“I have to write it down because it’s the first time I’ve ever felt it. The source of clichés themselves, the source of I want to spend the rest of my life with you, the source of I can’t imagine being without you the source of thinking about kissing you and you kissing me back and holding me, the bliss of that. I felt it once before, but not so strongly. I always knew with him, deep down, it was mutual respect and attraction and closeness. No struggle, blissfully happy. But now I think you have to struggle, you have to feel pain to really feel love. The thought of being without you terrifies me, paralyses me, incapacitates me. Just being around you, being near you, knowing you’re in the room or the same building, I can’t wait to see you. I love you. I love you with every twist of my intestine, I feel it in my stomach, I feel myself on fire. Every hug, every touch, leaves me burning. You have shot me to bits. You have made yourself a prize, an unattainable future, a searingly vivid dream that seems like it’s only one step away and yet will never ever come true. And then all the while knowing I’ll move on, that one day I’ll never understand, though there will be scars in unexpected places. There will be the eternal failure, the eternal sting of the not-achieved, the unfinished, the ever-incomplete. Because you loved me too, hidden, not as strong. It didn’t override you, it never took full control of your fibres the way it did me. It tore me apart, it just became latent in you. A sleepy love, a lazy love. A love that knew it didn’t have to try. I wanted to inhabit ‘she’, I wanted to be the girl you always looked for in a room, even if you didn’t know you were looking. I wanted to be the one who walked in and you would think, ‘she’ and that one word, that one pronoun would encompass everything. I have been there for you in every move, I have been close to you, I have been ever present. I have been there unasked, uninvited even. And you got used to me. A sleepy, lethargic love. A love of something so familiar you couldn’t imagine being without it. Not a burning love, not a passionate one, not a physical one. A comforting love. You couldn’t handle what I felt for you, this unyielding, exigent love. We could have been amazing, but I fear that I am a woman and you are a boy, that I am clear and you are not, although you say it’s me that’s hard to understand. You don’t understand what you feel yourself. You are letting go of something before you even realise how special it is. But I can’t wait for you, if I want to live. So I have to let you go now, too.”—x
1. Stop faking your fucking orgasms. Society already tells young men that they run the fucking universe - if they can’t turn your cunt into a shooting star then for god’s sake, let them know about it.
2. Once you’ve stopped faking your fucking orgasms, use this newfound honesty throughout the rest of your life - stop ordering coffee you don’t actually like; stop sitting at a desk and allowing people to treat you like shit in the hopes that a meek attitude will earn you a promotion (it won’t); stop telling people they can finish your food when you’re not actually done yet. These may seem petty, but they add up, just like every orgasm you didn’t actually get to have.
3. If you wanna dance all night, dance all fucking night. Dance all night even if you have work in the morning. The worst that will happen is you’ll drink RedBull all day and look like a zombie - pass it off as a head cold to the real zombies you work with and flick through the embarrassing photos you’re being tagged in as you pretend to take a shit for some peace and quiet. I promise, you’ll remember dancing all night in ten years, not the suspicious way your boss looked at you that morning.
4. If your ass looks big in that, that’s a good thing.
5. You will never be as young as you are this second. Embrace it.
6. Embrace the fact that you’re going to get older. Ask your boyfriend if he will still love you when you’re seventy and your tits are down to your knees. Look forward to this time - seventy year old women are allowed to do pretty much whatever they want, and no-one can stop them. You can carry candy in your bag and not share it with a single soul. You can stay home all day and cross-stitch expletives onto handkerchiefs for your grandchildren and slip them under the table out of sight of the people you raised. You can drink whisky at 10am. Every phase of your life is going to be amazing for different reasons. Embrace that.
7. A lot of people will pretend to love Bukowski. Don’t pretend to love Bukowski if you don’t love Bukowski. It’s overplayed and no-one will mind if you actually like Virginia Andrews instead - the people who do mind are boring.
“Do not look back and grieve over the past, for it is gone; and do not be troubled about the future, for it has not yet come. Live in the present, and make it so beautiful that it will be worth remembering.”—Ida Scott Taylor (via jess-y-ka)