I’m tired of being a little shit who can’t handle money, emotional connections, human interaction, or form words in a coherent and intelligent fashion.

I don’t know who this girl is, but she can see herself out.

At one point I was vibrant. I need to find that way again. I realized that I am simply existing and being exhausted by existing and letting myself take the easy way out. It’s making me boring to even myself.

How do I change that?

I divide people in my life into genres.

Genres of human beings keep appearing and it’s easier to relate to people if I feel like I’ve already met them.

I like her because she reminds me of everything that made me excited about you.

But that is also the reason I’m glad I’ve only ever met her once.

But that is also the reason she’s stuck around in my head.

I graduated college and forgot how to make meaningful connections with people and thus the connections I had made were magnified and glorified and over romanticized. So when I feel like there’s a connection waiting to happen, one that mimics something I had then, I obsess on it.

I just want to feel like a real human again.

This wasn’t about either of them, I guess.

Let’s kiss for a few hours. You and I. I don’t mind where or when or even if you’ll call me after because I know you will. Hands on your face, mouths like honey, let’s kiss until the spaces between us are swollen with it. I want to know what the dip of your breath is like when you’re happy. And how your face feels when I’m holding it. More, when you’re excited. Mostly, your palms. Or the tangle of my hair in your fingers. I want to kiss you for days, or what feels like days but is only hours. Or, you know, days that are days. We can pause for food and water but not breaths. We can pause to say “hey, I like the way you feel when you’re soft beneath me” or “listen, it’s still not enough with you, I’m worried it never might be” and start all over again.

Azra.T ”The Spaces Between” (via 5000letters)

I might think I can’t take it any more, that I can’t go on any more, but one way or another I get past that.

Haruki Murakami, After Dark (via rsvnr)