Dramatic Reading Of A Break-Up Letter
Omg I can’t breathe
SCREAMING
ALL OF THE AWARDS.
(via kiss-your-starlings)
Sometimes when I’m alone in my room my mind wanders, and today I just sat there like…
I’m making no noise, and no one can see me. Not another person on the planet can see me right now. They have no idea what I’m doing in here… even though I’m literally just sitting here thinking… I could be rolling on the floor like Lauren Lopez. I could be making faces at myself in the mirror, fucking up my walls, teaching myself Korean. I could be high. I could be dead.
I am Schrodinger’s cat.
(via kiss-your-starlings)
Schrodinger’s adolescent
Writing has laws of perspective, of light and shade just as painting does, or music. If you are born knowing them, fine. If not, learn them. Then rearrange the rules to suit yourself.
(via kiss-your-starlings)
Books are, at their heart, dangerous. Yes, dangerous. Because they challenge us: our prejudices, our blind spots. They open us to new ideas, new ways of seeing. They make us hurt in all the right ways. They can push down the barricades of “them” & widen the circle of “us.” And when one feels alone—say, because of a terrible burden of a secret, something that creates pain and isolation, books can heal, connect. That’s what good books do. That’s what hard books do. And we need them in the world.
Someone doesn’t like you? Fuck it. Having a bad day? Fuck it. Didn’t get that job, or that grade, or that promotion you wanted? Fuck it. Fighting with your lover? Fuck it. Feel fat today? Fuck it. Losing control of everything and everyone? Fuck it. What matters now won’t matter soon; the truly important thing is that … you are alive, and that you have the capacity to do absolutely anything with this beautiful, crazy coincidence of being on this earth.
(via kiss-your-starlings)
I will love you as the iceberg loves the ship, and the passengers love the lifeboat, and the lifeboat loves the teeth of the sperm whale, and the sperm whale loves the flavor of naval uniforms. I will love you as a child loves to overhear the conversations of its parents, and the parents love the sound of their own arguing voices, and as the pen loves to write down the words these voices utter in a notebook for safekeeping. I will love you as a shingle loves falling off a house on a windy day and striking a grumpy person across the chin, and as an oven loves malfunctioning in the middle of roasting a turkey. I will love you as an airplane loves to fall from a clear blue sky and as an escalator loves to entangle expensive scarves in its mechanisms. I will love you as a wet paper towel loves to be crumpled into a ball and thrown at a bathroom ceiling and as an eraser loves to leave dust in the hairdos of people who talk too much. I will love you as a cufflink loves to drop from its shirt and explore the party for itself and as a pair of white gloves loves to slip delicately into the punchbowl. I will love you as the taxi loves the muddy splash of a puddle and as a library loves the patient tick of a clock.
When people hurt you over and over, think of them like a sand paper. They may scratch and hurt you a bit but in the end, you end up polished and they end up useless.
(via kiss-your-starlings)
I hate that question because it asks you to imagine the world exactly as it is now, but with you having aged 5 years, dismissing the obvious fact that everyone and everything grows with you. In 2005, if someone had asked me where I see myself in five years … YouTube? iPad? Amy Pond cut-out? What are those things?
(Source: alexdaymusic.com, via kiss-your-starlings)
Never want to forget this song. Thank you Lauren Fairweather
