Planned it in my head. say what you need to say but don’t appear weak. breathe. yes, this is it. you can do this. you cannot go through another emotional turbulence. go on. tell him. say it. slowly. but firm. okay.
oh fuck. don’t cry.
Who are we, if not measured by our impact on others? That’s who we are! We’re not who we say we are, we’re not who we want to be — we are the sum of the influence and impact that we have, in our lives, on others.
Let’s make it clear, I run to avoid lingerings of you and you run to have the opportunity to see other people.
"God knows I walked into this with my eyes wide open"
Really. It’s not you, it’s me. I am so adamant in convincing myself that you were someone different. I will not let my illusions of you get the best of me. What am I thinking? I am not this person. I do not care. I sever attachments not create them.
Envious of the way you don’t give a flying fuck. Im taking lessons.
I don’t suppose I really know you very well - but I know you smell like the delicious damp grass that grows near old walls and that your hands are beautiful opening out of your sleeves and that the back of your head is a mossy sheltered cave when there is trouble in the wind and that my cheek just fits the depression in your shoulder.
—Zelda Fitzgerald, in a letter to F. Scott Fitzgerald (via oofpoetry)
In a country where thinkers are assassinated, and writers are considered infidels and books are burnt, in societies that refuse the other, and force silence on mouths and thoughts forbidden, and to question is a sin, I must beg your pardon, would you permit me?
Would you permit me to bring up…