CAPTAIN BACKFIRE!

It always fascinated me how people go from loving you madly to nothing at all, nothing. It hurts so much. When I feel someone is going to leave me, I have a tendency to break up first before I get to hear the whole thing. Here it is. One more, one less. Another wasted love story. I really love this one. When I think that its over, that I’ll never see him again like this… well yes, I’ll bump into him, we’ll meet our new boyfriend and girlfriend, act as if we had never been together, then we’ll slowly think of each other less and less until we forget each other completely. Almost. Always the same for me. Break up, break down. Drunk up, fool around. Meet one guy, then another, fuck around. Forget the one and only. Then after a few months of total emptiness start again to look for true love, desperately look everywhere and after two years of loneliness meet a new love and swear it is the one, until that one is gone as well. There’s a moment in life where you can’t recover any more from another break-up. And even if this person bugs you sixty percent of the time, well you still can’t live without him. And even if he wakes you up every day by sneezing right in your face, well you love his sneezes more than anyone else’s kisses.

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—	Marion, 2 Days in Paris (2007)

potdealer:

Interviewer: Why can’t you be alone without Yoko?

John Lennon: But I can be alone without Yoko, but I just have no wish to be. There’s no reason on earth why I should be alone without Yoko. There’s nothing more important than our relationship, nothing. And we dig being together all the time. Both of us could survive apart but what for? I’m not going to sacrifice love, real love for any whore or any friend or any business, because in the end you’re alone at night and neither of us want to be. and you can’t fill a bed with groupies. It doesn’t work. I don’t want to be a swinger. I’ve been through it all and nothing works better than to have someone you love hold you.

From me to you »

kenkz:

From me to you: I like you.

And yet, when I say a phrase such as (or in specificity, write) ‘From me to you: I like you’, there is an immediate afterthought of lingering regret. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mean it as a ‘bad regret’, like when you know the answer to a crucial Physics exam and you decide not to write it on your paper, but then you find out you knew the correct answer all along. What I mean is a ‘good regret’. And yes, there is such a thing as a good regret – that regret where I say (or again, in specificity, write) ‘From me to you: I like you’, and yet there is a ringing outburst of a million other things, outnumbering the number of atoms in your anatomy, things I would endearingly but would shyly say out loud in front of you while you’re by your dorm room door (or in whatever manner, as long as it’s in front of you). Things that would identify themselves along the synonym bag of I like you, but would mean more and more and more.

Because, I do like you more than I could say I do. And so.

weekipedia:

Story of my life.

onwander:

No. 25 / Eric Mortensen

kenkz:

1. precisely who you are
2. exactly what we could be

You don’t have to get a job that makes others feel comfortable about what they perceive as your success. You don’t have to explain what you plan to do with your life. You don’t have to justify your education by demonstrating its financial rewards. You don’t have to maintain an impeccable credit score. Anyone who expects you to do any of those things has no sense of history or economics or science or the arts.

You have to pay your own electric bill. You have to be kind. You have to give it all you got. You have to find people who love you truly and love them back with the same truth.

But that’s all.

“

—	Dear Sugar, The Rumpus (via brklyn)

Tell me that you love me first because I’m afraid that if I tell you first you’ll think that I’m playing the game.

ohhannahbanana:

Here is the lie that I still believe in, even after all this time: that I will never be lovely enough. I don’t even like the word lovely but I still want to be it.

I think a part of me believes that if I actually was, if I embodied the word and everything that it stands for, then I would never get left behind, abandoned or betrayed. Which is stupid. Lovely people are not exempt from pain.

The terrible thing about buying into this particular lie is that everything gets misappropriated and I end up desperately clutching on to the teeny tiny pieces of my tattered self-esteem — an experience that, no matter how you spin it, always sucks.

One funny thing happens, though, whenever the not-lovely lie decides to take my heart hostage – a different voice springs out to rival it, saying: you are, you are, you are.

You are smart. You are capable. You are talented. You are beautiful. You are lovely. You are loved.

I think it’s brave to try to be happy. You’ve gotten so comfortable being unhappy. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to wake up in the morning and choose to be happy, to let the water wash everything away?

“

—	*Pushing Daisies* (via misswallflower)