Link 9 Oct 1 note illicitly i spoke: perfect picture.»

burymywords:

in my dreams wherever they might be wherever we might be i am sitting across from you at the diner and you have this look in your eyes like you don’t know how to be around me and read the menu as i take pictures of the salt&pepper shaker, napkin holder, packets of sugar, snap snap snap snap. then…

(Source: yuujincho)

Text 6 Oct a sapphic that’s not quite a sapphic

burymywords:

Friend, you’ve never backstabbed me, even when the

arrows rained from heavenly skies and took your

breath to distant places, Apollo’s creed that

fell upon your quivering body. Now I

weep in stanzas that fill my

.

soul with only many regrets, like how the

sun would shine but all I could see was beauty,

yours surpassing all, yet a fool that let the

tides destroy the light of day – that was I.

(Source: yuujincho)

Text 3 Oct 1 note michelle, ma belle.

these are words that go together well, tres bien ensemble.

Text 7 Jun beautiful faces, beautiful spaces

this is what i will never understand: how you made a girl fall in love with you with a touch of the hand.

Text 1 Jun we’re sad, sad, sad little things.

(or maybe just me.)

Text 1 Jun 1 note what every actor wants

i want to be, simply put, fucking amazing at acting. i want to blow people away and make them go, “wow, i did not know acting could be done like that before.” i want to move my audience to tears and make them laugh uproariously; i want them to sympathize with my character, feel, truly feel, as if it were the first time in their life doing so, and they just can’t get enough of it. i want their hearts to be shred to ribbons when she cries, i want them to die when she dies. i want i want i want i want i want but i’m so afraid that i will never be able to do so, and that scares me more than anything.

(but what i want more than anything in the world.)

Text 1 Jun where the hell do i get off from?
Text 31 May unrequited as always.

you told me not to cry, because i was better than that, because i was strong. in reality i loved you like i love the moon, everlasting and unwavering, and i could never bring myself to take my eyes away from your bright personage, you beautiful enigma. you speak to me with lips that do not move, in long, mute words echoing across the raging sea, but i seem to hear it all, i hear it all. and i cry as your numb fingers stroke my neck, stroke my spine.


(damn the word love, why did i have to fall in love with you? you who could never love me back, never in a million years, not even for the 4.6 billion years the earth has been alive, and i stupidly dug my fingernails into my palms, clenching my teeth, drowning for eternity.)

Text 10 May lol hiatus, and no email sucks, so i’m posting these links to myself.
Quote 17 Mar 6 notes
Delay is natural to a writer. He is like a surfer—he bides his time, waits for the perfect wave on which to ride in. Delay is instinctive with him. He waits for the surge (of emotion? of strength? of courage?) that will carry him along. I have no warm-up exercises, other than to take an occasional drink. I am apt to let something simmer for a while in my mind before trying to put it into words. I walk around, straightening pictures on the wall, rugs on the floor—as though not until everything in the world was lined up and perfectly true could anybody reasonably expect me to set a word down on paper.
— 

E.B. White, The Art of the Essay No 1, The Paris Review  (via @kissability) (via lanipauli) (via bildungsroman)

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MY GOD. thank you, EB White, for not making me feel like the only one who does this. :3


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