k

[quotemadness]

“I am a series of small victories and large defeats and I am as amazed as any other that I have gotten from there to here.”

— Charles Bukowski 

[quotemadness]

“I considered suicide, but I felt a strange fondness for my body, my life. Scarred as they were, they were mine.”

— Charles Bukowski

[quotemadness]

“Human relationships are strange. I mean, you are with one person a while, eating and sleeping and living with them, loving them, talking to them, going places together, and then it stops.”

— Charles Bukowski

[quotemadness]

“I’ve had so many knives stuck into me, when they hand me a flower I can’t quite make out what it is. It takes time.”

— Charles Bukowski

[quotemadness]

“I want to be with you, it is as simple, and as complicated as that.”

— Charles Bukowski

[goddaughters]

I tried. At least I can confidently say that I did. I tried my darn hardest.

[goddaughters]

A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.

- Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own

[goddaughters]

“At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet.”

— Plato

[goddaughters]

“You can love somebody without it being like that. You keep them a stranger, a stranger who’s a friend.”

- Truman Capote, Breakfast at Tiffany’s

[junkfoodcinemas]

The Fugitive (1993) dir. Andrew Davis

[goddaughters]

A while back an “almost lover” told me that if I was able to be “myself” I would realise that people would love me for who I am.

And there was a time a little less back that I believed it. That despite all the ugliness, and all the unfortunate cards that life had played me - someone did. That person saw every single fucking part of me and that person still held the hand that presented him with it. I thought we were all in.

It was during that time that I felt finally felt safe, that someone could love me for my entirety and that this almost lover was kind of right in this sense - I was always just too blinded by my own lies to realise that.

But the thing is that he was almost right - because he was an almost lover and he almost knew me. I was a just a little too stupid to believe what someone who didn’t know me thought about me.

Because I’ve known this person every second of her life, and I have found nothing to love of her. I used to be able to laugh with her - how things so quaintly intersected comedy and tragedy, how so much of life imitated satire.

But when does it end? How much smoke and absurdism can support a reality built on heartache.

I can’t keep telling this person to laugh it off. That person is very much living and breathing and typing this. And that person is so fucking tired. How can she expect anyone to ever want to support her with her problems. Problems that even she runs away from.

And I realised how unfair it is, to expect someone to love this person enough for the both of us.

[thelovejournals]

“The very first moment I beheld him, my heart was irrevocably gone.”

— Jane Austen, Love and Friendship

[goddaughters]

I find myself revisiting thoughts of you too much. I should be happy that you’re happy. I must be. But what is this unyielding pressure I am feeling - this persistent nagging pain.

[goddaughters]

Not that it matters anymore. But happy birthday, for the fourth time.

[goddaughters]

“There must be quite a few things a hot bath won't cure, but I don't know many of them.”

Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

[goddaughters]

A couple of weeks ago, I finally deleted all the photos of you that I could find.

[goddaughters]

I do sometimes wonder if it is a blessing that majority of my memories from years 2014-2017 have been wiped out by a persistent pill addiction.

[goddaughters]

“You’re wrong. She is a phony. But on the other hand you’re right. She isn’t a phony because she’s a real phony. She believes all this crap she believes. You can’t talk her out of it.”

Truman Capote, Breakfast at Tiffany's and Three Stories