Things I could never say

[lindsey-e]

One of my philosophy professors lectured wildly about love once, yelling: “When you’re in love with someone, that person is the lighthouse of your universe.” (I scrawled it inside Science and Poetry in pencil—lighthouse of your universe—as if I would ever forget that phrase.) He was a delightful caricature of his position. I could swear he literally tore his hair out while howling at us. He went on, “Nothing means as much without that person.” One of the men in the class repeated, incredulous, half-laughing, “So you’re saying you can’t enjoy, like, a vacation, without someone if you’re really in love with them?” “Of course not.” the professor replied. “Not completely. You recognize beauty, but beauty means less if they don’t witness it with you. Beauty is less. You see something sublime and your first thought is that they should be there with you. It’s not as good without them. They illuminate. They make everything more.”

(via evocativeapodyopsis)

[theliteraryjournals]

I like to see people reunited, maybe that’s a silly thing, but what can I say, I like to see people run to each other, I like the kissing and the crying, I like the impatience, the stories that the mouth can’t tell fast enough, the ears that aren’t big enough, the eyes that can’t take in all of the change, I like the hugging, the bringing together, the end of missing someone.

Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close (via theliteraryjournals)

[wlwwriting]

when I was 17 the first girl I’d ever loved told me if her parents found out about how I looked at her she’d be homeless. 
we cried for 2 days straight, 
and I told about concrete counter tops.
I told her about dark hardwood floors
with at least three knit blankets on every couch.
Our bedroom facing west 
because even though I love the sunrise, 
you look the best in our bed 
covered in nothing 
but the deep purple of sunset.
The library that would smell like our books 
had been there longer than our home had been standing on solid foundation, stone, reliable.
Sweet girl, I know they say not to make homes out of people 
but I don’t want anyone else’s dirty dishes on my counter.
I don’t want to take the trash out for anyone else at 11pm.
You’re the only person I’d race to kill a spider for in the shower.
How could you ever be without a home 
when every time I look at you I’m building ours.

anonymous (via wlwwriting)

[kingwizardandthelizardgizza-blog]

Douglas Adams is the best when it comes to describe characters

[quasarkisses]

they need to teach classes on Douglas Adams analogies okay

“He leant tensely against the corridor wall and frowned like a man trying to unbend a corkscrew by telekinesis.”

“Stones, then rocks, then boulders which pranced past him like clumsy puppies, only much, much bigger, much, much harder and heavier, and almost infinitely more likely to kill you if they fell on you.”

“He gazed keenly into the distance and looked as if he would quite like the wind to blow his hair back dramatically at that point, but the wind was busy fooling around with some leaves a little way off.”

“It looked only partly like a spaceship with guidance fins, rocket engines and escape hatches and so on, and a great deal like a small upended Italian bistro.”

“If it was an emotion, it was a totally emotionless one. It was hatred, implacable hatred. It was cold, not like ice is cold, but like a wall is cold. It was impersonal, not as a randomly flung fist in a crowd is impersonal, but like a computer-issued parking summons is impersonal. And it was deadly - again, not like a bullet or a knife is deadly, but like a brick wall across a motorway is deadly.”

[nudityandnerdery]

And, of course: “The ships hung in the sky in much the same way that bricks don’t.”

[assassinregrets]

the one that will always stay with me is “Arthur Dent was grappling with his consciousness the way one grapples with a lost bar of soap in the bath,” i feel like that was the first time i really understood what you could do with words.

[joanapadj]

oh dear lord. xD

[bonehandledknife]

Douglas Adams is pretty much formative for me and I need to do a reread soon if for nothing else than the whale, the eggs, and the thematic chaos of tea.

[maislavieestsibelle]

“It frightens me that I can’t do anything sensible about it.“ “Are you scared that you’ll wind up with a boring job where you have to see the same people every day and drink instant coffee?” “I’m more scared that I’ll forget the feeling I have now.” “Kind of like how you forgot how it feels to be three years old.” “That surely I’ll wind up thinking I was so young, I didn’t really understand everything. It bothers me that I know I will be wrong.”

