I speak like I think; fast and incomplete. These are only part of me. My truths, thrown together in careful carelesness. Welcome to my page!

“If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot.”

—   Stephen King (via maxkirin)

(via bellecosby)


Andrew Clements, The Janitor’s Boy


Andrew Clements, The Janitor’s Boy

(via theadventuresoftim--tim)

“Pain is just a consequence of love.”

—   Ariana Grande “My Everything”

“when something so profoundly sad
renders you emotionless”

“The living being is only a species of the dead, and a very rare species at that.”


Nostalgia of love

For the moment, I’ll let nostalgia consume me
I’ll embrace the depth of these memories and linger on promises and dreams.
I will not leave you here alone.
I’ll cherish the laughs we’ve had and pluck out the parts of our relationship where the gravity of our reality consumed us.
We were just children back then.
Children with forever in our pockets,
armed with a twisted version of what love was supposed to be.
Warmth, love, and reckless abandon.
There was no room for understanding.
So when we were tested and pushed with our backs against the wall,
We fought each other for justification and the right to continue to stand exactly where we are.
For the the moment, I’ll let nostalgia consume me.
I’ll embrace the thoughts of us at our best
And give in to what we could have been.
Silently precious, lovers.
The kind that can dance endlessly in the reflection of the moon and hold on to each other cautiously.
Never letting go,
Never to be apart
Never giving in to the pressures of our differences.
For that very moment, I’ll let nostalgia consume me.

Family confessions

I think that’s what she called it.
We were supposed to be a family.
I’m not sure what family is supposed to look or feel like.
I can’t imagine what a happy one would look like even if I tried.
But in my ignorance, I’m certain of one thing.
Family cannot be synonymous with hurt and pain
I don’t think it’s suppose to.
Family can’t be what makes your heart ache
I don’t think it’s supposed to.
Family cannot abandon you at your neediest most vulnerable moments.
I don’t think they are meant to.
Interestingly enough,
That is the only Family I seem akin to.

Count on it.

Though there are not many things in this world you can count on,
you can count on death.
You can count on the sun to rise and set,
The moon to show its faces,
The wind to carry, like song, each voice as it echoes on the earth
And death.
You can count on death.
Count on It to caresses your face at night and sings you sweet lullabies as you lay asleep in bed.
Count on it to creep into your dreams and loiter with nightmares the very place you rest your head.
Were you ever promised that tomorrow? But with each passing night, you gambled your chances at life in hopes it would be too preoccupied to visit you just one more time.
But like the sun that rises,
And the moon that shine
You can count on death.
It shows up every night.
It watches you in slumber.

With every broken bone, I swear I’ve lived.

Journal ramblings

Gravity keeps getting a hold of me.

My thoughts

I’d like to take a trip back to the time I didn’t give a damn. Maybe then, I’d stop walking past mirrors looking for your approval. These days, I barely see myself anymore.