Matter of Deserving 
“You get a strange feeling when you’re about to leave a place. Like you’ll not only miss the people you love but you’ll miss the person you are now at this time and this place, because you’ll never be this way ever again.”

Azar Nafisi
we are sixteen years old; we drink smooth vodka and smoke marijuana in rooms filled with incense and candlelight. we light cigarettes with cupped hands, holding experience in our palms. we fill our lungs with poison, swallowing numbered capsules, singing under our breath. we are sixteen years old; we cough when we laugh, we cry when we speak. in our memories, records crackle under the din of truth. we buy affection. margaritas in tin bottles, plastic bags in tattered sleeves, and bitter shots of smuggled bourbon are the expectations of our reality. we are sixteen years old; our secrets slip away under a sea of rebellion. we test tolerances and boundaries. on rainy nights, we lie under the stars with no words because we cannot speak. for fear of exposing ourselves. we jump at the echo of footsteps on carpet. we are sixteen years old; we believe our own invincibility until we fall. we blow smoke through our noses and wash the burn away with bitter drinks from stolen glass bottles. we make promises with bated breath and whisper sheltered names. we work to support habits and slip cash from hand to hand. we are sixteen years old; we weren’t meant to live this way. we are children in complex disguise. we know the underground of the city, the lines of our own palms, the crimes we commit easy as a breath in summer. we are not invincible but we believe that we are. we are not wrong, but nothing’s ever right. we are sixteen years old; and we do not know how to be.
Everything seems to be exhausting me, no matter how much sleep or how much coffee I drink or how long I lie down, something inside me seems to have given up. My soul is tired.
— Unknown 

it probably seems like i cry over stupid shit but tbh i usually end up crying because i’ve stored up all of my upset feelings from multiple things rather than express them and then the littlest thing sets me off like spilling my drink may not be that big of a deal but when i’ve stored up that many negative emotions it feels like i busted a hole in the hoover dam
You had this expression on your face, like you weren’t quite sure you were supposed to be on Earth.
— Iain S. Thomas, I Wrote This For You
I’ll be ok. I just need time to be sad.
— 10 word story