"No greater mistake can be made than to imagine that what has been written latest is always the more correct; that what is written later on is an improvement on what was written previously; and that every change means progress."
The Essays of Schopenhauer: the art of literature
A guy my age screams through my laptop speakers saying what I know.
"I will fuck this up, I fucking know it."
The air is still and sour odor wafers from all the times Honey peed in the closet. I dust the city with the smell when I run errands.
Maybe it was high school. I think not getting the respect from someone you thirst for it from fucks with you. That kind of humility lives on even after you die. This is the me leaving that shitty part of me behind. I don’t care how long it takes. I won’t leave this world with more regret than already pushes my bruised shoulders into the concrete.
I wish the person I used to love cared about me; I wish I still cared about it. I still get goosebumps thinking about a world without him. That sharp insecurity and the whole-body goosebumps fade just as quick as they came. The best thing about being alive is knowing, definitely, in the future, there is someone who will try hard to make you laugh, and feel things about you they thought they couldn’t about anyone, ever.
And suddenly I’m not worried about answering his texts immediately.
Usually people have to tell you these things; parents mostly.
It’s more fun this way. It’s so much more real.
Bob scrubbin’ your blog.
Sometimes you need to remind yourself that you were the one who carried you through the heartache. You are the one who sits with the cold body on the shower floor, and picks it up. You are the one who feeds it, who clothes it, who tucks it into bed, and you should be proud of that. Having the strength to take care of yourself when everyone around you is trying to bleed you dry, that is the strongest thing in the universe.
"But do not ask me where I am going as I travel in this limitless world, where every step is my home.”
Oh you don’t like Wes Anderson films? To each his own I guess.
—How White Guys Can Avoid Being a Douche (via howitzerliterarysociety)