Why can’t people be really fucking spontaneous more often. Like why don’t people get on buses in the middle of the night to see someone or call them and say what they feel exactly how they feel it. It’s all fucking mundane shit, trying to keep your cool, playing hard to get, hinting and confusing signals ugh I hate it
You will always be too much of something for someone: too big, too loud, too soft, too edgy. If you round out your edges, you lose your edge.
Apologize for mistakes. Apologize for unintentionally hurting someone — profusely. But don’t apologize for being who you are.
Life hack: deal with your emotions by becoming so sleep deprived you no longer have higher order brain functions.
It’s all messy:
Sometimes I remind myself that I almost skipped the party, that I almost went to a different college, that the whim of a minute could have changed everything and everyone. Our lives, so settled, so specific, are built on happenstance.
I remember days when sadness was my morning coffee and your leaving was the drug I held onto and all I had was myself.
Now my days are warm and buzzing and I am running heart-first into the ocean and god, it is so good to wake up.
I remember 4pm’s when the sky was black and white, and I’d close my eyes to the grey space you left on my bed, aching and lonely beside me.
Now my dusks are a blast of frigid air and I am left breathless as I break free from the shadow of your existence and my self-pity will never be anymore and god, it is so good to fall asleep.
I remember nights when we shared silence across the kitchen table, tense and hasty as we avoid exchanging names we once promised never to call the other.
Now my dinner means enjoying wine with a good book, as I wash the taste of loving you with laughter on my tongue.
I remember you coming home at 5am’s and seeing your shoes in our hallway stained from the mud of all the places you went to without me, my fingers greedily calling out to you, even though you weren’t really there.
Now I usually stay outside with friends for some time, nervous the boy with the blond hair will see those ugly green bedsheets if I take him home, and baby I still fucking love you but I no longer miss you.
I remember every little thing and this is both good news and bad news because it is proof that I am human and it is proof that I fuck up and once I thought you were someone I couldn’t live without but now you’re gone and god, it is so damn good to be alive.
She Said, She Said: Chapter I || Sade Andria Zabala & Genefe Navilon
She Said, She Said is an on-going writing collaboration between me and my best friend, Genefe (letters-to-the-sea). She will be writing one part, I will be writing the other. Her piece will focus on fragility, mine on strength.
Please click on the Part 1 link to read her version in order to fully appreciate this piece.(via surfandwrite)
it seems that everyone i’m friends with is better friends with someone else and that really fucking sucks