Now go and live, there is so much to be happy about.
"Things I tell myself when I feel as though the world is too big for me"
I love being horribly straightforward. I love sending reckless text messages (because how reckless can a form of digitized communication be?) and telling people I love them and telling people they are absolutely magical humans and I cannot believe they really exist. I love saying, “Kiss me harder,” and “You’re a good person,” and, “You brighten my day.” I live my life as straight-forward as possible.
Because one day, I might get hit by a bus.
Maybe it’s weird. Maybe it’s scary. Maybe it seems downright impossible to just be—to just let people know you want them, need them, feel like, in this very moment, you will die if you do not see them, hold them, touch them in some way whether its your feet on their thighs on the couch or your tongue in their mouth or your heart in their hands.
But there is nothing more beautiful than being desperate.
And there is nothing more risky than pretending not to care.
We are young and we are human and we are beautiful and we are not as in control as we think we are. We never know who needs us back. We never know the magic that can arise between ourselves and other humans.
We never know when the bus is coming.
Rachel C. Lewis
I don’t want things between us to end ugly, not after the eight years of something we’d shared, so I agree to meet him for coffee after a very very long time.
We meet at Harry’s and he smirks at my skull pullover and rolled up jeans and elfy shoes and purple glasses and crazy hair.
‘Do you do this on purpose?’
‘Look so damn young and adorable.’
I feel my face contort with disbelief and my nose squish and I snort.
He takes my phone away and I’m surprised I’m not pissed off but then I realise that I’ve stopped caring about him and I can’t be bothered to get mad at him and I know he just wants to rile me up (as do all the men in my life) so I let him have his way.
He ends up professing his love (again) and I end up squirming.
I tell him, as gently as I can, that I’m not a little girl anymore, or at least not his, and he frowns. ‘This has all been a fucking game, hasn’t it? You fucking drive me crazy and then I tell you I love you and you decide you’ve had enough?’
I stare at him. ‘A fucking game? I was fucking insane about you, you ignorant asswipe. You were the first man-boy I’d ever liked and I was only 16. You were my first love, my first flirtation, my first hickey, my first date, my first orgasm, my first heartache, not necessarily in that order but you were so many firsts. I was fucking insane about about you when I was 17, when I was 18, when I was 19, when I was engaged, when I kept comparing my ex-boyfriends and ex-fiance to you, when I got bored of ex-lovers, when I dumped ex-lovers, when I was 23 and you sent me a text at the ungodly hour of three fucking a.m. in the morning four years later. So don’t you fucking dare tell me this was my game. If anything, it was yours.’
He smiles at me. It’s the most tender I’ve ever seen him and I wait for my heart to sing, for the butterflies to fuck like jackrabbits in my stomach, for something to happen, but nothing happens and I just shrug.
He growls at me, shouts at me, runs his fingers through his hair, glares at me, glowers at me, assassinates my character, hurls insults at me, tries to get a rise out of me. I just focus on staying awake.
He finally runs out of bluster and asks me about S and I don’t think it’s wise to tell him because there’s something ugly in his voice like he’s smouldering coal just waiting to reach out and burn me so I tell him I need to go.
He gives me back my phone and as I get up to leave, he draws me in for a hug. It’s familiar and strange at the same time. He holds on for a very long time and I realise he’s waiting for me to touch him. I rub his chest and tell him thank you for everything he’s been and done for me and he nods.
He loosens his grip and I step out of his arms and he kisses my cheek and tells me to be a good little girl and that he’ll check up on me in a year or two. I nod.
And that is that.
Don’t eat me!! (via chai*)
jeffreychiu, is this starfruit? LOL
Winter Wonderland by Jason Mraz
originally by Richard Himber & His Orchestra
(posted by bunkercomplex)
this is why i love jason mraz.