I want all of my pictures and the CDs to be ready by 11am tomorrow.
I want my apartment to pass inspection so that I may get my entire security deposit back.
I want to sleep soundly tonight and wake up refreshed in the morning.
I want my drive home to go smoothly.
and then you find yourself in love. and not the in love that you thought you were three months ago—or a year ago. you find yourself so completely happy that you stop dreaming about giant diamond rings, or grand romantic gestures. you stop looking for what you’re missing, and you start to see all that you have. you sit still and you stare at your life—a life you feel so blessed to be living. you see traces of cheerios that have been sitting under the cabinet for two weeks, and you see the dog knock over a beer with his tail, you see weeds in the garden. and you take ownership, you find pride in living a life that’s not perfect. but most importantly, you see yourself in everything. you are constantly feeling thankful and appreciative. you smile as a result of simple thoughts, and you cry at the smallest joys.
(Source: michelleelu)
can’t tell if my hangover is gone or if i’m just in a great position that stops the nausea and headache. oh well, not moving.
(Source: internethistory)
(Source: lovelylops)
is when i wake up from a dead sleep—crying, screaming, scared, confused, angry—and i can’t take your face in my hand
Forgive me. I am afraid of first impressions. I can watch Casablanca in a renovated art house and learn nothing a man should learn. I have seen you escape from your lectures to sip a cappuccino with your back to the café door. You don’t want your business students to notice you leafing through a catalog, and, if they do, you want a quick way out. I understand. You are guardedly ambitious, elegant skirts always past the knee, eyeglasses firmly set on the bridge of your nose: a modern independent woman who demands creative devotion from the apes who grunt for your attention. I have failed to approach you. There is history in you, and I don’t trust myself to respect the silence. I might want too many answers. I blame nerves, bad timing, my life’s tedious projects which are like puppies snapping at my laces. Too many base distractions when I want only to see you. I wish with all my heart to avoid ever being accused of staring too long. So now I am relying on this old-fashioned technology, the letter. To write a letter is now an art, a curiosity, and exuberance, like dusting off an ancient typewriter to prove that the depth of one’s feelings is as vast as time itself. This letter is my awkward gesture. I am at the door, an ape signing a mute language, hoping you will somehow hear, and turn around.
i want to be home. i want to be asleep, wrapped up in love and remembering all the wonderful things in my life. i want to be laughing and smiling. i want you to answer the phone, i want a job offer on tuesday. i want the next 9 days to fly by. i want to be in the present.
“like this post/picture/page if you <3 your mom”
“repost if your dad is the best”
“copy&paste as your status if you have the best kids”
obviously you fucking love your parents, unless you are 14 and haven’t gotten over your self-hatred yet.
and obviously you think highly of your children because you kind of forced them out of your uterus so it’s a miracle.
goddamn facebook bitches
