Baby girl
I like how sleeping next to someone means more than sex sometimes, the body’s way of saying ‘I trust you to be by my side at my most vulnerable time,’ you have no defenses when you are asleep, you tell no lies
concept : I am laying on the ground and my hair is intertwined with the grass. the dirt is the dirt but it is so much more than just dirt. the sunshine is pouring it’s love onto my face and my body is warm. I am here and I am alive and the world is turning. there are good days and there are bad days but today I chose to remember the good ones. there is love in my heart and for once that’s enough to sustain me for a while. there is sunshine and happy days ahead.
sometimes i forget how many times i’ve picked myself off the floor, how many times i’ve washed away smudgy makeup and put myself to bed. how many times i’ve said no to something unhealthy. said yes to something good. how many times i’ve treated myself with kindness and patience. i forget how many times i’ve tended to wounds and made peace with my own anger. if i was taking care of a body that was not my own, i’d believe i was doing everything i could. so here’s to remembering that i’m doing the best i can.
And kid, you’ve got to love yourself. You’ve got wake up at four in the morning, brew black coffee, and stare at the birds drowning in the darkness of the dawn. You’ve got to sit next to the man at the train station who’s reading your favorite book and start a conversation. You’ve got to come home after a bad day and burn your skin from a shower. Then you’ve got to wash all your sheets until they smell of lemon detergent you bought for four dollars at the local grocery store. You’ve got to stop taking everything so goddam personally. You are not the moon kissing the black sky. You’ve got to compliment someones crooked brows at an art fair and tell them that their eyes remind you of green swimming pools in mid July. You’ve got to stop letting yourself get upset about things that won’t matter in two years. Sleep in on Saturday mornings and wake yourself up early on Sunday. You’ve got to stop worrying about what you’re going to tell her when she finds out. You’ve got to stop over thinking why he stopped caring about you over six months ago. You’ve got to stop asking everyone for their opinions. Fuck it. Love yourself, kiddo. You’ve got to love yourself.
And kid, you’ve got to love yourself. You’ve got wake up at four in the morning, brew black coffee, and stare at the birds drowning in the darkness of the dawn. You’ve got to sit next to the man at the train station who’s reading your favorite book and start a conversation. You’ve got to come home after a bad day and burn your skin from a shower. Then you’ve got to wash all your sheets until they smell of lemon detergent you bought for four dollars at the local grocery store. You’ve got to stop taking everything so goddam personally. You are not the moon kissing the black sky. You’ve got to compliment someones crooked brows at an art fair and tell them that their eyes remind you of green swimming pools in mid July. You’ve got to stop letting yourself get upset about things that won’t matter in two years. Sleep in on Saturday mornings and wake yourself up early on Sunday. You’ve got to stop worrying about what you’re going to tell her when she finds out. You’ve got to stop over thinking why he stopped caring about you over six months ago. You’ve got to stop asking everyone for their opinions. Fuck it. Love yourself, kiddo. You’ve got to love yourself.
This boy I knew in high school had a black and white blog that was rather sad and when he met his girlfriend he started posting in color and I think that’s what love is
The day he breaks your heart, wait till you get home to cry. Wait until it’s 1am in the morning and you swear the pillow between your arms is your new best friend. Practice smiling in the mirror, so the next day when you sit by him he can’t distinguish the coal black eyeliner from the redness of your eyes.
Smile because you can. Not because you want to. Laugh at stupid jokes because it makes you happy. Not because you need to.
And don’t you look at him. No, tuck the loose strand of hair up behind your ear, smooth over the creases in your skirt and don’t look up. You’re not over it, and every sharp intake of breath breaks your heart, but he doesn’t need to know that. After all, the daggers are yours, not his.
It’s an unfair life we live
(via sam-x-mas)