Gunnar Ardelius, I Need You More Than I Love You and I Love You to Bits (via maislavieestsibelle)

[trippinoffskooma-deactivated202]

Ocd

The first time I saw her… Everything in my head went quiet. All the tics, all the constantly refreshing images just disappeared. When you have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, you don’t really get quiet moments. Even in bed, I’m thinking: Did I lock the doors? Yes. Did I wash my hands? Yes. Did I lock the doors? Yes. Did I wash my hands? Yes. But when I saw her, the only thing I could think about was the hairpin curve of her lips.. Or the eyelash on her cheek— the eyelash on her cheek— the eyelash on her cheek. I knew I had to talk to her. I asked her out six times in thirty seconds. She said yes after the third one, but none of them felt right, so I had to keep going. On our first date, I spent more time organizing my meal by color than I did eating it, or fucking talking to her… But she loved it. She loved that I had to kiss her goodbye sixteen times or twenty-four times if it was Wednesday. She loved that it took me forever to walk home because there are lots of cracks on our sidewalk. When we moved in together, she said she felt safe, like no one would ever rob us because I definitely locked the door eighteen times. I’d always watch her mouth when she talked— when she talked— when she talked— when she talked when she talked; when she said she loved me, her mouth would curl up at the edges. At night, she’d lay in bed and watch me turn all the lights off.. And on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off. She’d close her eyes and imagine that the days and nights were passing in front of her. Some mornings I’d start kissing her goodbye but she’d just leave cause I was just making her late for work… When I stopped in front of a crack in the sidewalk, she just kept walking… When she said she loved me her mouth was a straight line. She told me that I was taking up too much of her time. Last week she started sleeping at her mother’s place. She told me that she shouldn’t have let me get so attached to her; that this whole thing was a mistake, but… How can it be a mistake that I don’t have to wash my hands after I touched her? Love is not a mistake, and it’s killing me that she can run away from this and I just can’t. I can’t – I can’t go out and find someone new because I always think of her. Usually, when I obsess over things, I see germs sneaking into my skin. I see myself crushed by an endless succession of cars… And she was the first beautiful thing I ever got stuck on. I want to wake up every morning thinking about the way she holds her steering wheel.. How she turns shower knobs like she’s opening a safe. How she blows out candles— blows out candles— blows out candles— blows out candles— blows out candles— blows out… Now, I just think about who else is kissing her. I can’t breathe because he only kisses her once — he doesn’t care if it’s perfect! I want her back so bad… I leave the door unlocked. I leave the lights on.

[emotionsarecrazy]

i want to love you in ways you’ve never felt love before, i want to love you in ways that make you remember how driving fast with upbeat music cause the wind to blow away your hair and feel so fresh on your face, remind you how it feels to read your favorite book or taste your favorite pie for the first time, why woolen socks and tomato plants are essential parts of the list of things that make you happy i want to love you in ways that make you crinkle you nose and squint your eyes and bring out that smile full of joy and mischief in your face, i want to paint your face in laughter lines, be the reason you laugh until you cry i want to tell you stories of how we will go on adventures, hand in hand, and hope you realize why it didn’t work out with everyone else in the first place i want to love you in ways that make you realize this wasn’t just chance it was fate i want to love you for all you are, and the way you make me feel and discover new parts of you for you are a bundle of intrigue

i want to love you by @emotionsarecrazy (via emotionsarecrazy)

[wnq-writers]

I am not quite sure how to tell you that you shine brighter than sunrises over oceans you have stardust at your fingertips, and the earth in the palms your hands, and that your smile, is enough to warm a thousand frozen hearts in the coldest of winters. I am not quite sure how to tell you that your passion makes you beautiful, and your kindness makes you strong and that your ability to see beauty in others is one of the most wonderful, underrated things in the world. And I am not quite sure how to tell you a whole lot of things but most importantly, I am not quite sure how to tell you that you are worth everything.

