Pride ruined the angels.
Posted November 25, 2009 at 11:26am
Yes please blonde in spring.
Posted November 24, 2009 at 10:43pm
Posted November 24, 2009 at 11:57am
That’s why people grow weary of listening to Dumpees obsess over their troubles: getting dumped is predictable, repetitive, and boring. They want to stay friends; they feel smothered; it’s always them and it’s never you; and afterward, you’re devastated and they’re relieved; it’s over for them and just starting for you. And to Colin’s mind, at least, there was a deeper repetition: each time, Katherines dumped him because they just didn’t like him. They each came to precisely the same conclusion about him. He wasn’t cool enough or good-looking enough or as smart as they’d hoped—in short, he didn’t matter enough. And so it happened to him again and again, until it was boring. But monotony doesn’t make for painlessness. In the first century CE, Roman authorities punished St. Apollonia by crushing her teeth one by one with pliers. Colin often thought about this in relationship to the monotony of dumping: we have thirty-two teeth. After a while, having each tooth individually destroyed probably gets repetitive, even dull. But it never stops hurting.
— An Abundance of Katherines by John Green
Posted November 24, 2009 at 10:36am
Apart from all this...
I hope I, one day, know what it’s like to be her. Whether it be by you or another. I hope I am lucky enough to be “perfect” in someone’s mind even after they lose me, no matter who they are seeing. That their heart always comes back to its memory of me… At the end of their day or orgasm, that it is me they wistfully look over at their girl and wish she was.
I will feel differently in fifteen minutes. This is only my drafting board for what I want to say and feel. This is not it. I’ve been the girl who isn’t her on too many occasions and can be very bitter at times.
I hope all the boys love their girls the way they tell them they do.
Posted November 24, 2009 at 10:15am
Maybe I was perfect in San Francisco because you knew me for who I was, not what condition I had or the mistakes I’d made. Was the truth really what you wanted? Did it really help you? Sometimes some truths, these petty, little, mishaps of truth smother what is really true.
Either way… no amount will go unseen.
Like those of petty mistakes.
Or past disorders.
Or how absolutely and entirely, truly, spellbindingly happy and in love I am in this picture.
Posted November 24, 2009 at 2:26am
Thanksgiving.
Posted November 24, 2009 at 2:00am
Thanksgiving.
Posted November 24, 2009 at 1:59am
Posted November 24, 2009 at 1:50am
