i was feeling nostalgic for 7th grade and scene days and listening to pop punk bands whose tee shirts i could buy at hot topic (and secretly listening to hannah montana sometimes even though i’d never openly admit it)
Things I Have Learned at Four-Thirty in the Morning on a Wednesday
In the span of forty-five minutes you can find yourself half-dressed on a couch in the basement of the boy who has loved you since sixth grade’s house, shirt pulled off and bra lost somewhere on the floor between the doorway and the couch. You can find yourself pulling him over top of you because you have never been half-dressed in front of someone else before, not like this and the sudden realization will hit you, while he is smoothing his hands along the parts of you that you’ve never been truly comfortable with, that you are actually half-dressed in front of the boy who has loved you since sixth grade. In the span of forty-five minutes you can find yourself miles from where you had thought you would be when you agreed to come home with him after the bars. You can feel yourself becoming lost, drifting away to sea and away from the type of girl you thought you were. A girl who took things slow, who thought that kissing someone meant something, that kissing someone changed things. The girl who refused to kiss a boy she had been in love with for a year because she knew that he would never be close enough for long enough for anything meaningful to exist. And now you are half-dressed on a couch in a basement, still slightly clouded over from the four jack and cokes and the three shots of something you had never heard of before. And it doesn’t matter that you have only kissed two boys before this one and that nothing had come close to this in the past, or that the boy who was in front of you was leaving that morning, on a seven-thirty flight back to the West Coast. It doesn’t matter that you don’t love that boy, had never been in love with that boy for any of the nine or ten years that you have know him. In the span of forty-five minutes you can find yourself forgetting that those things should matter, did matter only hours before when you were careful to not brush your knee against his while sitting at the bar or smile too widely for fear that he would interpret it wrong. In the span of forty-five minutes you can completely lose who you thought you were.
I need my glasses to find my glasses do you see my problem
You can’t even see your problem
|—||Thought Catalog (via swimmingpoolforants)|
I’m just trying to make you smile, you said, finding the words between the cracked rock saltiness that slithered up the coast and lodged itself firmly in your throat. I’m trying to remind you that I’m a good friend, that I’m here for you. Fault lines, frequencies, distances, maps, I’m imagining that one day I’ll find love between them. You already have and you’re throwing thousands around to prove it. I feel like I’ve run too many laps around the same field to make small changes to make bigger ones, focusing on the tiniest things and pushing to the back of my brain the thought that maybe you can’t convince somebody to love you.
I’m spending tonight in the backseat of a car clutching my phone, spending the night alone on the couch, spending the night wondering how you’re spending yours. But you’re probably warm-hands-wet-lips-cool-sheets-no-excuses right now, probably trying to justify losing something you never wanted in the first place. I’ll let you have that because I don’t have a way out and I have to support you even when you let me down and change your mind and scribble out words that you made me promise not to forget. I have friends who are disappointed when I don’t care and angry when I care too much, and I’m tired of piling love and indifference on opposite ends of the scale to stop it swinging.
You acted drunk because everyone else was slipping distant, turned the music up just to split the silence. You dragged me to my feet to dance with you even though you can’t dance and everyone thought you were beautiful and in the moment I couldn’t help but agree. We act like lovers when really I think we just fill up each other’s emotional holes with the wrong kind of sympathy. And now, when I’m wondering why people can’t just say thank you and realize that I really burnt bridges to bring you what you should have wanted, I’m starting to see that we can’t pretend to be faultless forever. I want to be with you tonight even though the things you say to me are the things I want to hear from someone else. I want to give you the attention you steal from me every day, slamming me with problems you won’t let me fix. I want to tell you the secrets I can’t shatter my moral illusion by telling anybody else. I want to see the future blotting out your past, a sloppy paper mache figure of a boy becoming a man, pasting over all the gaps in the layers underneath until you’re smooth and unscarred all over. One day this statue will be stronger than all of the people who held you up high when you were too young to know that strength is more than an unfaltering grip on anything.
I look in the mirror as critically as I always have but more and more I’m starting to see somebody capable of being loved as much as loving, capable of being strong as much as vulnerable. I have spent a lot of time thinking that someone will find my lack of control endearing eventually, will look at me trainwrecking through summers leaving behind locks of hair and chunks of memories and fall in love with raw honesty, but I’m beginning to understand that I have to stop running from the responsibility of being whole sometime. I think this is what they mean by growing up, when you can look through someone else’s eyes in a way that doesn’t crinkle with pity. I look at you like that sometimes and when I do, I can see you tying kite strings to the corners of my lips. I’m just trying to make you smile. I’m trying to make you smile, too.
kittens have their first sips of water [x]
“GOD DAMN THAT’S REFRESHING”
I SAY GODDAMN
|—||S.E. Hinton, That Was Then, This Is Now (via modernmethadone)|