When there is nothing left to burn you have to set yourself on fire.

Sometimes I wonder if you still read this.
Sometimes I wonder about you, and how you are.
Sometimes I feel like there is an eery connection. A weathered, tattered string.
Sometimes I wonder about us.
Sometimes I wonder about a lot of things.

Sometimes these feelings are lately all the times.
Sometimes...I just do.

“I will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and ( Read more... )

I'm sorry.

On the first page of our story the future seemed so bright. Then this thing turned out so evil, I don't know why I'm still surprised. Even angels have their wicked schemes, and you take that to new extremes, but you'll always be my hero even though you lost your mind.

“I had a steady heart before I met you, I relied upon it, it had seen active service and grown strong. Now you alter its pace with your own rhythm, you play upon me, drumming me taut.”

- Jeanette Winterson

Ugh, fucking twitter. I caved in and reactivated my account, follow me.

I don't know how to handle how I feel today.

I was just looking through old entries, and I realized I've had this journal since I was 16 years old. 16! I'm turning 20 in two weeks.
I feel old. Where the fuck did my life go! I'm really glad I have old journals to look back on and read.

twitter?