An Onslaught of Words
Yes
I’m sick of the past few days being gorgeous and feeling broken as a result. I’m sick of the day-to-day heartbreak whenever I’m alone, whenever I’m stroking his cheek. You were right in saying I should never see him again because once I let him in, I’ll never let him go. A realistic thought. He’s not going anywhere. He works at a bakery now; he’s making progress, but I shouldn’t be the reason for it.
I’m not sure how to feel; I get these texts from people who want to learn who I am. I’m making new friends and rediscovering feelings of old. Who I was all those years ago may be who I am now, just a few more lines in my face, just a few more tears clouding my eyes.
Am I beautiful?
(Yes, he reassures me, yes, you’re gorgeous.)
Am I smart?
(Yes, they tell me, you make the wise decisions, you’re growing older, wiser.)
Am I enough?
(The answer always comes back yes, yes, yes.)
Today I went to a a huge library (7 floors). I happened to stumble upon the homosexual section, and the very first book I saw was “The Problem of Homosexuality” and I was like are you serious?, who would take the time to write a book like this. Being repulsed by the thought of it I picked it up and turned to the first page, and it read
“To anyone picking up this book your sexual orientation is not a problem, no matter what it is. Love is never a problem, only a solution.”
I wish there were more people like this….Love is never a problem—beautiful.
(Source: bryangle, via pinkpanthers)
Wholly Broken
I want to get down on my hands and knees, I want to beg, I want to grovel at your feet, but I’m not that girl. Not that girl anymore. I want to fix things, I want to make things right, I want to stop. Stop this dreamy facade, stop this pretend, stop this horrible hope that sits in my chest and makes me cough up blood. I want so badly just to be whole, just to be complete.
Love.
(via robairrobair)
Specific to Me
Do you need me? Do you really need me? Sometimes, I lie awake at night and just wish so desperately to be in your arms. You call me the pet names, you say the sweet words, but sometimes, I wonder if it’s all a farce, just a line, just clever rhetoric. Just tell me, tell me before my hearing goes, are those words every girl is just dying to hear? Tell me, tell me before your whispers go so soft I can no longer make out anything except faint scribblings in the dust, do you tell us all the same words, or are they specific to me?
An old Italian gentleman lived alone in New Jersey. He wanted to plant his annual tomato garden, but it was very difficult work, as the ground was hard. His only son, Vincent, who used to help him, was in prison. The old man wrote a letter to his son and described his predicament:
Dear Vincent, I am feeling pretty sad because it looks like I won’t be able to plant my tomato garden this year. I’m just getting too old to be digging up a garden plot. I know if you were here my troubles would be over. I know you would be happy to dig the plot for me, like in the old days. Love, Papa
A few days later he received a letter from his son.
Dear Papa, Don’t dig up that garden. That’ s where the bodies are buried. Love, Vinnie
At 4 a.m. The next morning, FBI agents and local police arrived and dug up the entire area without finding any bodies. They apologized to the old man and left. That same day the old man received another letter from his son.
Dear Papa, Go ahead and plant the tomatoes now. That’s the best I could do under the circumstances. Love you, Vinnie
I really hope that this isn’t just a joke…Because it makes me smile, and the Sicilian in me feels all warm and fuzzy.
(via robairrobair)
“People always ask me, ‘You have so much confidence. Where did that come from?’ It came from me. One day I decided that I was beautiful, and so I carried out my life as if I was a beautiful girl … It doesn’t have anything to do with how the world perceives you. What matters is what you see. Your body is your temple, it’s your home, and you must decorate it.” —Gabourey Sidibe
I love it!
