Like a trying to fit my foot in a too small shoe. I can try it on, look good in it. Wear it out dancing and look like I’m having a good time, but all along I feel the blisters forming. And when I am alone I will pop them and apply ointment and console my poor feet knowing all along it was just a poor fit .
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I wish I could listen to those songs…you know the ones that are like a swift kick to the gut when they come on at a restaurant or in a hip apartment lobby, because they are soooo you. so me and you. if i could sit and just listen to them on repeat. locked in a room over and over until i felt nothing about them. until they evoked no emotion…but then again. if i could do that with songs I wouldn’t stop there. I would do the same with the memories, and scents, and jokes, and movies…
namaste or stay the hell away Printed on Half Tiger Chopped Tank #halftiger #skreened
— Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus (via butt420plug)
me now - not my heart, not my
skin, not my hope. When we
talk I can read the silent rejection
letters: Dear Miss, we regret to
inform you that your affection
cannot be accepted at this time.
Maybe you think you’re being
kind by not leading me on, but
our friendship was built on caring
for each other long before I had
feelings for you, so while you’re
trying to push me away as a
crush, you’re also pushing me
away as a friend."
God this girl kills me…