#someone please hear me
#i am stumbling and terrified
girl is so good at loving everybody (but herself). girl is so good at hating no one (but herself). of course you want to be loved. everyone does. but if your body is a home that even you refuse to live in, why would anyone else ask to move in? (just temporary tenants where your thighs touch under your summer dress) sweetheart, whatever you are running away from, we can all smell."
"Breathe. It’s only a bad day not a bad life."
Ashley Purdy (via void-function
This is one of my absolute favourite quotes ever. And I might actually want it tattooed on me one day.
Are you still reading, little monster? How appropriate to see your words at a time like this. It’s nice to be able to appreciate them without any bitterness toward you anymore, especially because… god… they are so needed tonight.
(Source: bruise-my-bones, via birdymichele)
I fell apart inside of you. Somewhere between the harrowed bones you shift anxiously and the skin that drifts over that (a fog, of sorts), exists the cracked bits of me. There were flowers inside my vase, you know: a garden, waiting patiently to bloom. But now it’s rust & dirt, a monument to what gracious ivy could have consumed me.
I wonder, somedays, if I am a weed, a dandelion. One magnificent puff from your cracked lips and away I go… never to be seen again in completion as I was before.
"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."
So wild flowers will come up where you are.
You have been stony for too many years.
Try something different.
#rest in peace max
This time one week ago, we were at Geno’s together. You wrapped your arms around me from behind & whispered “you look like a goth princess, Snowflake” and I giggled & we watched the arm wrestlers, and then stumbled over the bar together, where our friends were laughing. And yes, you were sad, and yes, I knew, I knew, I knew, something wasn’t right. But goddamnit - I didn’t know that was going to be the last night I had with you.
I didn’t know that twelve hours later, you were going to be gone. Made of stardust, of candlelight, of whatever my eternal mind in this radically underdeveloped universe can’t even begin to comprehend. You weren’t suppose to die on us, Max.
I take solace in knowing that wherever you are now, you are tiny and you are quiet and perhaps you are resting, which is good, because you were so tired, because you always had to be so big, because you had so much more to carry than you ever let on, even to Us: the three of us, who hold each other now like wounded birds, lost in the forest, holding their beaks up to the sun.
I can’t deny that I am selfish, that I do not ache for you, that when I’m shiver shaking in class, in Trixie, at work, at 3am, wanting so much for you to just call me and tell me this isn’t real, this isn’t real, please tell me this isn’t fucking real, that it isn’t more for me - for those of us that are left behind - than it is for you. But can any of us be blamed for that? You were a fucking gem in a field of boulders, baby. The world pales a little more every day that you are gone.
You were something like a big brother, and something like a soulmate, and something like a best friend. I loved you the way a mother loves her child - unconditionally & savagely. There will always be a hole inside of me where you lived, and when the wind blows, it will whistle a tiny tune. "You’re my favorite Bright Eyes song that hasn’t been written yet”. And that’s the beat I will hear, with every footstep, with every inhale: the unwritten song that will lead me back to you.
"I’ve stopped being sorry for all my soft. I won’t apologise because I miss you, or because I said it, or because I text you first, or again. I think everyone spends too much time trying to close themselves off. I don’t want to be cool or indifferent, I want to be honest. If I love you at 5AM, I’d damn well rather that you know I felt it. If I love you two hours later, I’ll tell you then too. Listen, I won’t wait double the time it takes for you to text me back because I don’t want to. I don’t care enough to be patient with you. I’m happy, you made me feel that way, don’t you want to know? So that’s how it’s going to be. I’m going to leave myself as open as a church door. And I’m going to wake you up before the crack of dawn to tell you that I’m fucking joyful, no pretending, not from me, not ever. Would you like some coffee, would you please kiss me? Here, these are my hands, this is my mouth, it is all yours."
Cupcake wifes, getting ready to be spooky…
I guess bowling with my coworkers calls for all of the purple 💜💜💜
"I realize there’s something incredibly honest about trees in winter, how they’re experts at letting things go."