Pathetic Fallacy

//She made herself stronger by fighting with the wind//Frances Hodgson Burnett//The Secret Garden//

[p-atheticfallacy]

Somewhere Only We Know

You weren’t and then you were. One second I was asking for the time and the next thing I knew we were walking; 2 am, drunk and laughing, “I love romcoms,” you said in that still voice of yours, and I laughed carrying the bottled water I had just bought, “You have the whitest name I’ve ever heard” “I know. Like a golfer.”, “Exactly like a golfer!”, “There’s an actual golfer with my name”. Everything was quiet, my ears were still buzzing from the music and my lips tingled from where you kissed me. I never held your hand because I felt that it would show you that I liked you, and I did. Oh I really did. But I also knew that even if you didn’t feel the same, then I still wanted to make sure that I could be your friend. Then salt and vinegar chips and a cigarette, and you kept talking and I kept laughing. Young and stupid, into the night we went. I knew then. Under the stars and the oak trees, in the cool air, shoes crunching on the tar, as the evening blended into the morning, I knew then. I knew that I wanted to spend a very, very long time walking right beside you. 

[p-atheticfallacy]

Different shades of love.

There are small loves, adolescent infatuations; stolen first kisses, cards on Valentine ’s Day, summer memories of sunburned skin and salted lips and lazy walks to nowhere in particular as long as they’re long and winding. There are learning loves, unrequited and stinging, loves that bruise tender places and teach us all the secret ways of longing. There is the first great love; the almighty knowing, names written in textbooks, longing for lunchtime, kisses in the park, holding hands in the movies, big decisions made by young bodies, learning and unlearning, knowing and not knowing, writing initials on structures that will endure centuries, sharing sandwiches and vibrating with happiness, the first great love, the love with a capital l, and then the long goodbye, heartbreak that changes the way our hearts work. There are could have been loves; not the right time loves, not the right place loves, if only loves. Loves that sometimes sneak into our thoughts and leave us with smiles, loves that wish the best for one another. There are toxic loves; loves that no one admits, loves that we think far more important than they are, loves that serve to teach us of the darkest parts of ourselves, illuminate the places where we are rotting and crumbling. We imagine that these loves are the hardest to let go, and yet once we do it seems like the most natural and easy thing in the world. Then there is the last love; the love that fits, the love that falls into place as if it has been waiting for decades to spring into existence, love that is and isn’t all at once, love that comes with growing, love that shifts the foundation of worlds. It’s the love that makes plans for eternity; dreaming of building homes and futures, making dinner and buying groceries, writing both names on gift cards, ‘who to call in emergency’ loves. Love that sneaks up and feels like destiny. Love that makes you laugh until you cry, love that isn’t just about you; love that imprints their smile on your heart, love that shows you what vulnerability is, love that you carry around your shoulders like your favorite winter coat. When that love arrives you finally know what you have been waiting your entire life for. Love that lends understanding to all the other loves; love that eclipses a lifetime of loves.The last love.

[stylishblogger]

[dribbblepopular]

[bauzaun]

[s-dav]

[assume]

[tamper]

[marcioserpa]

[booksquoteslove]

Another friend tells you you have to learn not to absorb the world. She says sometimes she can hear her own voice saying silently to whomever—you are saying this thing and I am not going to accept it. Your friend refuses to carry what doesn’t belong to her.

Claudia Rankine, Citizen: An American Lyric (via booksquoteslove)

[luvisr4ge]

[wordsnquotes]

…One day—preferably when we’re both blind drunk—we can talk about it.

J.D. Salinger,  Franny and Zooey (via wordsnquotes)

[robb3rs]

[attaches]

[longgroan]

[studdedheartsblog]

[awanderingbrunette]