Polaris, Martin Wong, 1987
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@room68b
Polaris, Martin Wong, 1987
my blog’s theme is me. a compilation of every single thing i love. every interest. every musing. and everything in between.
Somehow it feels like tumblr is accidentally the perfect social media site, because none of the things that I love about it make sense as features the way we use them. Tags are for organization, but we also use them to have our little thoughts in without raising them to the status of main text. The queue makes sense for keeping a steady stream of Content going if you're trying to Build a Social Media Presence, but really we use it just to bank posts we want to reblog without flooding everyone else's dash. You can't see how many followers anyone else has, which I just have to assume was an oversight because it flies in the face of everything about social media, and it's great because you can never quantify anyone's Influence so everyone's essentially on the same level. There's no way they planned for giffing to become such a Thing, because before tumblr, gifs were practically relics of the early internet days, a novelty, usually kind of tacky, and now they've become a sort of folk art form. You can reblog an entire conversation, not just a single post, so there's a whole genre of humor that exists here that can't really propagate like that on any other social platform. Honestly this website is just a little freak of nature that cannot possibly have been intended, and that's why no media company has been able to figure out what to do with it, because it makes no sense within the larger social media ecosystem. I love it.
(source: me)
when i was a kid i was thrown in various situations where no one told me what to do and expected me to instinctively know, like ordering food, talking to older relatives, things like that and i was always petrified with anxiety, until i learned not only to observe people but also to ask what should i say and it would really have helped if someone had told me "when you order food you say 'hi! good afternoon, I would like this this and that!' wait for the other person to confirm, say 'thank you' and they will probably ask you how you're going to pay for it, and you say 'credit card'"
I didn't stay because of sex.
Our first time was, well, quite terrible actually, neither of us came, he was too drunk and I was... I don’t know.
But he held me very tightly that night. He also wasn’t mad about the incessant allergic coughing and he made me tea in the morning but he had no sugar.
Our second date I was on my period, it wasn’t good for me but he let me lay on his chest afterward, and it felt nice.
We had pizza and watched Peep Show.
He was 30, I was 19. It was all about the glory; but I woke up every half an hour that night to kiss the back of his neck.
He made me tea the next morning. He had bought sugar, just for me, he and Jez didn’t use it very often.
Then it was the one I had pink panties on. This one made it about sex.
It was amazing. Downright glorious.
Then that time in a hotel in Covent Garden. I had a choice right in front of me; I couldn’t sleep.
I wrapped my arms a little tighter around him. I stared at the ceiling and ran my right hand through his hair. I’ll be honest, I didn’t know what to do, but I remember I was crossing the street when I thought about it for real.
I still didn’t know what to do by the time of our next date.
I just know that at some point during that weekend I fell in love.
It wasn’t about sex.
It was about laughter, about the snippets of conversation that caught my attention.
It was about what I saw in his eyes when he looked at me and how it was so hard to sleep without him.
About feeling like I could close bullet wounds with kisses; at least on his skin.
He told me everything I wanted to hear then, it made me cry and he kissed my tears away, he kissed my eyelids and both my cheeks and held me tightly.
He ruined me in every way possible. And it was glorious.
I don’t want to doubt God’s kindness, but I sincerely fear I’ll never feel something that compares to this again. I wish God would give us a second chance, but his kindness and will only go so far; for who am I if not some stupid child asking for stupid things.
God, I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t, but I still love him.
The day you spend six months trying to have one peaceful night of sleep, when you spend six months mourning someone who isn't dead. When you wake up at six in the morning every single day for months, feeling like there's a black hole in your chest, instead of your heart. Then you might start to understand the feeling of being so happy you could die, and living to tell the tale of how you should have.
have you ever had everything you’ve ever wished for?
I woke up this morning and my lips missed that spot right behind your ear. They missed the skin of your shoulders as well, and my hands… my hands missed the softness of your wavy hair. But in the end, I think I miss your melancholic cinnamon colored eyes the most.
i should have known right then and there
I walk around everyday, with a knot in my throat that has your name written on it. I walk around the streets we both know too well, ready to shout out everything I regret not telling you.
your presence in this city haunts me day and night
why did you never answer my letters?
There was this guy I was going out with, we were at a bar. He told me 'You should keep a notebook, next to your bed; write out your dreams as soon as you wake up, so you'll remember them'
didn’t he realize
there are dreams so good
you wish you could forget?
“All your life, you have been the first in everything you do. The first to say goodbye. The first to let go. The first to leave. The first to break your own heart before anyone else does. In their eyes, you are nothing but a selfish, heartless being. In my eyes, you are just a terrified, lonely child with so much to bear.”
— Lukas W. // Lonely child (via somepiecesofmyheartandsoul)
“One day, she’s going to know. She’ll know your birthday, your middle name, where you were born, your star sign, and your parents names. She’ll know how old you were when you learnt to ride a bike, how your grandparents passed away, how many pets you had, and how much you hated going to school. She’ll know your eye colour, your scars, your freckles, your laugh lines and your birth marks. She’ll know your favourite book, movie, candy, food, pair of shoes, colour, and song. She’s going to know why you’re awake at 5am most nights, where you were when you realised you’d lost a good friend, why you picked up the razor and how you managed to put it down before things went too far. She’s going to know your phobias, your dreams, your fears, your wishes, and your worries. She’s going to know about your first heartbreak, your dream wedding, and your problems with your parents. She’ll know your strengths, weaknesses, laziness, energy, and your mixed emotions. She’s going to know about your love for mayonnaise, your dream of being famous when you were five, your need to quote any film you know all the way through, and your fear of growing older. She’ll know your bad habits, your mannerisms, your stroppy pout, your facial expressions, and your laugh like it’s her favourite song. The way you chew, drink, walk, sleep, fidget and kiss. She’s going to know that you’ve already picked out wedding flowers, baby names, tiles for the bathroom, bridesmaid dresses, and the colour of your bedroom walls. She’s going to know, get annoyed at and then accept that you leave clothes everywhere, take twenty minutes to order a Starbucks, have to organise your DVD’s alphabetically, and check your horoscope… just incase. She’ll know your McDonald’s order, how many sugars to put in your tea, how many scoops of ice cream you want, and that you need your sandwiches cut into triangles. She’s going to know how you feel without you telling her, that you need a wee from a look on your face, and that you’re crying without shedding tears. She’s going to know all of it. Everything. You, from top to bottom and inside out. From learning, from sharing, from listening, from watching. She’s going to know every single thing there is to know, and you know what else? She is still going to love you.”
— Unknown (via abbiehorton7)
Love is when the other person’s happiness is more important than your own.
H. Jackson Brown, Jr. (via quotethatword)
i never tasted this on my own lips before today only on yours and now it hurts like hell
like you are the tastiest thing on earth and they will never have the chance to have you again
“I don’t care if I fall for the devil, as long as he loves me the way he loves hell.”
— poems-she-wrote (via wnq-writers)