carlinrose (via wnq-writers)

[featherumbrellas-deactivated201]

[frankietea-deactivated20130520]

the last sentence :(

[syntheseyes]

Everything is perfect until the last sentence…

[featherumbrellas-deactivated201]

I think i’ve got a million comments about the last sentence, but that’s the entire point to the poem. You fall in love with the feeling of being wanted, you fall in love with the places you visit, the routine, and mostly you fall in love with being comfortable. You are there because you want to be able to love that person, but you can’t force yourself, and you won’t. 

[dadsdadsdadsdads]

the last sentence is what makes this so perfect. it’s honest and a twist that you aren’t expecting and I love that in writing.

[kymodoke]

this is actually one of the most beautiful things i have ever read..

[lonelyfortunecookie]

How I always feel about people.

[vogue-angels]

amazing

[purplebuddhaproject]

I’ve learned that no matter what happens, or how bad it seems today, life does go on, and it will be better tomorrow. I’ve learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he/she handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights. I’ve learned that regardless of your relationship with your parents, you’ll miss them when they’re gone from your life. I’ve learned that making a “living” is not the same thing as making a “life.” I’ve learned that life sometimes gives you a second chance. I’ve learned that you shouldn’t go through life with a catcher’s mitt on both hands; you need to be able to throw something back. I’ve learned that whenever I decide something with an open heart, I usually make the right decision. I’ve learned that even when I have pains, I don’t have to be one. I’ve learned that every day you should reach out and touch someone. People love a warm hug, or just a friendly pat on the back. I’ve learned that I still have a lot to learn. I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.

Maya Angelou (via purplebuddhaproject)

[self-seeking]

Wake me up at 3am just to tell me that I’m not close enough. Wake me again at 7am because we need to get ready for the day. Once more at 7:15 because we both know I don’t do mornings. Tell me about the dream you had last night while we have toast and orange juice. I’m tired as hell but I hear and feel every single word that you say. Ask me how I slept because you feel like you’ve been talking for too long. My answer is always the same when you ask, sleeping next to you is heavenly. Apologize for waking me up at 3 while I assure you that it’s okay and that I’m so glad that you did, then rally in your stubborn persistence the notion that it was out of line. Start explaining how wrong it was. You won’t get very far into your rant because I need to kiss you. Not only to stop you from being ridiculous but because I love you so much more than I can express with words. So please, wake me up at 3am so I can pull you closer and kiss you softly. “I love you endlessly” will be my sleepy response each time; as those four words are the only ones that can even come close to explaining my feelings for you.

I love you a lot (via sarahiscray)

[matt-graygubler]

girlfriend wanted must love decorating for holidays mischief kissing in cars and wind chimes no specific height weight hair color or political affiliation required but would prefer a warm spirited non racist cynics critics pessimists and “stick in the muds” need not reply voluptuous figures a plus any similarity in look, mind set, or fashion sense to mary poppins claire huxtable snow white or elvira wholeheartedly welcomed i am dubious of actresses, fellons, and lesbians but dont want to rule them out entirely must be tolerant of whistling tickle torture james taylor and sleeping late i have a slight limp eerily soft hands and a preternatural love of autumn I once misinterpreted being called a coal-eyed dandy as a compliment when it was intended as an insult I wiggle my feet in my sleep am scared of the dark and think the Muppets Christmas Carol is one of the greatest films of all time all i want is butterfly kisses in the morning peanut butter sandwiches shaped like a heart and to make you smile until it hurts

girlfriend wanted by matthew gray gubler (via matt-graygubler)

[extrasad]

If vanilla coffee hits my tongue

I swear to fucking god I’ll throw up

I can’t even smell it without getting

that shaky sick feeling. 

you always wanted to drink it when 

you were sad

I always wanted to drink you

-

I see your mouth

and your teeth

and the way you speak

and I crack

and crack

and break

I used to fall asleep every night

with your mouth pressed against

my skin 

like a tattoo

and you’re gone

jesus fuck

but sometimes I can still

see the outline of your lips

on my shoulders

-

Your fingers used to crawl

up and down my spine

and that was your favorite place

to kiss me

and now it burns all the time

and I can’t get out of bed

without pain 

shooting up my back and

into my chest

-

The tips of your fingers

used to dance against mine.

