when things are done, you go back to what you were. wounds will heal, you'll be a stronger and maybe better person, you'll learn to flirt again...that's what everyone else will tell you, that's what you'll tell yourself. it's a bunch of lies. at the end of the day loneliness hurts like a motherfucker. at the end of the day most often your only plan will be to cry yourself to sleep. at the end of the day you'll stroke your own hair and hug the pillow just to remember what it feels like.

that's how it goes. but maybe it's better, than obsessing over not being good enough for the one you love.

maybe...it is better. but it won't ever replace the nights I felt human warmth.

Listening to the Songs We Love

Makes us feel sad sometimes, reminding us as they do of happier times. Of times when we had what we thought we wanted, and were not mistaken on that count. Now we have what we have, mainly memories and an apartment that's a tangle of wires and a bed without a boxspring and a few books and an absolutely empty refrigerator and a stove we've yet to use. People say put something in your refrigerator, it'll make your house feel more like a home, they say buy furniture, they say lots of things that cannot cure us of the conviction that we're living the life of a ghost. About all we've learned since we've been single is this: we can do whatever we want, but there's nothing we want to do.

via unremitting failure

Love has your shape these days.

Thanks for sticking around.

Thanks for being the best comrade there is.

Thanks for making me so happy.

n-am mai scris de-o viata. si de fapt nici nu stiu ce sa spun. simt doar nevoia acuta sa scriu ceva, cuiva, mie.

dar ma opresc aici. pentru ca una peste alta, mai mult simt decat rationalizez. iar sentimentele astea confuze nu pot fi scrise.

tot ce stiu, e ca azi m-am rugat sa nu ma indragostesc. pentru ca, asa cum spunea un prieten apus, nu e o idee buna.

ma intreb uneori...