An excellent read. Perfect thing for me to read right now with everything I’m currently working through. I especially love the last part:
“Did we find love because we grew up, got real and worked through our issues? No. We just found the right guys. We found men who love us even though we’re still cranky and neurotic, haven’t got our careers together, and sometimes talk too loudly, drink too much and swear at the television news. We have gray hairs and unfashionable clothes and bad attitudes. They love us, anyway.
What’s wrong with me? Plenty. But that was never the point.”
“The other night I got homesick for a very specific NYC experience. That ‘walking down the street on a weekend at night in the fall and it’s a little chilly and there’s that intangible energy that is exists only in New York and you have your headphones on and you’re the star of a movie in your head and you feel like you could walk the city for hours, just like this’ thing. You know the one, I’m sure. I miss that.”—Kate Spencer [via katespencer.tumblr.com]
somebody that i used to know//goyte [feat. kimbra]
Now and then I think of when we were together Like when you said you felt so happy you could die Told myself that you were right for me But felt so lonely in your company But that was love and it’s an ache I still remember
You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness Like resignation to the end Always the end So when we found that we could not make sense Well you said that we would still be friends But I’ll admit that I was glad that it was over
But you didn’t have to cut me off Make out like it never happened And that we were nothing And I don’t even need your love But you treat me like a stranger And that feels so rough You didn’t have to stoop so low Have your friends collect your records And then change your number I guess that I don’t need that though Now you’re just somebody that I used to know
Now and then I think of all the times you screwed me over But had me believing it was always something that I’d done And I don’t wanna live that way Reading into every word you say You said that you could let it go And I wouldn’t catch you hung up on somebody that you used to know…
this song, the voices [especially kimbra’s], those lyrics and oohh when they get all angry…i am obsessed.
it’s so low key you don’t even realize how powerful the lyrics are until they hit you in the gut and you’re left wondering has someone been reading my diary?
“I’m in love with you. Yeah, it’s that bad. You’re so beautiful to me. Everytime I look at your face or even remember it, it wrecks me. And the way you are with me, you’re just fun and you shit all over me and you make fun of me and you’re real. I don’t have enough time in any day to think about you enough. I feel I’m gonna live a thousand years, because that’s how long it will take me to have one thought about you, which is that I’m crazy about you. I don’t want to be with anybody else.”—
The part of me that feels wants to sleep until 10 and really enjoy it. It wants my foot to search drowsily under the blankets for your foot, just as the sun is peeking through the window pane, before either of us has opened our eyes or spoken a word. It wants to be wrapped in your arms and to feel the weight of your body as we settle back to comfortable sleep. It wants to feel safe right there.
The part of me that feels wants me to follow the path that excites me, that lights me up. It wants to spend the day drinking tea and writing words and reading books. It wants me to lace up my sneakers as the sun is setting and run far and fast as the dusky sun is streaking between buildings and trees and the sky is filled with twilight. It wants to fall asleep touching your little finger with my little finger.
The part of me that wants to stop feeling wants to set the alarm for 7am. It wants me to stretch my limbs as widely as possible from corner to corner across my bed and enjoy the space and freedom and breeze through the open windows. It wants me to lace up my sneakers and feel the dewy dawn air over my shoulders and legs as I silently move past the buildings and trees. It wants me to make and keep schedules and lists and plans, and it desperately wants those plans to look like the plans of everyone, someone, anyone nearby. It wants to dampen feelings — it wants to not think about you. It wants to focus. It wants to go to bed every night with a plan for the new day. Lists and plans and goals, written on unruled index cards and taped to the bedpost as a reminder for tomorrow, as well as a way to forget.
The part of me that feels wants to hear you tell me, just one more time, as your skin is pressed tightly against mine, that I’m comfortable. But it knows that this story, this summer, is so much sweeter when it is just a story we tell about a thing that happened one time that was maybe (hopefully) a little bit special.
No wonder some women are unconsciously passive aggressive when expressing anger, sadness, or frustration. For years, they have been subjected to so much gaslighting that they can no longer express themselves in a way that feels authentic to them.