I got to touch you

with my fingertips

and you got to touch me

with hands that tried to kill

me

when they stopped touching

my waist

and reached for the door

-

Summer sings like my old

air conditioner trying to freeze 

me to death

and we listened to that song all summer

when we turned the AC all the way

up so we could stay wrapped around

each other the whole  season without sweating

or bleeding

but it turns out

cold air

and falling in love

can’t stop the bleeding

and I was lightheaded 

and you fucking loved it

and I fucking loved you

-

Your mother went out of town

so we sat in your basement

sipping raspberry vodka lemonade

through smiling teeth

and I got drunk

and cried about things that 

happened in middle school

and you pretended to understand

and brushed my hair out

of my stinging eyes and sang my 

favorite songs until I laughed.

I haven’t touched a drink since

you left

because everything that used to

make it ache less

tastes like you,

you ruin everything

but thanks I guess,

I was dizzy too much of the 

time anyway

-

We spent two weeks sleeping on

my bedroom floor

because my father told me he

hated me and my mom and slammed the 

door on my hand when he left

and I had two broken fingers

and my bed twisted around me

like nightmares

and goodbyes 

and I kept waking up crying

so you pulled me onto the floor

because it wasn’t stained with 

memories of being able to breathe

without all that fucking pain

and you kissed my forehead

until I fell asleep

and I kissed your cheek

to wake you up

-

I put on peach lipstick because

I liked the way it looked

and you liked the way it tasted

it like candy 

and I kissed every inch of you

and your brother saw you wiping

it off the back of your neck

and he asked you what it was

and you told him

it was love 

[simpliciful]

for Sophie, who is too lovely to be sad

[alonesomes]

My mother tells me that when I meet someone I like, I have to ask them three questions: 1. what are you afraid of? 2. do you like dogs? 3. what do you do when it rains? of those three, she says the first one is the most important. “They gotta be scared of something, baby. Everybody is. If they aren’t afraid of anything, then they don’t believe in anything, either.” I met you on a Sunday, right after church. one look and my heart fell into my stomach like a trap door. on our second date, I asked you what you were afraid of. “spiders, mostly. being alone. little children, like, the ones who just learned how to push a kid over on the playground. oh and space. holy shit, space.” I asked you if you liked dogs. “I have three.” I asked you what you do when it rains. “sleep, mostly. sometimes I sit at the window and watch the rain droplets race. I make a shelter out of plastic in my backyard for all the stray animals; leave them food and a place to sleep.” he smiled like he knew. like his mom told him the same thing. “how about you?” me? I’m scared of everything. of the hole in the o-zone layer, of the lady next door who never smiles at her dog, and especially of all the secrets the government must be breaking it’s back trying to keep from us. I love dogs so much, you have no idea. I sleep when it rains. I want to tell everyone I love them. I want to find every stray animal and bring them home. I want to wake up in your hair and make you shitty coffee and kiss your neck and draw silly stick figures of us. I never want to ask anyone else these questions ever again.

three questions - Caitlyn Siehl (via fearlessknightsandfairytales)

[justsingyourlifeaway]

