I wish I were talented with photography. I want to take pictures of the love of my life, to show her how beautiful she is. I want her to see how I see her. I wish I could give her my heart and soul and let her read all of it. My words are only words and my actions are only actions, but if she could feel the burrow she’s made within my broken self, she could see that she’s really the glue that holds it all together. I want her to see this in pictures. That she is every beautiful thing this world could offer me.
There was a time when the world didn’t scare me so much. The tallest buildings looked like jungle gyms and swing sets were wings and weightlessness. It feels like a spider crawling through your heart, devouring your memories, capturing your happiness into a web of regrets and resentment. this is growing older.
This is the scariest text post I’ve ever read (via 6bitch6craft6)
We dreamed of starships and damsels in distress and grew into our unfortunate bodies, forgetting. We saw the cracks that we use to step over, so that we wouldn’t injure our mother’s spines, and we laughed at our former selves, mocking our own naiveté. We crushed ourselves under the weight of education and choked ourselves on neckties. We stopped reading picture books and started reading self-help books, like we needed someone who was just as fucked up as us to tell us precisely in which ways we were fucked up. We went through a quarter-life crisis where we realized what a drastic mistake growing up seemed to be. We were not done living but being alive seemed so yesterday, all there was was the manipulation of our bodies in order to appear stimulated by the world around us. There are no bright colors. We are Grey.
Sometimes I stay up til 6 in the morning. Sometimes I do this because I’m crying. Sometimes I do that because I’m really fucking sad. Sometimes I’m really fucking sad for absolutely no discernible reason and that makes me even sadder and so it turns into Hurricane Katrina on my shitty face and I lose myself into another sip of my watered down whiskey and coke that has been next to my bed for the past 2 hours. I do this because it seems like there is nothing better to do. I guess I’m just bored with my absolutely average life. If you took the greatest life of all time, then the shittiest, and found the mean of these two lives, I would God’s honest be in the dead center.