They say, “I’m sorry” before giving their opinion. In an email or text message, they place a smiley face next to a serious question or concern, thereby reducing the impact of having to express their true feelings.
“Choose Life over the other stuff. Get out of your head. Live. Dress up. Eat. Touch people. Help out. Give up. Love people. Give your best away. There’s more. What’s the problem? Relax. You’re going to die. Throw a party. Eat off my plate. Sing to me. Meet me in the bedroom. Get a massage. Give one. Let your amazement out into the room. Pry open the box you hide your joy in. Be a poem.”—my friend, John Patrick Shanley (via emphasisadded)
But then you came along. I’m still not sure what it is that makes two people right together—whether it’s us or simply a perfect alignment of circumstances in which a certain relationship can evolve—whatever, we are right together. In this vast city where everything and everyone is coming and going at a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it-pace, we found a way to stand still together. At first we were like the rest—sharing boozey nights, raucous banter and conversations about where we’d traveled, our jobs and the weather. Amongst it all, we found something to hang onto in a place where everyone is losing their grip; and that’s how you became one of my very closest friends.
We always knew you’d have to go, and now that the day’s actually upon us, I can hardly believe it. Of overflowing Facebook invites, crowded bars filled with friends-of-friends and their friends, and fleeting, blurry, between the sheets entanglements from which I slink away in the early hours of the morning, we somehow made a connection. Now that you’re going, I’m afraid of what I’ll do without you. It’s taken me this long to find someone here that understands how the pieces of me click together, and who, in turn, I can understand in a way that sometimes doesn’t need words. I guess this is cheesy or something, but I really am so sad to see you go. There was something so comforting just knowing that you were only blocks away, that we could meet for beers and shuffleboard in the afternoons and that you still wanted to be my friend when I’d cry for no reason. So goodbye, for now, my friend. You etched your own little niche in the dug-out beneath my ribs, and I’ll take you with me everywhere I go.
“Whenever I write a novel, I have a strong sense that I am doing something I was unable to do before. With each new work, I move up a step and discover something new inside me. I don’t see this novel as a departure, but I do think it has been a major step in my career. Formally speaking, this is the first full-length novel I have written from beginning to end in the third person.”— Haruki Murakami, the author of this week’s story, “Town of Cats,” talking to the magazine’s fiction editor, Deborah Treisman. Click through for the rest of their chat. (via newyorker)
Tonight was the first run in nearly eight weeks. The first run after an injury. The first run after sitting on the sidelines, listening to the stories of my friends, my heart lusting after those long runs, short runs, record-breaking-heat runs, soothing summer-rain runs.
Tonight I intended to run 3.965 miles. I mapped it out. I was all ready to go. Then, during this run, something changed. For *the first time in ages* my legs wanted to keep going. They pushed me one more mile, one more stoplight, one more street corner, one more sidewalk square. They flew. I flew.
Something about tonight — maybe it was the weather or the shining moon or the clear sky — enchanted me. Tonight didn’t feel forced; I felt an urgent sensation, deep in my feet, legs, knees, hips, to continue.
For the first time in months, I felt in control of everything about this run. I ran faster because I could and I slowed down in order to truly enjoy the moment. You know that breeze you feel when you’re standing on a windy beach? That breeze that cools your sun-drenched skin and soothes your soul? Tonight, I made that breeze. The faster I ran, the closer I came to that sandy-beach-stormy-sea breeze.
Tonight, I didn’t make excuses. I didn’t slow down because I had to, I didn’t stop because I couldn’t keep going, I didn’t cut corners because I was afraid I couldn’t make it. I pushed past sore shins and achy knees because I could.
Five miles. I know it’s not much, and I know there will be more, but for an on-the-sidelines-for-eight-weeks girl, tonight felt like magic.
“what if she was meant to be, or could have been, someone important in my life? i think that’s what scares me: the randomness of everything. that the people who could be important to you might just pass you by. or you pass them by. how do you know. i felt that by walking away i was abandoning them, that i spent my entire life, day after day, abandoning people.”—peter cameron (via growingupindie, thresca)