Less Than Perfect...
“The minute I heard my first love story I started looking for you, not knowing how blind that was. Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere. They’re in each other all along.”
“We all have the potential to fall in love a thousand times in our lifetime. It’s easy. The first girl I ever loved was someone I knew in sixth grade. Her name was Missy; we talked about horses. The last girl I love will be someone I haven’t even met yet, probably. They all count. But there are certain people you love who do something else; they define how you classify what love is supposed to feel like. These are the most important people in your life, and you’ll meet maybe four or five of these people over the span of 80 years. But there’s still one more tier to all this; there is always one person you love who becomes that definition. It usually happens retrospectively, but it happens eventually. This is the person who unknowingly sets the template for what you will always love about other people, even if some of these loveable qualities are self-destructive and unreasonable. The person who defines your understanding of love is not inherently different than anyone else, and they’re often just the person you happen to meet the first time you really, really, want to love someone. But that person still wins. They win, and you lose. Because for the rest of your life, they will control how you feel about everyone else.”
How to move on.
lovelesswrists:
taramarie:
Say goodbye. Squeeze his hand, drink champagne. Make love. Kiss his face. Cry, hug, drive away, blind with sadness.
Shower, wash his smell, his mouth, his hands, away.
Take down pictures, hang new ones. Girlfriends, family. Permanence. The dog.
Hide everything. The pretty boxes gifts came in. Little notes he left. Throw away photo albums, concert tickets, movie stubs, wine corks.
Cry. Drink.
Clean, bathtubs, bookshelves. Scrub out memories of beach vacations, Christmas, birthdays. Laughter. Push it away. Put it in drawers, sweaters to be eaten by moths.
Run. Suck in cold air. Count the months til summer.
Make mental notes. Erase them.
Meet friends for drinks. Survey the room, feel dismayed.
Tell the story, over and over. Hear yourself sound nonchalant. Feel like a fraud. Feel like you’re in a hundred pieces.
Miss him. Fuck someone else. Don’t stay the night. Feel hollow, like you could float away.
Do not call. Delete his number. Smile, smile smile.
Change the radio station when that song comes on. Avoid certain restaurants and bars and grocery stores. Every man coming around every corner could be him.
Call your mother. Call a friend. Hear the exhaustion in their voices.
Buy a new dress. Laugh at everyone’s jokes. Drink and drink. Be the life of the party. Comment on ‘the single life.’
Take a vacation. Kiss someone who tastes like margaritas. Get your sea legs.
Take a bath. Sleep naked. Sleep in the middle.
Make hot tea, take a walk. Buy a camera, take pictures of trees, your feet. Drink wine. Cry. Paint your bedroom. Pet the dog. Take a nap, wear a summer dress. Take a date, eat sushi, talk about your brothers and sisters. Read a book, sleep in, window shop, buy new shoes. Make a scrapbook, make spaghetti. Feel better. Feel something. Feel OK.
lindseymayloves:bblove
reblog cuz i feel a bit emotional tonight and this brought tears to my eyes.
“Life… is like a box of chocolates - a cheap, thoughtless, perfunctory gift that no one ever asks for, unreturnable because all you get back is another box of chocolates. So, you’re stuck with mostly undefinable whipped mint crap, mindlessly wolfed down when there’s nothing else to eat while you’re watching the game. Sure, once is a while you get a peanut butter cup or an English toffee but it’s gone too fast and the taste is fleeting. In the end, you are left with nothing but broken bits filled with hardened jelly and teeth-shattering nuts, which, if you are desperate enough to eat, leaves nothing but an empty box of useless brown paper.”
(via krishanu)
So appropriate to my condition right now.
“You can be in a room with 100 men, and not like any of them, or you can be in a room with just one man, and he’s exactly the one you want.”
“Nothing is as frustrating as arguing with someone who knows what he’s talking about.”
Memory Bank 120397a on Vimeo (via Vimeo)
Love how beautifully this video has been captured. I want to learn to do this someday :-)
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