February 2012
22 posts
1 tag
reading my writing & misc. blogposts from high school, i think i was a lot cooler back then
constantly blowing my runny nose = bleeding septum piercing
what a cool fucking day
how unromantic, crying in the back corner of a coffeeshop. i made a list of things i forgot to take into account beforehand, ran through a small stack of brown paper napkins as i stumbled over my words. if the greatest thing in life is to love and to be loved in return, what the hell am i doing? i have attached myself to our ghosts and with that, i have run our history into dust into the...
“so, do what i’m doing right now: put on some oversized sweatpants, get...”
– my uncle is the greatest ever
“remember: the couple with the youthful faces and gray heads of hair and how they...”
– notes i write to myself on visa paper at work, fold up, and stick in my back pockets for safekeeping
sometimes i think that i just get tired of romanticizing things.
—when i met my father for coffee some odd weeks ago, it felt necessary to wear a dress and lipstick, to wear tights without holes and to run a brush through my hair. i wanted him to believe me, i guess.
—a week ago, alone in my apartment, for a brief instance, i thought about calling my mother again. i wanted to hear...
oh my god i’ve forgotten what it’s like not to have my entire day mapped out with obligations and oh my god i can’t wait until tomorrow when i’m not required to do anything at all
no matter what, i still wake up each day immersed in loving you
things i am good at: anxiety, exhaustion, reclusion, reading, scribbling unrelated notes
things i am not good at: paying attention in class
this morning, i filled the tea kettle slowly, poured soy milk into my coffee slowly, picked at a muffin slowly. we woke an hour after my alarm, you laughed—i smiled, “i have to leave in forty-five minutes.” when i was in high school, waking up late would make me cry, i had to have everything just so—my mother taught me to have everything just so. “i’m going to...
1 tag
empty coffeeshops & vacant parking spots, but i don’t care about the superbowl
1 tag
you’re supposed to be honest if you’re going to be brave enough to say something, anything at all, to hundreds of people simultaneously. and i’m afraid i haven’t even been entirely honest with myself—sort of slipping in-between the cracks and nestling into the crevices of early morning; making my first cup of coffee, taking that first shower, brushing sleep’s...
corinne may botz: 'the nutshell studies of... →
—& ‘haunted houses’
littlefog:
i’m slowly beginning to think that all my words to her can double as a soliloquy. with a throat tilled, drought, and coarse i will speak until my body refuses. but make way for brittle beings, make way for little hands, little thoughts, and little frames with the biggest of exchanges. in all of this i’m starting to believe. make me believe.
sometimes my boyfriend writes
1 tag
too much coffee & closed funeral homes
January 2012
8 posts
filling my school notebooks with unrelated streams of consciousness
danielaarchbold:
the weight of the world
in my stomach
tied up in knots
and coffee mugs
it all makes me feel so desperate
for things that were mine
still have to find what i’m brewing
but there’s not enough ingredients to make a future
hihihiii even if i never get brave enough to post my own words again it’s okay because i think daniela’s pretty much got it covered
but i just got a lavender latte so life is pretty splendid at the moment
i just need more coffee… too bad the coffee on campus is universally terrible and i can’t do that to myself again
just dropping in to say that i finished extremely loud & incredibly close tonight and it broke my heart sort of like blue valentine broke my heart and the whole time i was reading it, all i heard from everyone was how beautiful it is but all i’m wondering is why didn’t anyone warn me
suddenly, spilling my guts to strangers didn’t seem romantic anymore—it seemed stupid.
1 tag
