There's a certain romance about old things, classical things. Vintage dresses, from flapper to medieval make me smile (ignoring, of course, corsets). Beautiful, shiny old cars that still look like the horse was removed from the buggy and an engine was put in instead make me want to go for a sunny drive. A guitar rift from The Beatles or the Rolling Stones makes me want to laugh, and a long violin note makes me want to read, or kiss deeply. I might go for a very long train ride this summer, across the great expanse of the West. I picture red carpeting and chandeliers and tea. I know this won't be the case, but that's what I picture, and I want to share it with someone I love very much. Maybe, when I'm much older, trains will be one mode of transportation for me and my yet-unknown love as we explore the corners of our own country that we never bothered to inspect before.
At this point, I don't even get sad anymore. Tears are inadequate. They just cause headaches and make people think you're weak when really, you're so full of every imaginable negative emotion it all spills out. Anger is so much more viable in a world like this. Anger says something. Anger slashes. And when I am slashed emotionally, I'm angry and I slash back.
"No one can make you feel inferior without your consent." Too true, Eleanor Roosevelt, too true.
Apparently women of ancient Greece had access to dildos. I am obviously very into my research right now.
I wonder what it is about home that I miss right now. I can't pinpoint it.
I wish my phone would ring, but even if it did, I don't know what I would say.
Hello. I miss you. You're hurting me. I have homework.
That's a horrible conversation.
Nothing lasts forever,
but be honest babe,
it hurts but it may be the only way.
We have not hit the ground,
it doesn't mean we're not still falling.
I talk too much. Allllwayyyyys. I should take notes from the words of those I admire most -- those who are concise.
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She's lovely. And I admire her. And she's in love with my uncle, which makes me love her all the more.
I wanna go home. Everything is simpler at home and in person.
I've got a cupboard with cans of food,
filtered water and pictures of you,
and I'm not coming out until this is all over.
And I'm looking through the glass
where the light bends at the cracks,
and I'm screaming at the top of my lungs,
pretending the echoes belong to someone...
Someone I used to know.