lots to do today. two projects, a pitch and a paper. running out of time … and thankfully of thoughts rehash.
you tried to change didn’t you?
closed your mouth more
tried to be softer
less volatile, less awake
but even when sleeping you could feel
him traveling away from you in his dreams
you can’t make homes out of human beings
someone should have already told you that
and if he wants to leave
then let him leave
you are terrifying
and strange and beautiful
something not everyone knows how to love."
Warsan Shire, For Women Who Are Difficult to Love (via the-sinking-spell)
every word today is a minefield …
Fanny Price (Mansfield Park)
Rumi (via spycnsweet)
sometimes non-study study dates are the only thing I need to get back up again …
class is cancelled, today and tomorrow. so much to do, but this is my fucking chance.
don’t screw it up …
This weekend was a low moment, again. I found myself staring at the ceiling for too much of it. Danced with, kissed someone handsome on Friday, with an absence of a rush, or any sort of desire.
On Saturday I put on a nice dress and went to a birthday party. Felt like a fraud, like nickels and dimes in it. My waiter didn’t charge me and left me a note instead. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable, but I’d regret it if I didn’t try. Why the dismay instead of flattery …? Why the weight of the world instead? Drifted to the Mandarin to meet my boss for a drink. Smiled, chatted, felt like a million pieces inside.
On Sunday, I barely moved for 12 hours. I cried until I couldn’t open my eyes. Eventually dragged myself out of bed to eat with a friend … came home, talked and cried to another. Asked him blind questions, again and again, trying to breathe life into flatlining hope.
Monday was supposed to be my day off to spend some place beautiful and happy. I stared out my window looking out from in, until white bled into grey into black.
If we stumble and fall … is there any way but up? How can I feel full when part of my heart still belongs to you …? All of the vodka, friends and fucking in the world won’t cure this. Time takes time, but that fact alone makes it worse.
"He does something to me, that boy. Every time. It’s his only detriment. He steps on my heart. He makes me cry." - Markus Zusak, The Book Thief
21 Apr 2014 / 1 note
21 Apr 2014 / 2 notes