03/02/14 - 6,136 notes

I am riding in the passenger seat, listening to my mother talk about the ways love has failed her. I can see the fifty-six years on her face, though she wears them well. She has been called “wife” by four men, “girlfriend” by eight names she has slipped into conversation, “lover” by strangers I will never meet. When I curiously ask, “Why stay married if you’re unhappy?”, she goes stiff. ‘You don’t understand,’ she says defensively. ‘You’re just a kid.’

I am seventeen the first time a boy mentions marriage to me. We are giddy with the idea of gaining light by revealing our dark to each other. But we are too entranced by how bold shouting ‘forever’ is to know how suffocating it can be. We have no idea that we will spend months listening to each other punch ‘fiancee’ out of our speech. Or that one day, when we are sharing a bed, we will look forward to getting away from each other in sleep.

At nineteen, I am doodling in the margins of my college notebook, when my teacher says, ‘Second marriages have a 67% chance of ending in divorce. Third marriages have a 73% chance. And if you’re on your fourth, well, really, what are you doing?’ I think of my mother in her fourth unhappy marriage. I think of my father in his fifth. I wonder if picking myself up and trying again is in my genes.

I do not pick myself up and try again when I learn that I am not going to marry the first person I loved. I pack the remainder of my tiny world into two suitcases and leave the photos of us to die on our bedroom walls. I write lots of shitty poetry and tell my ghosts to ‘keep quiet’ when I think nobody is listening. The next time a boy knocks on my chest and asks, ‘How deep do you go?’, I do not show him. I say, ‘Infinitely’ and leave when he complains about the spaces in me he will not be able to fill up.

My ninety-year old grandma, with her silver hips and bullet-wound lips, tells me, in a thick accent, that ‘Nice girls should be married.’ For years, I watched her treat love as the greatest task on her ‘to-do list,’ always cooking and cleaning to keep the relationship alive. But I am too weak, too selfish, too young to carry the weight of love. She says, ‘Find someone nice and settle down,’ but I have a desire for the world that must be fed. And I am trying to first settle the disorder in my head before I think about being sharing my bed.

-- Forever Is Too Large To Promise | Lora Mathis 

03/02/14 - 0 notes

There’s a knot in my core, and it twists so painfully whenever you are around. I have to remind myself that I’m not deserving of anyone or anything and that your attention is just innocent. We are getting to know each other as nothing more than friends. And you are much younger, or so it appears to someone so fixated on age and the distance every year brings between now and the times in my life when I deserved better and the world was mine if I wished it. But you laugh when I talk and it feels so good to know you aren’t laughing at me but rather find my humor amusing. And you’re kind and pay me the sort of attention I crave but know I can’t have. I am too scared and scarred on the inside and my exterior is one I can barely look at. So I think I’ll long for you but keep you at a distance. Because happiness is something I can only wish for and would never presume to have. 

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Life is so damned hard. It just hurts people and hurts people, until finally it hurts them so that they can’t be hurt ever any more. That’s the last and worst thing it does.

-- F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Beautiful and the Damned (via larmoyante)

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I was tired of pretending that I was someone else just to get along with people, just for the sake of having friendships.

-- Kurt Cobain  (via ohsunbae)

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