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When I wake up in the morning and she’s not there, I remember that I kissed her goodbye. And I told her to have a good day at work. Which is lame, I know, but how good at words can I be while still on the border of Dreamland? Maybe it’s because I’m half asleep, but as I remember, I can almost feel her hugging me… Then I don’t feel so bad about today, the day. 

I remember, even more far away (though just a few weeks ago) how I would stay up so many nights unable to sleep. How the night would taunt me with coldness, emptiness, and a profound abyss of loneliness. So I would call you. Crazy just to hear your voice on the answering machine, but you would answer. <3 And I would return to my wavy thought patterns and embrace a star-filled, moon lit night with a cool breeze to soothe my dreams. I would retire my head to SS Pillow and sail away to Dreamland, Neverland where I’d play house… with her.

I used to think that I wasn’t fine enough
I used to think that I wasn’t wild enough
But I won’t waste my time trying to figure out
Why you playin’ games what’s this all about?
<3 Keyshia Cole’s song, “Love” 

There’s an Eight Formation at the end— TOO legit! :D

I’m not afraid of death.
I know what that feeling is-
It’s every time you write
love songs for a you that isn’t
me.
HTLP (via nilesheron)

You lash out. Wounded. You try to defend yourself. Slicing through the air with your shield. Impaling with your sword. I don’t care. You say that. I hope that you do. Hopelessly, I tried. I worked. I was patient. But love comes easy, I think. Well, maybe, I don’t know. When it gets here I won’t know. When it gets here, won’t I know? Love isn’t a ONE WAY street. But you were. Are. You’re not dead. I am. No, just a little piece of me. Not completely. Not yet. It isn’t easy to forget. Neruda told me several times already, “Love is short, forgetting is long.” Forgetting is forever. Forgetting until the base of the most impenetrable pieces of my love for you fall. Until I fall. Down, down, down. Like water. Falling quickly. Rushing to see you, then turning back the other way, at the first glance of you, and running to seek shelter. You bring up too many good memories. Too much longing wistfully to wile away the wicked, whimsical wishes of your willing heart. Too willing. Like the beast that lets the matador do what he will. Pierce. Cause casualties. Injuries of the hide. Artful killing. Killing is just killng, dear. How can there be art there? Maybe I was beatly, but I tried. I wrote poems. Prose. Songs. Gave you whatever you asked for and everything my non-psychic abilities tried to predict you would want. But we are not compatible. I am not your Earth and you are not my rain. I wonder who will bring my heart back with the shards of its shield sprinkled on top like crushed croutons on a disgusting, stale salad. Love is like a war with you. I wasn’t fighting for control. I was fighting for you to have the right to feel. Feel free. You were fighting to control me and yourself. But, dearest, you can feel and still think logically. Simultaneously, even. I know that you’ve been burned before, but those other chicks were not my fault. I’m notthatchick, I swear.

“Talking To God”

—Found this in the web!

I know what it’s like to live with a blackhole. To have it inside of you. Ebbing away at your heart and mind. Tearing at the seam of your spirit. Sucking whatever light and joy possible into the dark, unfathomable, endless, abyss of pain. I know what it feels like to want to be numb because it hurts so much, and I don’t trust laughing or smiling because I can’t trust the sources of these happy things. I was there. Not just once. Not just for a little while. So I understand you. Whatever the trigger for this, I get it. I get you. I know. I really, completely understand. But you can still control yourself. That’s not an excuse to act barbaric, and insensitive. I genuinely care. I know you’ve been hurt, but you can’t use that as an excuse to “throw it all away,” because there’s really no such thing. Whatever you do, you’ll bear the consequences. If yo decide to withdraw for a bit, you can heal, with help. There are different ways to heal. But you can also lash out at everyone and withdraw forever. You can only push people away for so long, before they just leave you alone. Some of us will always be here waiting for you to reach out and let us know when you’re ready. But in the process, you’re wasting friends, contact, and time. Why do that to yourself? I don’t know. Maybe I’m just a naive, stupid, and crazy. Maybe you can dismiss me as just a random 18 year old girl with no experience in life. It’s all on you, sweetheart. No judgement on this side. :)

OCCUPPY SANTA ANA. Last Friday!! Met a lot of cool people. :)

OCCUPPY SANTA ANA. Last Friday!! Met a lot of cool people. :)

If guys really care that much, then let women have a choice. It shouldn’t be up to them whether or not we get hurt. If the woman thinks it’s worth a few pains here or there in order to have a relationship, then atleast ask her, thereby giving her the option while simultaneously making it clear that you think it’s wortg it. Love isn’t all sacrifice, pain, and compromise. It isn’t measured, there are only types. It isn’t all rainbows, butterflies, glitter, and unicorns either. Love is not an emotion. Love is a simple, monosyllabic word we attribute to something complex with a myriad of facets and characteristics. It was never about whom loves whom better, or more, or who is better than who, or even who is smarter that who. Women and men are on completely different planes on the universe. Love is the bridge that helps us understand each other. Whether it’s homosexual or heterosexual, love is a verb, not a lazy noun. Love is full of action, being proactive (not reactive, as described by many), an attitude, a way of living, a perspective of our world, a definition of our niche in this grand universe we live in. When you love, you’ll know. You’ll know that love comes from within and is neither triggered nor extinguished by another person or something outside of ourselves.