Dear July // A Time Capsule

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Dear July,

I have a video for you somewhere in my computer, but I’m much too lazy and frankly too nervous to put the footage together. It’s 11:59 on your last day and I feel as if you didn’t really happen. Were you really even here? You must have been, but it seems as if every time you are here, you go by much too quickly. You were…really great, July. I’m talking to you as if you are a person because all the memories that happened inside these 31 days are enough to make a person. I left my job of four years, my comfort job for something that makes me so excited while at the same time so nervous. It was a leap for me and one that I’m anxious about, but I know it was the correct, best and most thrilling move I could make. I have loved the people I met this month and knowing that these people believe and see something in me that I can’t quite see yet makes me want to work so much harder. I’m really happy, July. I inspired people this month and let my voice finally be heard that I kept quiet and hidden for a very long time. Because I was afraid of what would happen if I did let my opinions be known. Because I was much too young or too naive to have an opinion, or so they say, yet after a week, they are still talking and my desire to spark a conversation has turned into a full fledged forest fire. So, thank you, July. You were here much too quickly, the year is half over, but you made me realize I have a voice. That my opinions can matter. That, although the world can be a scary and daunting place, sometimes you just need to jump. I can’t wait to see what happens in August.

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Kiss

1-15: Don’t kiss them

16. If you happen to kiss them, aggressively wipe your mouth

She’s Not the One.

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She is not the one. Your knees are too weak for her history, and those with no backbone will be weighed down by her self respect. When you need easy, she will never be. A fighter, with a soft smile and sharp edge. I watched her live to tell her tales when nobody thought she could. And I knew then, as I know now, she is not the one. She could never be. Certain things defy odds, but are never the same. They grow wildly, and become untamed. And you won’t know what to make of a black rose surviving n its own. She’s your long way home, the sunset horizon, the city streetlights in the evening rain. She is love in the early mornings. And she is not the one, because that’s not nearly enough. She’s the spaces that fill in what’s missing. She is everything else.

J. Raymond

Loving the Forgetfuls

 


When they forget your birthday, smile graciously and let them know you don’t care. It’s just another day. You’re only another year older. It doesn’t matter too much. Yet. They will say all the right things to you. Things that will make you forget that you were kinda sad about the fact that they forgot you were born on this day. They will say how nice you look before placing their hand on the small of your back and bringing you closer. You will smile because you feel special and not used. Okay, maybe slightly used. But, who cares about birthdays. You’re not 21 anymore. 

When they forget to text you back, reply with an emoji. The one with a straight line for a mouth. Make it seem like you’re only slightly annoyed. Hurt. Unfeeling. Whatever. You will be forever understanding that they were busy and had to play video games or watch some new movie that came out. Their phone wasn’t anywhere near them. Sorry. Sorry. 

When they forget to meet you for drinks, don’t answer their calls. Hit “ignore” and drink another whiskey and coke, extra lime on the side. Smile with muster at the bartender, call him a “bar keep” because that feels funny to you. When they call your phone again, turn it off and push it to the bottom of your purse. When they show up at your house, wear the skirt that shows too much thigh. Bite your lips too much and only give them ten minutes of your time. Look at your nails too much. Point your toes inward and bounce on your heels. Walk back into the house and wipe at your eyes. Go back to bed. Turn off your phone. Envelope yourself into darkness.

When they forget to tell you that they love you too, realize it isn’t because they forgot, it’s because they don’t feel the same way. They’ll look at you and say “thanks” and that will be the end of it. Just nod and take a sip of your drink and walk upstairs without saying another word. Don’t tell them good-bye because who cares. They obviously don’t. They keep forgetting about you.

GoodReads

I haven’t been on GoodReads in awhile and today I decided to update my page and set my 50 book challenge for the year. If you’re interested in following me and what I’m currently reading, click here. Below are a few of my favorite quotes that I’ve found in books throughout the past few months. I definitely haven’t been reading as much as I’d like, but I hope that will change soon. What are some of your favorite quotes?

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“I wouldn’t exactly describe her as strictly beautiful. She knocked me out, though…I mean when she was talking and she got excited about something, her mouth sort of went in about fifty directions, her lips and all. That killed me”
J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

“I have no notion of loving people by halves, it is not my nature. My attachments are always excessively strong.”
Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey (I know this is said by the most narcissistic character in the novel, but it’s still a good one.)

“May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.”
Tina Fey, Bossypants

“Kissing him last night at the pep rally had been like kissing an underpass.”
George Saunders, Tenth of December

“You’re beautiful, but you’re empty. No one could die for you.”
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

“I’m sick of just liking people. I wish to God I could meet somebody I could respect.”
J.D. Salinger, Franny and Zooey

“At the bottom of her heart, however, she was waiting for something to happen. Like shipwrecked sailors, she turned despairing eyes upon the solitude of her life, seeking afar off some white sail in the mists of the horizon. She did not know what this chance would be, what wind would bring it her, towards what shore it would drive her, if it would be a shallop or a three-decker, laden with anguish or full of bliss to the portholes. But each morning, as she awoke, she hoped it would come that day; she listened to every sound, sprang up with a start, wondered that it did not come; then at sunset, always more saddened, she longed for the morrow.”

“She wanted to die, but she also wanted to live in Paris.”
Gustave Flaubert, Madame Bovary