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@sunshinelollys
There’s this song called 27 by Passenger. To quote the lines that have influenced this write up – Twenty seven years, twenty seven years done Written six hundred songs, only twelve get sung Eighty …
Just a little New Year something!
Happy Never Afters
“With her head on his chest and his arm wrapped around her, she knew he would protect her, love her. She knew she found her happy ending.” Okay, stop. Let’s zoom into the situation for a minute. This moment right now, maybe a happy moment but is it the happy ending? And if it is, what happens after it? Here’s the reality check, its not even the ending yet! You’re a complete normal person if you think you’ve found your happy ending but have not lived happily ever after.
Believing and hoping for true love isn’t a bad thing but be sure you’re doing it right. Stop dreaming of your prince charming riding in on a chariot and fighting the dragon to swipe you off your feet or waking up with that one magical kiss. Its the 21st century honey, its time to upgrade your love story. But not to the extent where you think your someone special is every guy you bump into in a coffee shop. No matter how many wished you make on a shooting star, how many coins you toss in the well, you’re goin to find true love only when you’re destined to, only when you’re not looking.
So erase all the unwanted drama and put a smile on that face, not for that someone special but for yourself, not to be in love but to fall in love. But make sure, to hold on to it as tightly as you can, as soon as you find it because even if its not the most perfect love story, it atleast puts a smile on your face and makes you happy, even if it is for that tiny moment. So enjoy it and never regret it and everytime you think you’ve found your happy ending, don’t say it out loud for life can surprise you, instead close your eyes, smile and say thank you! So wait patiently and not eagerly for your happy ending and if you can’t then ill give you a sneak peak, ITS GOING TO BE OKAY. (:
Love Bug (:
Do a few songs suddenly sound nicer and make you want to twirl and swirl? Do some of your smiles really have that long lasting genuine thing going on? Do some of your thoughts revolve around someone in particular? Does your heart feel tingly when you talk to that someone? You, my friend may be bit by the love bug, hit by the cupid or cursed by the devil. We all would like our lives to be as perfect as those in the movies, or to a certain extent fairy tales but honey, its time to upgrade your love story. Love? In todays world everybody is in love. You may not know who you’re in love with but you sure as hell are in love, otherwise you wouldn’t be reading this. Come on, face it. Its the truth ;)
The thing about love is its great and stuff but it can also be quite disheartening. Its always harder to nurse your heart after a great fall. But do we truly realize whether or not we’re in love? These days the phrase ‘I Love You’ is used or as I would like to put it, consumed, just like pancakes with maple syrup on a relaxed Sunday morning, eggs and toast on a working Monday, cereal on a tired Tuesday, coffee and bread on a hectic wednesday, sausages and salamis on a synchronized Thursday, omelete and milkshakes on a thank-god-its-Friday and bacon and ham on a relieved Saturday. But by the time its Sunday again you start the whole routine all over again till it becomes a drag and the feeling of spontaneity towards your lover when you really mean it the most ends up missing for there is a lot of difference between 'love’ and 'like.’ So my love struck reader when you really twirl on swirl over a song, smile a Mona Lisa smile, think of some love-ly thoughts and make your heart pop, don’t confirm your feelings as love on the first go for it may just be infatuation. Instead give the feeling some time to settle as a feeling such as love is better to be a sure shot one cause that’s what makes it different from infatuation. Preserve those feelings like sardines in cans and make sure they aren’t perishable cause that’s why you dig em’!
I want you to tell me about every person you’ve ever been in love with. Tell me why you loved them, then tell me why they loved you. Tell me about a day in your life you didn’t think you’d live through. Tell me what the word home means to you and tell me in a way that I’ll know your mother’s name just by the way you describe your bedroom when you were eight. See, I want to know the first time you felt the weight of hate, and if that day still trembles beneath your bones. Do you prefer to play in puddles of rain or bounce in the bellies of snow? And if you were to build a snowman, would you rip two branches from a tree to build your snowman arms or would leave your snowman armless for the sake of being harmless to the tree? And if you would, would you notice how that tree weeps for you because your snowman has no arms to hug you every time you kiss him on the cheek? Do you kiss your friends on the cheek? Do you sleep beside them when they’re sad even if it makes your lover mad? Do you think that anger is a sincere emotion or just the timid motion of a fragile heart trying to beat away its pain? See, I wanna know what you think of your first name, and if you often lie awake at night and imagine your mother’s joy when she spoke it for the very first time. I want you to tell me all the ways you’ve been unkind. Tell me all the ways you’ve been cruel. Tell me, knowing I often picture Gandhi at ten years old beating up little boys at school. If you were walking by a chemical plant where smokestacks were filling the sky with dark black clouds would you holler “Poison! Poison! Poison!” really loud or would you whisper “That cloud looks like a fish, and that cloud looks like a fairy!” Do you believe that Mary was really a virgin? Do you believe that Moses really parted the sea? And if you don’t believe in miracles, tell me — how would you explain