Everyone needs a place. It shouldn’t be inside of someone else.
Richard Siken (via videogrrl)
She liked broken things, broken people.
― (via personal-interest-in-you)
You always hated
Your dark brown eyes
And I never understood why.
You said they lacked depth,
Like there was no ocean
To get lost in, but
Every time I looked
Into them I felt myself
― I’m still drowning in you (via mistakenharmony)
I always come back to you. You know what? I don’t fuckin care if they think I am mad. I have so many reasons to be crazy. These reasons are valid. See? This is why I don’t drink with ‘friends’ anymore. I know at the end of the night, I’ll see my body fold itself into nothingness like a clam that’s too afraid of the waves. I’ll break down. Then I’ll hear them say, “here we go again.” I pretend I don’t hear them say that. My hands are light and shaking. My mouth is dry and spicy. In my head, I say fuck this people. Fuck this drink. Fuck this night. Yes here we go again because this insane longing is crawling in my veins like razorblades. I can’t deny the presence of this familiar sadness that demands to be felt every now and then. I drink to be brave. So I could say your name and pretend I didn’t. To make them believe they are the one hallucinating, to make them believe they are hearing things they are not supposed to hear. They are crazy and me? I’m just sad. But I’m the most normal person you could bump into in this little space of awkwardness they call ‘bar’. If I’m being honest, this is the most sober I could be. This is the time when my head is the clearest and the wildest. I love my thoughts. They don’t require burning. My hands are trembling but so does this earth yet nobody notices. My eyes are overspilling with water and water is good. I am not happy but does it mean I won’t be? I may be lonely now but aren’t we all? You’re just good at hiding it. So I’d rather be in this fuckin floor right now with my messy hair and sentiments. I’d rather wake up tomorrow in another friend’s house and think of ways to apologize without sounding desperate and pitiful. I’ll go home and I swear to god, I wish you’re there holding my back while I throw up. There’s always honey water. There’s always my feet. There’s forgetting. I always come back to you. But I’m almost there.
irishjulienne, almost sober (via talkingoutsoft)
if you say it, you mean it. end of story.
― the quiet rabbit (via thequietrabbit)
I wish I knew how to quit you.
Brokeback Mountain (2005)