she is tall and naked and coming towards you and you shrink
back into a doorway the size of a hole
she is coming coming coming to tell you
to open her mouth wide and red
this is not for you
her legs say, her feet say, her
say, say, what do you want
this is not for you
i am sorry i got, drunk and
didnt come home and
got lost and
everything will be
dont worry, alright
worry yourself sick
everything is shit
please just why dont you
night at their back.” —Anne Carson, from Autobiography of Red (thanks, petitemort-v)
it makes me happy. it makes me accepting and tired and clumsy and muddled and happy. i must pick up tomorrow. this is a reminder to myself to buy some weed tomorrow.
over and out
Arguments are funny things.
essentially we do agree on everything. we are sad because we are far away from one another and because we don’t always do what the other wants. no one can be perfect for anyone, everyone will always get let down. it’s okay, though. you have to deal with being let down and not being understood and sometimes accept that it’s probably your fault in the other person’s eyes, just as its your fault in theirs, and you can’t accuse them of being selfish or stubborn while you’re being the same.
i love my fiancee very very very much, and would do anything to keep him. he’s also right. i just want him to ignore all my mistakes and keep me safe anyway. but if he’s not safe from me, he’s not safe from anything.
everything isn’t scary anymore.
reality is ugly and disgusting and lovely. i can’t quite come to terms with it, with how good things can be and how bad things can be. i hate grey train stations and rude people and the fact that i could probably get on very well with 90% of the people i walk past but i will never speak to them. i could fuck them and fight with them and anything could happen, anything can happen. its just not happening. i met a guy last week who talked very earnestly about philosophy and his religion and everything, and he’d only known me ten minutes, and he told me everything he believed. he meant it. even if my boyfriend thinks he’s some creepy sleazebag, he meant it. he was willing to tell me anything, in exchange for nothing. i will never call him, i deleted his number. maybe he’s dissapointed, maybe he just wanted a fuck and he’ll get it from someone else.