Take things as they are and don’t question them. Don’t explode from sadness or unquestionable doubt. Keep moving forward and you’ll find the person you’re meant to be. Keep it all in and you’ll be rewarded. Be pretty, act mean, don’t let others dictate your happiness. Selfish people live longer. Lust and desire only last so long and then there is nothing, so moving on is key to any relationship. Let people in but only for a moment because once they see inside your soul, you’re done and they know how to hurt you. Be afraid but never show it. Courage and hope is the only facade you can show to the people around you. Don’t let it all infect the being of your flesh. You’re better than that. You don’t care. You’re over it. Shrug your shoulders. Put on your lipstick and fake it until you make it because everyone is a phony.
You’re too soft. You’re too hard. You’re too shy. You’re too loud. You’re too quiet. I tell myself that everything that I need to be is in all the words that everyone around me has ever said. Don’t do this, but be this. Be that. Don’t be too much of this, but be a lot of that. Those lies are deceiving and so are your eyes. Your breath on my neck and your hands on my hips as I think about all those little things that I’m not, but I am and your lips fall heavily on my mouth and those thoughts melt away. But then again, I think too much. I speak too much. I can’t wait to get out of your presence. I hate you as much as I’ve hated anyone, yet I can’t wait to be with you. Push me away like you do with everyone. Tell me all of your secrets late at night, naked with your chest heaving up and down. Then push me out the door, tell me to leave, ask me quickly to go, as you pull on your pants, and turn on the sink to brush your teeth. Don’t look at me. Don’t even talk to me. Let me fall in love. Let me in, but only for a second. Kiss me hard. Slowly. Long and with fervor. Push me out the door. Don’t forget to throw me away. I’m too quiet. I’m too loud. I’m too shy. I’m too hard. I’m too soft.
How I want you to remember me:
In the crook of your arm when you’re wrapping your arms around your pillow because you can’t fall asleep at night. The blankets are too hot and you kick them off your body as everything sticks to your skin. Remember me resting a hand on your back so I know you didn’t stray too far.
In your morning coffee while you try to wipe away the sleep from your eyes and wonder what time you finally fell asleep. You’ll put in too much milk because that’s how I made mine and you’ll wonder why I drank coffee when I poured so much milk in. Remember me smiling over my mug and blushing as you look at me.
In the early light of day, right after your alarm goes off. When you roll over to turn off the beeping and see the light creeping through the blinds. Remember me hiding beneath the duvet to try to grasp the last bit of sleep.
On the couch in your parents’ house where you accidentally told me you loved me and I whispered back that I loved you too. Remember me standing up too fast, giggling down the hallway and stubbing my toe against the door frame. Remember me cursing. Remember me limping for the rest of the night.
Remember my laughter as you would say something to make me feel better. Remember all of our jokes. Remember my hand somehow always finding yours. Remember. Remember. Remember.
Things I am: Daughter. Friend. Sister. Co-worker. Graduate. However, not very good at any of those things. I thought by now I would learn how to be good at one of those, but I’m just 23. I’m still free falling. I’m still searching. I’m still hoping.
I have five new freckles that I already called the dermatologist about for an appointment. Just to make sure. My wrist pops when I shake new people’s hands. I finished all the Netflix Original Series and discovered that I like Cherry flavored pop tarts over Strawberry.
I’ll never be fit and active like my brother. I’ll never be an extrovert like he is and the rest of my family and I wonder if that bothers them. That I’m so quiet and mainly nod my head at family functions.
I spend more time searching desperately for jobs, refreshing LinkedIn, Twitter, and Monster as if I have a spasm in my fingers.
The future is a scary, scary place.
Sometimes I feel like I’m going to end up in the same location and never go anywhere else in life and I think that terrifies me the most. I know it scares me the most because that’s not the place I want to be. That’s never the place I wanted to be.
Most of the time I want to pack my bags and travel through Europe. I want to work in shitty bars and kiss stupid boys and drink a bit too much. But that all will happen next year. I’m submitting a new application. I’m going to move to France and speak solely in French and be only my most pretentious self.
But for now, I’ll dream of those things. Nights on the Seine and oversexed men. Until then, it’s me and the movie Frank and my bed and ice cream. Which isn’t too bad at this moment.
Taken from amajor7.tumblr.com