The thing about heartbreak is you’re not even absolutely interested in chasing it off. You keep it cradled close because it belongs to you; it’s your last semblance of something that soon will disintegrate almost entirely. Maybe that’s why everyone tends to inherently understand the beauty of a deep melancholy—that longing for what’s irreparably broken when it isn’t actually gone yet. There’s something to be said about how an ending is almost never as gut-wrenching as its preamble.
Eventually there will only be incoherent pieces left and no language which you could use to describe them even to yourself. This is what’s so frustrating, that there is always so much left that gets unspoken for. And like a last look they escape you too quickly to determine what they really are before it’s too late. And this is why it’s so easy to nourish the loneliness—because it really is just that easy to lose. And if it’s easy to lose what does that say about how much it mattered?
In the days afterward I thought about how I was always wanting to build the way I loved you into something much more precise. Like the scent of oranges on your mouth by that creek and the sound of the locusts humming is the same sound as my heart as it envelopes everything that separates my bones from your own. Thousands of things like this. I could have kept grappling with courage and dreams all while watching you sleep near me in a soft slur of midnight and moonlight.

I gloriously failed to understand the mechanism behind our happiness for a long time. I’d start to run every time we cut it too close, though we both knew the running was just a small part in between the returning; that’s what made me think it was okay. For a long time I was so grateful that I could cross thousands of miles and escape into a life I didn’t necessarily want in order to avoid a life I was afraid of complicating. This is what I mean when I say that people romanticize the idea of starting over. You think it’s a way to cut your losses, start fresh, and leave behind the messes you’ve made. There is a great difference between leaving behind and making amends. The messes you make in life turn into ghosts and they follow you everywhere you run. By leaving a situation I had made a mess of I wasn’t starting a new situation, I was just complicating the first one. And this is how I lived for so many years. I wasn’t chasing away my heartache and I wasn’t just cradling it either; I was spreading it across the country. I mapped it into states and cities, unfolded it across time zones. My fears and my affliction, I wasn’t ever out running them, no, I was building them grandly into their own destination. Miles into miles into miles and I was lost in all of it.”


Ashli Wood (via wildthicket)

(Source: coll3cted)

So therefore I dedicate myself to myself, to my art, my sleep, my dreams, my labors, my suffrances, my loneliness, my unique madness, my endless absorption and hunger- because I cannot dedicate myself to any fellow being.
Jack Kerouac (via thewinterwind)

(Source: larmoyante)

Depression is humiliating. It turns intelligent, kind people into zombies who can’t wash a dish or change their socks. It affects the ability to think clearly, to feel anything, to ascribe value to your children, your lifelong passions, your relative good fortune. It scoops out your normal healthy ability to cope with bad days and bad news, and replaces it with an unrecognizable sludge that finds no pleasure, no delight, no point in anything outside of bed. You alienate your friends because you can’t comport yourself socially, you risk your job because you can’t concentrate, you live in moderate squalor because you have no energy to stand up, let alone take out the garbage. You become pathetic and you know it. And you have no capacity to stop the downward plunge. You have no perspective, no emotional reserves, no faith that it will get better. So you feel guilty and ashamed of your inability to deal with life like a regular human, which exacerbates the depression and the isolation. If you’ve never been depressed, thank your lucky stars and back off the folks who take a pill so they can make eye contact with the grocery store cashier. No one on earth would choose the nightmare of depression over an averagely turbulent normal life.
It’s not an incapacity to cope with day to day living in the modern world. It’s an incapacity to function. At all. If you and your loved ones have been spared, every blessing to you. If depression has taken root in you or your loved ones, every blessing to you, too. No one chooses it. No one deserves it. It runs in families, it ruins families. You cannot imagine what it takes to feign normalcy, to show up to work, to make a dentist appointment, to pay bills, to walk your dog, to return library books on time, to keep enough toilet paper on hand, when you are exerting most of your capacity on trying not to kill yourself. Depression is real. Just because you’ve never had it doesn’t make it imaginary. Compassion is also real. And a depressed person may cling desperately to it until they are out of the woods and they may remember your compassion for the rest of their lives as a force greater than their depression. Have a heart. Judge not lest ye be judged.
(via calloway)

(Source: sherunsfromdarkness)

dear samantha
i’m sorry
we have to get a divorce
i know that seems like an odd way to start a love letter but let me explain:
it’s not you
it sure as hell isn’t me
it’s just human beings don’t love as well as insects do
i love you.. far too much to let what we have be ruined by the failings of our species

i saw the way you looked at the waiter last night
i know you would never DO anything, you never do but..
i saw the way you looked at the waiter last night

did you know that when a female fly accepts the pheromones put off by a male fly, it re-writes her brain, destroys the receptors that receive pheromones, sensing the change, the male fly does the same. when two flies love each other they do it so hard, they will never love anything else ever again. if either one of them dies before procreation can happen both sets of genetic code are lost forever. now that… is dedication.

after Elizabeth and i broke up we spent three days dividing everything we had bought together
like if i knew what pots were mine like if i knew which drapes were mine somehow the pain would go away

this is not true

after two praying mantises mate, the nervous system of the male begins to shut down
while he still has control over his motor functions
he flops onto his back, exposing his soft underbelly up to his lover like a gift
she then proceeds to lovingly dice him into tiny cubes
spooning every morsel into her mouth
she wastes nothing
even the exoskeleton goes
she does this so that once their children are born she has something to regurgitate to feed them
now that.. is selflessness

i could never do that for you

so i have a new plan
i’m gonna leave you now
i’m gonna spend the rest of my life committing petty injustices
i hope you do the same
i will jay walk at every opportunity
i will steal things i could easily afford
i will be rude to strangers
i hope you do the same
i hope reincarnation is real
i hope our petty crimes are enough to cause us to be reborn as lesser creatures
i hope we are reborn as flies
so that we can love each other as hard as we were meant to.”


Jared Singer, An Entomologist’s Last Love Letter   (via 24ribs)

(Source: byrdseed)

Come now, don’t make such a funeral face. It isn’t dying that’s sad; it’s living when you’re not happy.
Octave Mirbeau, Le Jardin des supplices  (via 24ribs)

(Source: serialstranger)


parisheroinstars:

I just watched this movie & I wish there was a cure for mental illnesses. :/

(Source: in-the-land-of-gods-and-monsters)

She didn’t belong anywhere and she never really belonged to anyone. And everyone else belonged somewhere and to someone. People always thought she was too wonderful to belong to them or that something too wonderful would hurt too much to lose. And that’s why she liked him—because he just thought she was crazy.
C. JoyBell C. (via hellanne)
My dear,
Find what you love and let it kill you.
Let it drain you of your all.
Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness.
Let it kill you and let it devour your remains.
For all things will kill you, both slowly and fastly, but it’s much better to be killed by a lover.
Charles Bukowski (via aurelle)

(Source: hellanne)

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