Last update
2020-07-02 11:06:31

    “I hope that in the future they invent a small golden light that follows you everywhere and when something is about to end, it shines brightly so you know it’s about to end. And if you’re never going to see someone again, it’ll shine brightly and both of you can be polite and say, “It was nice to have you in my life while I did, good luck with everything that happens after now.” And maybe if you’re never going to eat at the same restaurant again, it’ll shine and you can order everything off the menu you’ve never tried. Maybe, if someone’s about to buy your car, the light will shine and you can take it for one last spin. Maybe, if you’re with a group of friends who’ll never be together again, all your lights will shine at the same time and you’ll know, and then you can hold each other and whisper, “This was so good. Oh my God, this was so good.”

    — Iain Thomas, I Wrote This For You   (via flannel)

    Relationships are not a game. Quit the "well they didn't answer my text for two hours yesterday so now I'm gonna wait two hours to answers theirs." Quit the "I'm not gonna tell them that I'm upset cause if they really care they'll notice and if they don't notice they don't really care." Quit the "I'm not gonna text first cause it's their turn." Quit all of that. If you want to talk to them, talk to them. If you want to see them, ask them if they want to hang out. If you care about them, let them know. If you have something to say, say it. Stop playing all those silly mind games. It's a waste of everyone's time.

    looking back on old photos of yourself is an act of mourning, always. how many times have you looked at pictures of yourself from even just a few months ago and thought “who is that? did i look like that? she’s beautiful” but fail to reconcile it with how you felt. that girl is me and that girl is beautiful but i have never been her, y’know? and the cycle is endless. i am always longing to be myself from two years ago, or six months ago, or last night. SHE was beautiful in ways i don’t know how to be now. i’m grieving for the death of my past selves, constantly, and grieving for the time they wasted mourning THEIR predecessors when they could’ve been feeling beautiful. in between disparaging remarks about the weight she holds around her midsection, my mother shows me photos from when she was younger and handles them gently; “i was kind of a looker back then, wasn’t i?” i wonder what i’ll be saying about this body in thirty years. i wonder if it’ll be kind