"If you hate your parents, the man, or the establishment, don’t show them up by getting wasted and wrapping your car around a tree. If you really want to rebel against your parents: outearn them, outlive them, and know more than they do."

List of Words To Know #3

larmoyante:

Malapert - clever in manners of speech
Duende - unusual power to attract or charm
Concilliabule - a secret meeting of people who are hatching a plot
Strikhedonia - the pleasure of being able to say “to hell with it”
Lygerastia - the condition of one who is only amorous when the lights are out
Ayurnamat - the philosophy that there is no point in worrying about events that cannot be changed
Sphallolalia - flirtatious talk that leads no where
Baisemain - a kiss on the hand
Druxy - something which looks good on the outside, but is actually rotten inside
Mamihlapinatapei - the look between two people in which each loves the other but is too afraid to make the first move

(Source: larmoyante)

"

At 7:35 A.M, you lay your tired body on mine
before peeling off, like a slow band-aid.

At 8:40 you sprint home and make instant coffee.

At 9:45 we finally drink it, cold.
I finish your leftover half.

By 10:50 you are already breathless.
I live for every time we overlap.

When 11:55 comes I spend the entire minute convincing you to stay.
You never do.

By noon I put my hands on your shoulders and say, “Baby,
you’re getting thin. All this running in circles and barely sitting down to eat.”

At 1:05 you tell me that while you were gone,
15,300 babies were born.

At 2:10 you don’t say a word,
just come in and kiss me for sixty seconds straight.

At 3:15 we sit quiet, listening to rain falling everywhere
in the world at once: all 15,000 tons.

At 4:20 we pull a little from the tight joint I keep behind your ear.
You do not inhale.

At 5:25 you meet me for happy hour.
My neck already salted, a lime wedged in my teeth,
a shot of tequila sitting on the bar.

At 6:30 I hear the ticking.
I count your heartbeat like seconds between thunderclaps.

By 7:35 I can see you in the distance,
each second a tease until you drape over me.
We always love quick and you never let me hold you.
I dream of drinking you through a straw.

At 8:40 you watch my beard grow 0.00027 of an inch.

At 9:45 we do not speak.
Too many people have died since we last met.

At 10:50 we pray for a meteor,
at least a clumsy kid to spill sugar in our gears.

11:55 is my favorite.
We’re only apart for mere minutes.

But at midnight you’ll apologize sixty times
because it will always be like this.

At 1:04 AM I am already sleeping.
It’s exhausting loving someone
who is constantly running away.

"

List of Words To Know #2

larmoyante:

• Redamancy - the act of loving in return
• Lypophrenia - a feeling of sadness seemingly without a cause
• Drapetomania - an overwhelming urge to run away
• Escapism - a mental desire to retreat from unpleasant realities through fantasy
• Wanderlust - a desire to travel, to understand one’s very existence
• Dysania - the state of finding it difficult to get out of bed in the morning
• Sanctuary - a small safe place in a troubling world
• Metathesiophobia - fear of change
• Affinity - spontaneous or natural liking or sympathy for someone or something
• Pulchritudinous - having great physical beauty

(Source: larmoyante)

"One of the remarkable things about love is that, despite very irritating people writing poems and songs about how pleasant it is, it really is quite pleasant."

"One of the most difficult things to think about in life is one’s regrets. Something will happen to you, and you will do the wrong thing, and for years afterward you will wish you had done something different."

"Do you ever wonder whether people would like you more or less if they could see inside you? …I always wonder about that. If people could see me the way I see myself—if they could live in my memories—would anyone, anyone, love me?"

goldenspine:

i’m jealous of 
your pillows
and of your sheets

i want to hear
the sound of
your heartbeat 

(via paper-trees)

"I imagine her dark hair was probably waist-length. She would wake up from her hungover slumber and run her fingers through it in lieu of a comb. Maybe she would braid it and pin it up in the back, tiny ringlets, a tribute to Shirley Temple in the film Heidi. She probably owned a big floppy hat, yellow or perhaps moss green with a polka dot ribbon wrapped around the base. She would put her feet up on the dash and he would drive along the California coastline. I’m sure she smelled of sea salt and lilacs, not lilacs, maybe lavender. She smelled like purple.
Her eyes were probably heavy, heavy carrying the burden of the pain she had seen. Perhaps an alcoholic father whose love of the bottle forced the family apart or maybe an automobile accident she witnessed and could not help and I’m sure she really would have wanted to. Heavy eyes but trusting and kind. The type you could see juggling clowns and baby lambs in. Eyes that told a story, eyes you couldn’t bear to look at for long.
Maybe she was Hispanic. Maybe she had hands that rolled tortillas and feet that could dance le Quebradita. She would have had brothers. Many, many brothers, brothers who loved her more than themselves but brothers who couldn’t express it. So she ran away. They were probably older brothers. I bet she loved to sleep, and read and write. I bet that’s why he fell in love with her. Her favourite position was curled up on the front porch hammock nestled between two blue posts of that California Victorian. That house was a place for misfits, for people who cared too much and people who didn’t care at all. She felt too much all the time, too much euphoria, too much sorrow, a roller coaster she got on that had no final destination. She was probably bipolar and chose to medicate herself with sleeping and reading and writing and coffee. Only black coffee, dark like her waist-length hair.
I bet she felt like Sunday morning. Her lips tasting like citrus, juicy and plump, lips that he could bite into and keep inside him. Lips you don’t forget. I’m sure her laughter was contagious, feeling her pain with every whimsical chuckle. I’m sure she was broken. I think he wanted to fix her. I think she would have liked him to but the broken can’t fix the broken so instead they chose to laugh, and sleep and drink coffee and dance le Quebradita. I’m sure she didn’t want to leave but when things go right for too long she jumps before they go left. Maybe she smiled as she ran, that smile he loved and lost himself in. A smile that inspires, a smile one only dreams of, a woman who is no longer real. Red and raw with love."

"When I see I am doing something wrong, there is a part of me that wants to keep on doing it that way anyway, and even starts looking for reasons to justify the continuation."

"Where did love begin? What human being looked at another and saw in their face the forests and the sea? Was there a day, exhausted and weary, dragging home food, arms cut and scarred, that you saw yellow flowers and, not knowing what you did, picked them because I love you?"

"It is much, much worse to receive bad news through the written word than by somebody simply telling you, and I’m sure you understand why. When somebody simply tells you bad news, you hear it once, and that’s the end of it. But when bad news is written down, whether in a letter or a newspaper or on your arm in felt tip pen, each time you read it, you feel as if you are receiving the news again and again."

"No matter who you are, no matter where you live, and no matter how many people are chasing you, what you don’t read is often as important as what you do read."

"Sometimes I really wanna talk. Sometimes I forget I’m -not- that sweet girl that needs attention. Sometimes I want a hug because the world may be falling apart. And the next morning I wake up and just think about myself as a fool. One day I can smile hard and in the next, cry harder. I can beg someone to be with me and two seconds after I can beg for him to leave me alone. That’s what I do, what I hate the most about me. I hate missing a voice, an arm, a song. I hate missing a call or even the way things were before. But I what I hate the most is to feel. Because when you feel, you just can’t let you, you can’t control, you can’t step back. But sometimes I really need attention. But I swear I’ll learn to live with this."