the miracle of my life to me? See, I wanna know if you believe in any god or if you believe in many gods or better yet what gods believe in you. And for all the times that you’ve knelt before the temple of yourself, have the prayers you asked come true? And if they didn’t, did you feel denied? And if you felt denied, denied by who? I wanna know what you see when you look in the mirror on a day you’re feeling good. I wanna know what you see when you look in the mirror on a day you’re feeling bad. I wanna know the first person who taught you your beauty could ever be reflected on a lousy piece of glass. If you ever reach enlightenment will you remember how to laugh? Have you ever been a song? Would you think less of me if I told you I’ve lived my entire life a little off-key? And I’m not nearly as smart as my poetry I just plagiarize the thoughts of the people around me who have learned the wisdom of silence. Do you believe that concrete perpetuates violence? And if you do — I want you to tell me of a meadow where my skateboard will soar. See, I wanna know more than what you do for a living. I wanna know how much of your life you spend just giving, and if you love yourself enough to also receive sometimes. I wanna know if you bleed sometimes from other people’s wounds, and if you dream sometimes that this life is just a balloon — that if you wanted to, you could pop, but you never would ‘cause you’d never want it to stop. If a tree fell in the forest and you were the only one there to hear — if its fall to the ground didn’t make a sound, would you panic in fear that you didn’t exist, or would you bask in the bliss of your nothingness? And lastly, let me ask you this: If you and I went for a walk and the entire walk, we didn’t talk — do you think eventually, we’d… kiss? No, wait. That’s asking too much — after all, this is only our first date.
Andrea Gibson (via audacious-squirrel-fetish)
Date a girl who writes.
Date a girl who may never wear completely clean clothes, because of coffee stains and ink spills. She’ll have many problems with her closet space, and her laptop is never boring because there are so many words, so many worlds that she’s cluttered amidst the space. Tabs open filled with obscure and popular music. Interesting factoids about Catherine the Great, and the immortality of jellyfish. Laugh it off when she tells you that she forgot to clean her room, that her clothes are lost among the binders so it’ll take her longer to get ready, that her shoes hidden under the mountain of broken Bic pens and the refurbished laptop that she’s saved for ever since she was twelve.
Kiss her under the lamppost, when it’s raining. Tell her your definition of love.
Find a girl who writes. You’ll know that she has a sense of humor, a sense of empathy and kindness, and that she will dream up worlds, universes for you. She’s the one with the faintest of shadows underneath her eyelids, the one who smells of coffee and Coca-cola and jasmine green tea. You see that girl hunched over a notebook. That’s the writer. With her fingers occasionally smudged with charcoal, with ink that will travel onto your hands when you interlock your fingers with her’s. She will never stop, churning out adventures, of traitors and heroes. Darkness and light. Fear and love. That’s the writer. She can never resist filling a blank page with words, whatever the color of the page is.
She’s the girl reading while waiting for her coffee and tea. She’s the quiet girl with her music turned up loud (or impossibly quiet), separating the two of you by an ocean of crescendos and decrescendos as she’s thinking of the perfect words. If you take a peek at her cup, the tea or coffee’s already cold. She’s already forgotten it.
Use a pick-up line with her if she doesn’t look to busy.
If she raises her head, offer to buy her another cup of coffee. Or of tea. She’ll repay you with stories. If she closes her laptop, give her your critique of Tolstoy, and your best theories of Hannibal and the Crossing. Tell her your characters, your dreams, and ask if she gotten through her first novel.
It is hard to date a girl who writes. But be patient with her. Give her books for her birthday, pretty notebooks for Christmas and for anniversaries, moleskins and bookmarks and many, many books. Give her the gift of words, for writers are talkative people, and they are verbose in their thanks. Let her know that you’re behind her every step of the way, for the lines between fiction and reality are fluid.
She’ll give you a chance.
Don’t lie to her. She’ll understand the syntax behind your words. She’ll be disappointed by your lies, but a girl who writes will understand. She’ll understand that sometimes even the greatest heroes fail, and that happy endings take time, both in fiction and reality. She’s realistic. A girl who writes isn’t impatient; she will understand your flaws. She will cherish them, because a girl who writes will understand plot. She’ll understand that endings happen for better or for worst.
A girl who writes will not expect perfection from you. Her narratives are rich, her characters are multifaceted because of interesting flaws. She’ll understand that a good book does not have perfect characters; villains and tragic flaws are the salt of books. She’ll understand trouble, because it spices up her story. No author wants an invincible hero; the girl who writes will understand that you are only human.
Be her compatriot, be her darling, her love, her dream, her world.
If you find a girl who writes, keep her close. If you find her at two AM, typing furiously, the neon gaze of the light illuminating her furrowed forehead, place a blanket gently on her so that she does not catch a chill. Make her a pot of tea, and sit with her. You may lose her to her world for a few moments, but she will come back to you, brimming with treasure. You will believe in her every single time, the two of you illuminated only by the computer screen, but invincible in the darkness.
