all you idiots complaining about being in the friend zone
i got put in the IMAGINARY friend zone
she’ll only talk to me when there aren’t other people around
tumblrbot asked: WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE INANIMATE OBJECT?
ha. paper clips. or notebooks. or typewriters. or matchboxes. that’s it.
(Source: holyfriend)
(Source: theplushbear)
Butterflies in your tummy come about either because you’re really excited or because you’re really anxious
the anxious ones should be called
bitterflies
That’s what love feels like. Not a shimmer but an ache.
—
Drop anchor.
Plant your feet.
—
It’s like crossing the finish line and being shot with the starting gun.
—
I think I smiled. I probably smiled. Kneejerk reaction to confusion or doubt.
—
You pop the balloon, you don’t get another balloon. That’s how you learn.
—
It’s so difficult to write about happiness in the abstract. Specific monents, sure. Brief bursts of emotion, cheer, flashes of contentment. But happiness is, kind of by default, anticlimactic. Nothing happens. The world is choked with odes to lost love, desperate pleas for peace, or quiet, or money. Novel after novel of loss or betrayal, poem upon poem about struggle and salvation, whiskey and wanting. I could give you five thousand words or more on any given sorrow without a hitch. I’ll do it right now. How many great stories, how many moving poems, how many songs or television serials or sculptures depict general happiness?
All this time chasing it and it’s not worth describing?
—
I am there, in all your brief pauses, in the air between your words.
I love you.
There is nowhere else I can be.
—
Certain clichés are worth embracing, and you might find something like happiness someday but you will have missed out on what was genuine and natural and right.
People forget how to laugh with the untainted exuberance of children, and [ ] unlearn how to be open to the possibility of wonder. Every one of us will forget how to love with a full heart.
Why rush toward emptiness?
—
We have a limited number of opportunities, babe. A very particular and slender set of options for genuine connection. […]
You wouldn’t know to yearn for more if someone else weren’t denied it, birthing Art as substitute or siren’s song, trying to fill the void.
Kid, you dropped something.
If you don’t mind, I’d like it back inside my chest.
—
Then it stopped, just like that. A summer storm of misplaced emotion, gone as quickly as it came.
My hands are too heavy
and I mix metaphors like a child with paints
I am clumsy with my words
A hammer or a stone against the lock when
I need instruments, wires,
patience and silence and a good florist
After all, they sent you to college
so you could learn to like
better poetry than this.
(Source: itsinmypursesomewhere)
I am not smarter than you.
I am likely not better looking.
I do not have within me a deep well of understanding that allows me to ferret out the threads of the larger tapestry that binds us all within the human condition and turn those truths into song or poetry or sculpture.
I do not believe that I will make a significant change in the larger social fabric, nor that my name will be remembered by any but my family who bear it.
I am not the nicest person I know.
I am not possessed of superior athletic prowess, a refined palette or a daring sense of fashion.
I only have a heart that I am willing to place in your care and eyes that will see you and only you if you accept it. It isn’t gold, and it won’t go for much on the open market, but it will keep you warm on winter nights and it comes with a nice pair of arms that can carry you if your legs are tired.
Oh, and I will tell you funny jokes and not lie to you.
If you’re into those sorts of things.
(Source: itsinmypursesomewhere)
“They’ll forget about it in a few minutes,” I said.
“Yes, but then they’ll find it again, and again. It’s a perpetual gift.”
“Fish are very stupid.”
“Or very lucky,” she said.
