“Look, let’s give it up. Let’s just lay around and make love and take walks and talk a little. Let’s drive down and look at the ocean. It’s only 45 minutes. Let’s play games in the arcades. Let’s go to the races, the Art Museum, the boxing matches. Let’s have friends. Let’s laugh. This kind of life like everybody else’s kind of life: it’s killing us.”—Charles Bukowski, Post Office (via selenarox)
"Where do you put your hands on somebody who hurts everywhere" what do you do when that somebody is you, and you’re so inescapably sick of your own dramatic antics that you can’t even blame him for not dropping the china to hold you when you cry.
No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change. You just come out the other side.
“I’m always soft for you, that’s the problem. You could come knocking on my door five years from now and I would open my arms wider and say ‘come here, it’s been too long, it felt like home with you.’”—Azra.T “My Heart is Full of Open Windows.” (via cavum)
And I know others have it worse, and I know I’m so very young, and I know I’ve got blessings to count that I don’t have enough fingers for, but somehow it still hurts. I don’t know why but it does. And every night around this hour the walls start to cave in and life just seems a bit too long.
i want to take baths with you and hold your dumb hand and rent movies and watch those movies in your bed in our underwear at like 3 in the morning and i want to kiss your stupid face and cook you food and maybe fuck 7 times a night idnno
I fucking hate it when you’re in such a fantastically giddy mood and then you see one simple little thing that makes you think, “oh” and then you just get this empty feeling in your chest and you get nauseous and the world just crumbles and you want to just lay under a blanket and close your eyes and fall asleep and never wake up.