December 2010
86 posts
On this particular day, all you can do is think of...
And here ends the very worst year of my life. Fuck you, Smirnoff and fuck you, cigarettes. Fuck you, getting caught. Fuck you, imprisonment and fuck you, tears. Fuck you, love and fuck you, microeconomics. Fuck you, Mom and fuck you, holy water. Fuck you, vomit and fuck you, McMaster.
Fuck you, 2010.
Here’s to the beginning of another year of fuck ups.
“Your body is a wonderland”
“He awoke each morning with the desire to do right, to be a good and meaningful...”
– From Everything Is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer (via thechocolatebrigade)
renography asked: Merry Christmas Tahiya <3
There’s an elephant sitting on your chest and they tell you to recognize the beauty of the animal. But, it doesn’t matter, does it? Because all you want to do is fucking breathe.
“Of course it hurt that we could never love each other in a physical way. We...”
– Sputnik Sweetheart by Haruki Murakami (via thechocolatebrigade)
“The so-called ‘psychotically depressed’ person who tries to kill herself doesn’t...”
– Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace (via thechocolatebrigade)
After insisting she tell me what was wrong, a friend of mine once told me she was just “fuckin’ sad”. She couldn’t elaborate for me, but tonight, last night, and every preceding night for a while now, I’ve put together an intricate description for myself. Lately, I’ve been so fuckin’ sad.
You fucking destroyed me and I’ll never forgive you for that. Ever.
“You had me and then, you stopped wanting me. Damn, that hurts.”
“I am going to give you a piece of advice, advice I wish I’d been told back in...”
– Douglas Coupland (via thechocolatebrigade)
“Everyone, at some point in their lives, wakes up in the middle of the night with...”
– Lemony Snicket (via thechocolatebrigade)
“People say they ‘find’ love, as if it were an object hidden by a rock. But love...”
– The Five People You Meet in Heaven by Mitch Albom (via thechocolatebrigade)
I could never remember song lyrics like you could
You’ve embraced the “it’s not you, it’s me” routine so carefully that I find it quite endearing. You desperately want me to blame you for what’s happened to us. To alleviate guilt, to provide an explanation, to have a direction in which I can aim my hurt. But, darling, it really isn’t you and perhaps one day, when your soft hand makes its way down the flawless jaw of another girl, you’ll...
“I don’t know what they are called, the spaces between seconds– but I think of...”
– — Salvador Plascencia (The People of Paper)