"A woman is not written in braille, you don’t have to touch her to know her."
I will reblog this every single time
"Don’t trust charming. Why? Because the boy who can talk all the right words knows it too well. Things like boys and love aren’t meant to be practiced like that, it should be a bit awkward- it should be raw."
how come in like every single book ever the weird awkward girl gets the hot popular guy like this is not how real life works
"Some goodbye’s never end.
They just linger, like regret."
I’m sorry, I guess
Sometimes I wonder if it’s truly writer’s block or I’ve simply lost any inspiration in this crazy, mad, mad, world. Back when my life was perfectly boring, I could write about the rare moments of insipidity—those short moments of excitement I believe I owned. Like I could keep it in a tiny glass bottle, wrap the neck with rolled paper and then hide it away forever for no good reason.
Now, I stare at tear-streaked faces, falter at the inevitable silence that insues whenever it’s my turn to say something helpful but I end up not saying anything at all because the answers I have are not what they’re looking for. How can something that makes me feel so helpless and inexperienced inspire me to write anything decent? I don’t even want to think. They just inspire me to feel. Feel what? Pain. And it’s not even alone. There’s remorse, guilt and anger too. Emotions I can vent on this blank document in a sleek pink laptop I got for my birthday. Not even on something as cool as some binded notebook made from recycled paper.
Guess what? I learned a new word.
That’s my favorite genre of music. The kind that doesn’t play in the radio. The kind of music no one hears about but when they do, they raise an eyebrow and mutter to themselves, I’m pretty sure I heard this somewhere, I just can’t remember.