Not vanity, Curiosity.

Hemingway

"You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you dies each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintry light. But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person had died for no reason.

When spring came, even the false spring, there were no problems except where to be happiest. The only thing that could spoil a day was people and if you could keep from making engagements, each day had no limits. People were always the limiters of happiness except for the very few that were as good as spring itself."

I would have more success in love if I wasn't attracted to guys who resembled Ernest Hemingway.

J. S. V. E. R. D. B.

All my lost, unrequited loves have become the same ghosts.

They perch on my shoulder as I sit alone. They remind me of my place in this life, a solitaire.

My mother’s womb made me the same mercurial creature that she is now. I am doomed to repeat her mistakes.

A tragic fate, to be filled with unwavering and overwhelming amounts of love. Empathy that I cannot contain, nor understand. And not a recipient in site.

It is too perfect, and too beautiful a thing to love something that will not, will never love you back.

.

In my dreams I am in a hotel by the sea.

From the window I can taste salt in the air, feel the heat of the sun on my skin. There is no sound except the waves lapping up onto the shore, in their fruitless efforts to drown the earth. They are whispering secrets to me, I cannot understand them but I am soothed. I am alone.

In my dreams I am in a hotel by the sea.

I try to imagine you there; I try to imagine that you are good company. That I am happy with you, brushing your hair or lying with your leg over my body, that sort of rough affection that I grew to love. The moment lingers in its perfection and then is gone, and I can’t decide whether it was better to have dreamed it at all, knowing that your absence will haunt me.

Loneliness becomes me; it is my most beautiful face. These days, it is my only.

Angry and Miserable

Fuck moving

I want someone to love my nuiances. I've learned that I'm not strong, I am weak and fragile and falling to pieces, lost in this world. I only let certain people see it and I was foolish to think I could leave myself exposed and not expect to get hurt. Is it so much to ask just for companionship? What is it about me that makes people love me but then discard me? As though they found something special enough to captivate them but not important enough to hold onto. I can't think of one thing in my life that I really have, that belongs to me and won't disappear.

If and when I am ever wanted, I'll be too hurt and jaded to ever let anyone in again.