The Way The World Works Isn’t Pretty

I know how hard everything gets. If anyone needs to talk just send me a message. Send me prompts :)

[quotemadness]

“I was quiet; but I was not blind.”

— Jane Austen

[booksforthemad]

Girl in Pieces // Kathleen Glasgow

[quotemadness]

“I think I could have loved you better than anyone, and I can’t stop making lists of all the times I almost told you that.”

— Caitlyn Siehl

[quotemadness]

“We didn’t talk about anything heavy or light. We were just there together. And that was enough.”

— Stephen Chbosky

[ninasdrafts]

“He put a cigarette between his teeth, mumbled a quick “sorry” and lit it, his hands shaking slightly. He could never hold still when she was around. “Remember when you told me you’d stop smoking?” she asked, drawing her woolly scarf tighter around herself. Her breath clouded in front of her face just as he blew out the smoke through his nose. She watched him wearily. Of course he remembered. He remembered all of the things he’d said to her, drunk or sober, but this one he remembered the best. Because the night he told her he’d stop smoking was the night he’d wanted to kiss her for the first time. Her hair had smelled like strawberries and her lips had looked so incredibly soft and she’d said “I can’t stand the smell of smoke, you know”. But this time was over, this time of watching and wanting and aching for their hands to brush, for their lips to meet. He could’ve thrown the cigarette away, could’ve swept her into his arms to keep her warm but he’d ruined it. He hadn’t changed, he never would, and she was too good for him. Too damn good for him. He hoped she knew. So he kept his cigarette in his mouth as he said, “I don’t remember.””

— excerpt n.j.

[borderlinepdfeels]

[quotemadness]

“It’s painful to have her around, but it’s even more painful to be away from her.”

— Kijeok

[quotemadness]

“Do you think the universe fights for souls to be together? Some things are too strange and strong to be coincidences.”

— Emery Allen

[quotemadness]

“This is what I like about photographs. They’re proof that once, even if just for a heartbeat, everything was perfect.”

— Jodi Picoult

[betterinblacksince1234]

But ultimately, we do care about him. If he showed up dead in a ditch- I'd go to his funeral, I'd even bring flowers. We're sorry everything blew up like this- it wasn't fair to anyone involved. The timing and situation wasn't ideal. If he does ever need something- we're here. (although, only say that last part if he shows some remorse). Can't be promising help to psychopaths. Although, if he shows up dead in a ditch because you killed him. I'm on your side.

K.J.P

[quotemadness]

That’s what careless words do. They make people love you a little less

Arundhati Roy (via quotemadness)

[quotemadness]

Sometimes a perfect memory can be ruined if put to words.

Nova Ren Suma (via quotemadness)

[quotemadness]

I’m not totally mad at you. I’m just sad. You’re all locked up in that little world of yours, and when I try knocking on the door, you just sort of look up for a second and go right back inside.

Haruki Murakami (via quotemadness)

[unspokengrief]

I am the bathroom tap that never stops dripping. I am my mother crying in the bathroom. I cross my legs and smile at my doctor. He doesn’t smile back. He asks why I took all those pills. I am the bathroom tap that never stops dripping. I am nothing but the sound of birds rustling in autumn leaves. I am not my father. Anything but my father. He is the crunch of autumn leaves. The garbage disposal. My mother is the woman drowning in the bathtub and I am the bathroom tap that never stops dripping. I am her shrieks. I wear pink blush and smile at my doctor. I took those pills because I am the bathroom tap that never stops dripping. My mother is drowning. My father is destructing and I can’t stop dripping. Can’t you see, my mothers shrieks is my grief. My mother stands outside the hospital room crying. I’m wearing a hospital gown and I watch my father scrunch up his fists. I am not my fathers anger. But I understand it. I am the bathroom tap that never stops dripping. In the same bathroom my mother cries in. In the same bathroom I tried to die in. I am the bathroom tap that never stops dripping.

— Hannah Green, from “A Conversation With My Doctor.” ©

[ninasdrafts]

“I say I’m over it but when I close my eyes at night, it’s still your face I see. And I’d tell you I was sorry if it helped, if I was sure it was what you wanted to hear. The days we haven’t talked stretch like an abyss between us, each one tearing us further apart. Most of my anger has evaporated but I’m afraid the sadness lingers. It clings to the tips of my fingers, staining everything I touch. My cup of luke-warm tea, the letter I wrote you, his hands. Ever since I’ve noticed the waves of missing you kicking back in, I’ve been finding them all over the house - fragments of you. Your cautious smile in a photograph, slowly fading like we are. Your neat handwriting in an old journal, swearing you’d be here forever - and you were, right until the day you weren’t. And I hope you find someone who is to you what you were to me. Because I don’t want you to be lonely. I don’t want you to be sad. I just want you to miss me. Only a little. Not in a way that hurts you. Just in a way that reminds you that things have changed. Because I’m still a little mad, but I’m not cruel. Because you hurt me, but I hurt you too. And I won’t ask you to come back, because it’s not fair. You messed up, but so did I, and we can’t go back to what we once were. I just hope you know I’m here. I’m still here, no matter if you need me in a month, or in twelve years or if you don’t need me at all.”

— I’m here if you need me / n.j.

[ninasdrafts]

“I think love leaves when it has to. It rushes out with the stale air when you open the window in an overheated room. It fades when you wipe the fingerprints off the counter and change the sheets. It slowly vanishes when the last letter has been written, when the last text has been sent. I guess there comes a time when it doesn’t work out anymore, for whatever reason, but I force myself to believe that it’s supposed to happen that way. That when it ends, it was fated to. I hope you left because you were meant to. That love walked out the door before you did, and that without it, you no longer saw a point in staying. That would make it easier to understand. Easier to justify. It doesn’t change anything to believe that it was neither your fault, nor mine, but it helps a little bit. So when love wants to leave, you have to hold the door open for it and bid it goodbye. And you have to let it go.”

— love leaves when it has to / n.j.

[theoradicals]

The individual accountable for my isolation is me.

I dismantle relationship after relationship. The insecurity curated from my own volitional solitude is toppling me. Drained and no longer able to overlook the oppressive aching of each breath, I fear I have lost the capacity to persevere. All I can do is persist in stagnation and allow the vacancy of my mind disfigure what fragment of me, if any, remains.

I am in agony.