She is your Shahrazad. When you are afraid of the dark, she will guide you, her words turning into lanterns, turning into lights and stars and candles that will guide you through your darkest times. She’ll be the one to save you.
She’ll whisk you away on a hot air balloon, and you will be smitten with her. She’s mischievous, frisky, yet she’s quiet and when she has to kill off a lovely character, when she cries, hold her and tell her that it will be alright.
You will propose to her. Maybe on a boat in the ocean, maybe in a little cottage in the Appalachian Mountains. Maybe in New York City. Maybe Chicago. Baltimore. Maybe outside her publisher’s office. Because she’s radiant, wherever she goes. Maybe even outside of a cinema where the two of you kiss in the rain. She’ll say that it is overused and clichéd, but the glint in her eyes will tell you that she appreciates it all the same.
You will smile hard as she talks a mile a second, and your heart will skip a beat when she holds your hand and she will write stories of your lives together. She’ll hold you close and whisper secrets into your ears. She’s lovely, remember that. She’s self made and she’s brilliant. Her names for the children might be terrible, but you’ll be okay with that. A girl who writes will tell your children fantastical stories.
Because that is the best part about a girl who writes. She has imagination and she has courage, and it will be enough. She’ll save you in the oceans of her dreams, and she’ll be your catharsis and your 11:11. She’ll be your firebird and she’ll be your knight, and she’ll become your world, in the curve of her smile, in the hazel of her eye the half-dimple on her face, the words that are pouring out of her, a torrent, a wave, a crescendo - so many sensations that you will be left breathless by a girl who writes.
Maybe she’s not the best at grammar, but that is okay.
Date a girl who writes because you deserve it. She’s witty, she’s empathetic, enigmatic at times and she’s lovely. She’s got the most colorful life. She may be living in NYC or she may be living in a small cottage. Date a girl who writes because a girl who writes reads.
A girl who writes will understand reality. She’ll be infuriating at times, and maybe sometimes you will hate her. Sometimes she will hate you too. But a girl who writes understands human nature, and she will understand that you are weak. She will not leave on the Midnight Train the first moment that things go sour. She will understand that real life isn’t like a story, because while she works in stories, she lives in reality.
Date a girl who writes.
Because there is nothing better than a girl who writes.
i think i just teared up a little aw this is cute
well this is beautiful
Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?
Mary Oliver,New and Selected Poems (via thehouseofhippies)
Have a Coke and a smile: a rambling finale leads to either TV’s saddest happy ending or its happiest sad ending.
(by booksofadam)
*cue intense childhood flashback*
The Last Days of Mad Men
TIME goes on set with the series that reanimated the ‘60s––and our obsession with modernist style.
SPOILERS AHEAD FOR ALL OF MAD MEN THROUGH THE FINALE
I dissected Don Draper’s storyline in the finale here, and I decided to do the same thing for the other main characters we came to know and love.
Betty —
A lot of people seem angry at Matthew Weiner for what he did to Betty, giving...
imreallyloveleee:
One of the things that really bothered me that would pop up in the Hunger Games fandom from time to time was people complaining that they wished Katniss had ended up alone at the end, because…I don’t really know why. Because they wanted her to end up even more miserable? It’s really...
There was a little bit of a crumb dropped earlier in the season when Ted says there are three women in every man’s life, and Don says, “You’ve been sitting on that for a while, huh?” There are, not coincidentally, three person to person phone calls that Don makes in this episode, to three women who are important to him for different reasons. You see the slow degeneration of his relationships with those women over the course of those phone calls … There’s people saying, oh, it’s so pat, and it’s rom-com-y, or whatever it is. But it’s not the end of anything. The world doesn’t blow up right after the Coke commercial ends. No one is suggesting that Stan and Peggy live happily ever after, or that Joan’s business is a rousing success, or that Roger and Marie come back from Paris together. None of it is done. Matt had said at one point, “I just want my characters to be a little more happy than they were in the beginning,” and I think that’s pretty much true. But these aren’t the last moments of any of these characters’ lives, including Betty. She doesn’t have much time left, but damn if she’s not going to spend it the way she wants to spend it.
Jon Hamm to the New York Times on Mad Men Series Finale
The most perfect end to the most perfecct show.
I think relationships in general are over romanticized like at the end of the day I’m pretty sure a good relationship is just two people who know how to hang out and talk to each other not whether or not they can right all your wrongs or paint a picture of a thousand suns with the breath from your lungs or some shit
THANK YOU
I don’t have time for this little game you play of “I’ll hide my emotions and true feelings from you so I don’t look desperate or thirsty, so I won’t catch feelings or get hurt, so I can still walk out of this without you knowing how much I really actually cared and liked you”. These little games are childish, draining, and just highlights your insecurities, can we please skip the bullshit and be real with each other? Please.
