“Broken hearts are hard to mend, but they are even harder to keep track of.”
—Josie DeJarnatt (via missimperfection)
August 2009
148 posts
“More and more, it feels like I’m doing a really bad impersonation of myself.”
—Chuck Palahniuk (via fuckyeahpalahniuk) (via missimperfection)
“You always told me that you hate to see me hurt, and you hate to see me cry. So tell me, all those times you hurt me, did you have to close your eyes?”
—(via missimperfection)
I want to wake up in your room, in your bed. I want to wake up to that view in your window, the one that overlooks everything below. I want to wake up in your arms, my skin pressed against yours. I want to shower in your bathroom and wash my face in your sink. I want to make you coffee and have toast with you. I want to read the morning paper with you and drive to work with you. I want to have our photo in a frame at the corner of my desk. I want to come home from work to you. I want to hold you and feel you and love you properly. I want to make dinner with you. I want to do the dishes and sort the laundry with you. I want to get ready for bed with you. I want to fall asleep in your arms, and wake up to you anddo everything all over again. I want to be with you.
I want to remind you that everyday I love you more then I did yesterday. Not the same. Not less.
Remember. More
Everyone says love hurts, but that is not true. Loneliness hurts. Rejection hurts. Losing someone hurts. Envy hurts. Everyone gets these things confused with love, but in reality love is the only thing in this world that covers up all pain and makes someone feel wonderful again. Love is the only thing in this world that does not hurt.
So true
Play
- Dwight: What is my perfect crime? I break into Tiffany's at midnight. Do I go for the vault? No, I go for the chandelier. It's priceless. As I'm taking it down, a woman catches me. She tells me to stop. It's her father's business. She's Tiffany. I say no. We make love all night. In the morning the cops come and I escape in one of their uniforms. I tell her to meet me in Mexico but I go to Canada. I don't trust her. Besides, I like the cold. Thirty years later, I get a postcard. I have a son and he's the chief of police. This is where the story gets interesting: I tell Tiffany to meet me in Paris, by the Trocadero. She's been waiting for me all these years; she's never taken another lover. I don't care, I don't show up. I go to Berlin. That's where I stashed the chandelier.