I am infatuated with the individuality of human existence.
i think i’d like to get married in a library
or on a beach
biggest pet peeve
flaking on me.
I hate it when I raise my expectations, only to be horribly disappointed.
I’m scared that one day the world will wake up and people will see what a boring, unspecial little girl I am.
my empty heart is craving love.
and i don’t mean to simply fuck or lust or have carnal desire.
i want love in its basest sense. i want conversations late into the night and the comfort of acceptance regardless of time or place or what i have done in the past. i want someone i can call at any time, night or day without feeling the slightest need to hesitate before i pick up the phone and start dialing. i want…
i want
from The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield
This is exactly why I wanted to be a writer when I was younger. I remained calm when confronted with the certainty of death because I knew that I would immortalize myself through words. Words more permanent than my flesh and bones and slowly beating heart. Words more permanent and meaningful than the ones that would be etched out into the cold, hard granite of my tombstone. I wanted to write things that would transcend their ink and paper boundaries and be branded on the hearts and minds of others. I wanted to be remembered through themes and philosophies and characters and bright images and intangible sensations. I wanted to write things that would strike the deep and hidden, long unused spaces in the soul.
Sometimes I have these strangely pensive moments and they usually end up with me going, “OMG, I’M CRAZY. JUST. CRAZY.” and then I’m overwhelmed with gratitude for the people who choose to be my friends regardless <3
I’ve been so consumed by feeling. There’s this insatiable desire to travel, to be somewhere I’m not, to see the world and drown myself in new wonders. Every part of my being screams to move, to see, to feel, to do. I wonder how I can sit so still when these molten feelings are flowing, burning through me. I am a storm, a hurricane, a fierce battle barely contained within this quietly shifting body. I stare at my hands and graceless body and wonder how the very edges of myself are not blurred with frenzied movement. My very atoms are being pushed and pulled apart from one another in their need to escape. I think one day I’ll burst open in a cascade of emotion and inner turmoil, to finally be at peace, because how can I experience all these conflicting emotions and continue to exist? How can one person be made up of so many contradictions? I wonder how people can see me, hold me, when I’m afraid that at any moment I’ll effervesce into the air and float away on the wind.
"I know in my bones and my tissue that I will one day, soon or late, stop living and so I fight against sleep, and beseech it, even try to trick it into coming. My moment of sleep is a great wrench, an agony. I know this because I have awakened at this second feeling the crushing blow. And once I sleep, I have a very busy time. My dreams are the problems of the day stepped up to absurdity, a little like men dancing, wearing the horns and masks of animals."
— The Winter of our Discontent, John Steinbeck
as if this wasn’t already on listography
Roman Numeral Five. The center of my right wrist, for both of my families.
Margaret Atwood quote. Left side rib cage, because I’m obsessed.
Skull. Behind my right ear, see above. / Heart in a rib cage. An anatomically correct heart.
‘Straight and Fast’ made to look like a labyrinth. Not sure where yet. A homage to John Green.
Expecto Patronum. Left wrist. Potterheadedness.
Lotus. Not sure where. Questionable.
I like the way the rain makes my boots look shiny.
I like the way the rain sounds as it hits my umbrella.
I like the way the air smells after it rains.
I like the way I can feel myself warm up after being in the rain.
I have big lips. I used to be really self conscious about them, because people used to make fun of me & point them out. Buuuut, I kind of dgaf now. IT’S JUST WHO I AM.
I am surrounded by the most extraordinary people.
