Stuck in Love (2012) dir. Josh Boone
"My biggest mistake was thinking you could fix me. Only I can fix me."
You make me feel beautiful and less fucked up. You should know that happens to be the combination of a recovering girl in the 20th century.
a.s., but you never knew because my pride was too high
LIKE MY PAGE AND I’LL CHECK OUT YOUR BLOG OR WHATEVER
Philippine literature has a new wave of books that quite interest the youth today: Wattpad fiction. Wattpad is a website that allows its visitors to read and write novels, and the said books — such as She is Dating the Gangster, Diary ng Panget and Break the Casanova’s Heart —…
You’re kissing my body
like three innocent men
escaping prison, kissing the
pure earth with moist eyes.
You tell me you love me,
even though I know it’s a lie.
You tell me you love me again
while you fuck me in this
cheap mattress laid down on the floor.
You tell me you love me and I’m better
than your first wife as you
breathe heavily and hunched over
my breasts and my three-day not
eating stomach as you get your wallet.
I push you slowly back down,
and I swallow your ear softly,
I’m not ready to
return you to your third wife
and two kids.
Addie S. “fucking forty-year-old’s for college tuition” (via mossyribs)
There was once a boy who asked me if I would pick the jungle or the medieval times, and I answered with pride because I hated the medieval times. They treated the slaves so poorly and the nobles were bastards. I threw him my answer back and he said, “Well, I was willing to be a knight for you because I thought you’d want to be a princess but I guess I can play Tarzan for a few days too :)” and damn I just fucking melted right there
It doesn’t matter what you did, baby. I don’t give a damn about how you lived your life six months ago or a week before. I won’t leave you. I won’t pressure you on telling me what happened that made you want to stay away from me. You want to know why? You make me feel beautiful and less fucked up. That is the combination of a recovering girl in the 20th century. Trust me when I say no one makes me feel that way. Not even my own mother in her calming tone and my set of friends who compliment me with fake grins. Heck, I won’t even believe a stranger when he tells me I’m too pretty to be sad. But when you called me “my lady”, and kissed my knuckles, it made me realize myself better. This wasn’t lust, this wasn’t love. Yet. It was the attraction of two very different people who liked the same toy dinosaur when they were kids, remembering the same favourite scene of the same movie they watched everyday when they were six, inhaling the words of the same author of a novel they can’t live without. This thing of ours, it was different. It was like we knew each other in a different lifetime, and we met again. I think what ever happened with you, it’s probably a terrible thing, just how you told me it was. But the thing is, I can completely assure you that it’s not that terrible to me. As cliche as it sounds, I believe that flaws and terrible things make up a divine person. You are more than divine. If only you could see that.
I began to understand why so many girls in this generation listened to pop songs. That is why I won’t ever leave you. You’re good. You’re good. You’re good for me. And the only thing I’m hoping for is that I’m good for you too.
a.s., “ignite” (via mossyribs)
Could we go back to the days when I was afraid of second-hand smoke and the smell of sex? When touching the dancing flame of a candle would be the primary cause of my death, now I do it because it means I could still feel. That I’m breathing. That I’m alive. When did I ever had the opinion on how drugs are beautiful creatures? I would never play with matches when I was a kid but someone’s words made it my favourite past time. Tell me, why do I always feel so numb? I look at a picture of me smiling and all I want to do is rip it off. Pass me the shakers, pass me the movers. Whisper me what you tell yourself when you’re scared. Kiss me everywhere, but just not on my mouth. A girl with bright pink hair told me I reminded her of a Lana del Rey song. When was the last time I ever had a good night’s sleep? Probably when I was twelve. Look at me and tell me you never puked at a party and hoped that whoever was holding your hair was somebody else. This person was somebody you would chop all your hair all off, a person you badly want but you can’t have. The reason why you close your eyes when the feelings are too much. Tears don’t come flowing, because your body doesn’t develop water anymore. All it in takes are bourbon and whiskey. Oh, my best friends. My typewriter is my godmother. I need ink. I need ink. I need ink. Since when did I love my sins?
a.s., “innocence” (via mossyribs)