Sometimes I’m terrified of my heart; of its constant hunger for whatever it is it wants. The way it stops and starts.
Edgar Allan Poe (via n0tr3allyafairy)
We will live the rest of our lives
carrying on months without the other, it builds
you accrue in me, months we spend months in
indecision, in translucent drones
at the narrative spent
We will carry on our whole lives
making sense of
sentences, with the
occasional sleepless heave
when our lungs can’t take
of miscalculations, until
What was hours ago sleepless
speech, now thoughts complete
No one will believe
the symmetry today
No one will breathe like
we do today
No one will ever know, no
one ever does
was enough, I’ve had enough
we forget, begin again
I burn my words, you
singe your sleeve, good
Until next time
I AM FUCKING SCREAMING BECAUSE THIS IS SERIOUSLY THE BEST THING EVER
You have your mother’s cheek bones
godDAMMIT NOW WE’RE SHIPPING CUTLERY
TUMBLR YOU NEED TO S T O P
I hope this post comes back to me when it has a short story attached.
The Utensils were a happy family, just like any other. Fork was a loving, caring father, who worked at a bank, and Spoon was his beautiful wife, who owned a small business that allowed her to spend a lot of time with their son, Spork. Every day, when Fork came home from work, he gently clinked against the rim of Spoon’s face and asked how her day had been. She would go on and on about how her Aunt Bowl was letting anyone fill her up these days, and telling him he would never guess who they got a phone call from today (it was his brother, Knife), and he would just lean back against the china cabinet, staring at his wife’s beautiful reflective surface, and know everything was right in the world.
One day, however, everything was suddenly not right in the world at all.
Fork woke up in the silverware drawer and instantly knew something was wrong. He looked over to where Spoon normally slept, confused when he saw nothing but empty space. Or, at least, he thought it was empty. It took him a minute to see the small note left there. Oh no. God, no, he thought.
He picked up the note with shaking prongs, and read amid tears:
I’m sorry to leave you like this, but I just couldn’t face seeing you. It’s too painful. I’m not strong enough to tell you this to your face, and I know that makes me a coward. I know that makes me a horrible utensil. But I can’t do this anymore.
Do you remember Cow’s party the other night? The night she was so drunk she swore she jumped over the moon? Well, I met someone that night. His name is Dish. And we’re running away together.
Please, don’t try and find us. Dish makes me happy. He doesn’t spend all day staring at me, looking at himself in my reflection.
Fork collapsed to the ground, wishing he could tell Spoon that the reason he loved staring at her reflective surface so much, was because of the way her surface magnified everything around her, making it seem so much greater and more beautiful than people could see themselves as normally. Her personality did the same thing. It’s what he loved most about her. And what he would miss most of all.
I CAN’T EVEN WITH THIS FUCKING SITE.
sweet jesus i’m crying over cutlery
things like this make me happy i have a tumblr
The only thing standing between you and your goal is the bullshit story you keep telling yourself as to why you can’t achieve it.
Jordan Belfort (via stay-ocean-minded)