but you see, that’s the problem. i believe in temporariness. i dream of permanence.
last night when i was on the phone with you, laughing about stupid things, for the first time ever in a state of undeniable momentary happiness, i thought about moving on.
You don’t know how deeply you are intertwined with someone until you try to walk away from them.
m.l. (via teeexox)
If you remember me, then I don’t care if everyone else forgets.
Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore (via larmoyante)
'Tell me what happens the first time you see a woman naked.'
'The first time you see a woman naked will not be like you imagined. There will be no love, no trust, no intimacy. You won’t even be in the same room as her.
You won’t get to smile as she undresses you and you undress her. You won’t get to calm her nerves with nerves of your own. You won’t get to kiss her, feeling her lips and the edge of her tongue. You won’t get to brush your fingers over the lace of her bra or count her ribs or feel her heartbeat.
The first time you see a woman naked you will be sitting in front of a computer screen watching someone play at intimacy and perform at sex. She will contort her body to please everyone in the room but her. You will watch this woman who is not a woman, pixelated and filtered and customized. She will come ready-made, like an order at a restaurant. The man on the screen will be bigger than you, rougher than you. He will teach you how to talk to her. He will teach you where to put your hands and he will teach you what you’re supposed to like. He will teach you to take what is yours.
You must unlearn this. You must unlearn this twisted sense of love. You must unlearn the definition of pleasure and intimacy you are being taught. Kill this idea of love, this idea of entitlement, this way of scarring one another.’
this scared me and made me cry and i am almost embarrassed to post this but quite honestly i would rather fight for this rather than anything else.
men and womens value, and the indescribable importance of intimacy
in the end, that’s all that matters: that i cared for a few people in my life, and a few people cared for me. it doesn’t matter that they’re not necessarily the same people. i don’t know if it’s because today is Eid Mubarak and i am feeling happier than normal days, but i don’t think it’s all about loving and being loved back. i’m always going to love people, more often than not, people who have no intention of loving me back and if you love me, that’s cool, but if you don’t, that’s cool too. i’m not saying it’s enough, i’m not that optimistic, but it’s enough for now. other days i drown, but i want to start writing about the days when i see things with a clear conscience and something resembling sincerity. not really happiness, i won’t go that far. i’d call it an acceptance. i pray for more days like these.
happy eid mubarak.
honestly mr brightside can be in any playlist. make out playlist? mr brightside. getting over someone? mr brightside. funeral? you bet your sweet ass mr brightside will be on it
Our bodies could be skin on skin and I’d still pull you closer.
i am going to start writing on this blog again.
caring about people will never not fuck you up. so when you choose to care about someone, in retrospect, you’re also choosing the ones who will eventually fuck you up. so as sooner we accept this, the sooner we don’t get blown away by shock and hurt when someone fucks us over.
sometimes you meet someone, and it’s so clear that the two of you, on some level belong together. as lovers, or as friends, or as family, or as something entirely different. you just work, whether you understand one another or you’re in love or you’re partners in crime. you meet these people throughout your life, out of nowhere, under the strangest circumstances, and they help you feel alive. i don’t know if that makes me believe in coincidence, or fate, or sheer blind luck, but it definitely makes me believe in something.
"She says, "Babe, you look so cool…""
Don’t call me more than once, you hear me?
When you do, I’ll hear it ring and I’ll let it go.
Don’t forget to leave a message. Breathe
so the static catches onto your lungs and
makes that silvery rasp I love.
Tell the silence you need me. Tell it you’ll be fine
if I don’t need you back. Tell it you remember
the way I smoked like everyone was watching,
like every kiss was the one before quitting.
Tell it you miss me. Tell it you’re not lying.
Stop when the beep sounds.
Ramna Safeer, Instructions For Him (via larmoyante)