Teach me how to sleep, and I shall show you how to dream.
(Source: blakefpeterson, via causeitssupersickk)
I think you could fall in love with anyone if you saw the parts of them no one else gets to see. Like if you followed them around invisibly for a day and saw them crying in their bed at night or singing in the shower or humming quietly to themselves as they make a sandwich or even just walking along the street. And even if they were really weird and had no friends at school, I think, after seeing them at their most vulnerable, you wouldn’t be able to help falling in love with them.
Or if you become aware that someone knows the little details about you—someone knows your quirks, your fears, your secrets. Once you’ve made yourself bare to someone, you’re tied to them, until you decide to sever that tie; that’s what makes it hurt when things fall apart, even unintentionally. Because it means someone, somewhere, knows a part of you that you keep hidden—and you don’t know what they’ll do with it. If they remember it at all.
(Source: mols, via jean-louisefinch)
01.01.12.
Three friends, strewn about in a car. Feet on the dashboard, laying in the back, seats reclined. Windows rolled up, moonroof open, stars mixing with our smoke. We talked. Talked until our voices grew hoarse, until our words were mean and hate-ridden. Talked until we couldn’t handle what was coming out anymore. Until we couldn’t handle ourselves anymore. Sure, there was alcohol involved, but that’s beside the point; the point is, it was a thousand times better than your booze-filled party, it was more meaningful than that promised New Year’s kiss. Because we missed the drop, we look over, in the midst of our self-realization, and see that it’s been past midnight for fifty-three minutes. It didn’t matter. This year’ll be the same as the last, and I can only hope to end it the same way. To lose my voice and sleep in the front of an old school Ford Sedan, sneaking home at six in the morning, feeling miserable about the existence of the world.
So, hello, 2012. We’ll get through this year, even if it kills us—or at least, we’ll fight back like hell.