Yesterday, I spent 60 dollars on groceries, took the bus home, carried both bags with two good arms back to my studio apartment and cooked myself dinner. You and I may have different definitions of a good day. This week, I paid my rent and my credit card bill, worked 60 hours between my two jobs, only saw the sun on my cigarette breaks and slept like a rock. Flossed in the morning, locked my door, and remembered to buy eggs. My mother is proud of me. It is not the kind of pride she brags about at the golf course. She doesn’t combat topics like, ”My daughter got into Yale” with, ”Oh yeah, my daughter remembered to buy eggs” But she is proud. See, she remembers what came before this. The weeks where I forgot how to use my muscles, how I would stay as silent as a thick fog for weeks. She thought each phone call from an unknown number was the notice of my suicide. These were the bad days. My life was a gift that I wanted to return. My head was a house of leaking faucets and burnt-out lightbulbs. Depression, is a good lover. So attentive; has this innate way of making everything about you. And it is easy to forget that your bedroom is not the world, That the dark shadows your pain casts is not mood-lighting. It is easier to stay in this abusive relationship than fix the problems it has created. Today, I slept in until 10, cleaned every dish I own, fought with the bank, took care of paperwork. You and I might have different definitions of adulthood. I don’t work for salary, I didn’t graduate from college, but I don’t speak for others anymore, and I don’t regret anything I can’t genuinely apologize for. And my mother is proud of me. I burned down a house of depression, I painted over murals of greyscale, and it was hard to rewrite my life into one I wanted to live But today, I want to live. I didn’t salivate over sharp knives, or envy the boy who tossed himself off the Brooklyn bridge. I just cleaned my bathroom, did the laundry, called my brother. Told him, “it was a good day.

Kait Rokowski (A Good Day)

this is one of my favorite things in the world

(via breathe-symph0nies)

[yourhandwrittenletter]

I’ve only ever fallen in love twice: with big city and small town.      I met big city at a bar (of course), and he offered to buy me a drink (of course), and then I didn’t see him for three whole months. That’s just how big city works. But when he called, I was young enough to think the nervous pit in my stomach meant something good. Big city was older than me, and richer than me, and had a white collar  job with a personal assistant. He liked to talk about important things like finances and politics and himself. But that was ok because big city was cool. He showed me all about the world, like smoking and fucking and staying out too late. Before I met him, I was small and shy. I had bangs. Big city liked that about me, he said. Liked that I was so much more than I seemed. And then, five weeks later, he told me he loved me, and I believed him.      But big city was also fast and sharp and full of dark alleys where men in trench coats auctioned off black magic. Full of prettier people and power. I was only 19 at the time, just a kid, and big city took everything I had, chewed it up, and spat me back out on the concrete. He smiled with all of his teeth and told me we’d had a fun run. I went to therapy for weeks, and big city was engaged six months later to a woman with a loud mouth and no bangs.      But I’ve fallen in love twice.       And small town came along just like big city, only many years later. He asked for my number at a bar and laughed too loud when I said no. I thought it was because he was cocky, but I found out later that he always laughs too loud when he's nervous. And God was he nervous. But I said no, and he laughed too loud, and then I didn’t see him for three whole months. Until his friend and my friend got engaged and we had to moonwalk down the isle at their wedding. He offered to buy me a drink, and I said yes, but only because it was an open bar. One drink, two drinks, three, four fivesixseveen. We talked about our families, and did the YMCA, and passed out in my hotel room.      And small town held me when I cried and owned a little cafe that did well enough to pay the bills, and small town smiled. He let me tell him about the world. He liked holding hands and Harry Potter. Small town talked dirty and shut down the cafe some days so we could spend all afternoon naked in bed. And we held each other just as tight. Small town met my parents before saying I love you and when he said it, he really meant it. He smelled like warm bread and pine trees, and when small town talked, it was about important things like good books and insecurities and the future.      And here’s the thing, being with him wasn’t anything like being with anyone else. It was like coming home after traveling the world. Knowing all the rooms by heart. Laying in your childhood bed and thinking, this is it, kiddo. You fucking did it. And maybe for you it’s big city or small town or someone else entirely. I think maybe we fall in love everyday, but sometimes it's different. Sometimes it’s everything. Just trust that it’s out there. Please, please. Just wait for your homecoming.

everything I know about love (via yourhandwrittenletter)