Yes Girl You Are So [if I Loved You Less I Might Be Able To Talk About It More] [hands Are Unbearably

Hey overthinkers, we're gonna be okay

list of things im handling well currently

1.

The heart is the only type of muscle with zero fuel reserves. It is totally dependent on its fuel supply. Cut its fuel supply off and it won't last long, but it will beat tirelessly and relentlessly as long as it has fuel. It makes me wonder if we are we really that naive to think that love will be eternal when we don't  take care of it, when we do not nurture it or feed it? And yet we expect love to go on till the end like some super marathon runner who can go on and on, and not refuel at all during the race? Is it really surprising when love collapses at some point of the way? Love lives in a human heart, a delicate one at that, a very mortal and needing heart. 

e.v.e.

“My creative writing professor told me to stop writing about love. I asked him why and he said, “Because you have turned it over and over in your hands, felt every angle, every fault, every inch, every bruise. You have ruined it for yourself.” I spent the next 3 weeks writing about science and space. Stars exploding. Getting sucked into a black hole. How much I wished I could sleep inside of that nothingness without being annihilated. What an exploding star would taste like. If it would make our stomachs glow like fireflies, or tingle and shake like pop rocks under our tongue. My creative writing professor told me that those poems weren’t what he was looking for. He tells me to stop writing about outer space. Stop writing about science. Again, I ask him why. Again, he says, “You have ruined it for yourself.” I spend the next three weeks writing about my mother, how we are told we can’t make homes inside of other human beings, but the foreclosure sign on my mother’s empty womb tells me that women who give birth know a different, more painful truth. My creative writing professor tells me I am both talented and hopeless, that everything I write is both visceral and empty, a walking circus with no animals inside but a beautiful trapeze artist with a broken hip selling popcorn in the entrance-way. He tells me to stop writing about my mother. I don’t ask why. I pick up my books and my notepad and I leave his office with my war stories tucked under my tongue like an exploding star, like the taste of the last person I ever loved, like my mother’s baby thermometer, and I do not look back. We are all writing about our mothers, our lovers, the empty space that we will never be able to breathe in. We are all carrying stones in our pockets and tossing them back and forth in our hands, trying to explain the heaviness and we will never stop writing about love, about black holes, about how quiet it must have been inside the chaos of my mother’s belly, inside the chaos of his arms, inside the chaos of the spaces in every poem I have ever written. None of this is ruined. Do not listen to them when they tell you that it is.”

— Caitlyn Siehl, “My Creative Writing Professor Told Me to Stop Writing About Love” (via alonesomes)

Being in a group chat with a bunch of mentally ill girls who suck at taking care of ourselves is really funny. We’ll constantly be giving each other advice like “hey you should probably eat something” “have you taken your meds today?” “if you’re not feeling well maybe you should get some sleep” and stuff like that and then none of us have the self awareness and self respect to take the advice we give each other until we we hear it from someone else

A pesar de que te abandoné por distracciones, seguiste a mi lado, aguardando por mí... ¿De qué está hecho tu corazón que ama desinteresado y libre? Mientras el mío se acongoja cuando, simplemente, cree que hace el amor.

Even though I abandoned you for distractions, you remained by my side, waiting for me.... What is your heart made of that loves selflessly and freely? While mine grieves when it simply thinks it is making love.

What a polite baby

“They were all children who had previously failed to fit in, or had failed, to the point of acute misery, to feel satisfied, and they had seized on creative impulse in the hope of salvation.”

— Susan Choi, Trust Exercise

being self aware is the worst thing ever. can’t even be pissed at my dad properly without having a disco elysium ass internal monologue about it

Friend has the sad???!!??!!!!!

I’m coming friend I’ll save you from the sad!!

I am here now you’re going to be okay!!!

You are so beautiful and i love you!!!