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Ugh, I feel you, Heart.

I was just having a conversation today with someone very close to me about this. I have this horrible tendency to just bury my upset and disappointment with people and situations in other people. And lately I’ve been trying to tap into the resolve that I know I have and the strength that I completely underestimate and make positive, lasting change within myself.

I go out of my way to appease people that I love and I suppose part of that is so I’m reassured that I’ll never have to be alone. But, it seems like loneliness creeps up as a reflex, despite how many people I have around me, to handle real upset in a more immediate way. Somehow, feeling lonely and then quickly solving that by finding someone to come pick things up for me is nowhere near as effective as picking things up myself, but it’s so much easier.

Someone else I recently expressed this to told me that I was growing up. That’s a nice way to look at it. It makes me feel optimistic about the whole thing.

herdirtylittleheart:

I hate that I have so much love in my life but I feel so alone sometimes. There’s this little voice that says “You need someone to fix this, someone to scoop you up and make you feel all better.”

I’m trying to just sit with that voice instead of scrambling for my phone to find someone to take care of me. I’m trying to teach it that it’s my job to make me feel better. When I let everyone else do it it’s just superficial, and eventually these feelings just come roaring back. I have to learn to stand on my own two feet, without distractions and delegating.

It’s hard.

Image: iainclaridge.net

(via davidcliffordphoto)

Your presence is foreign, as strange to me as a thing.
I think, I explore great tracts of my life before you.

You’re a fabulous idea.

It’s funny how you can grow before me, grow on me. I have not suffered entirely getting to know you, I think. Maybe I’ve blushed a few times. Maybe I’ve felt a bit disoriented by some of those long, deliberate silences. Maybe I’ve stumbled over a few words when I’m not nearly as careful as I could be.

But you’re harmless as just an idea. You’re nice to think about. You grow in a different way when I simply think about you. Not nearly as dynamically, but in a way that I can tend. Until there’s you and there’s the idea of you. And you’re a wonderful idea. But you’re much better when you’re not.

Because perhaps the only thing stronger than an idea is when that idea takes shape, however sufferable. As the pieces fall together, I like you better than the idea of you. It becomes harder to remember you as you were before you existed, because I seem to enjoy more the fact that you exist.

Tonight, it’s just you and me, you beautiful creature.

And I guess Betty.

Groan.

Hey, Dacry?

See that hand coming out from the left?

Gets you thinking, right?

I think we need to find ourselves a new friend.

<3, Ivy

masters-of-war:

Ellen Von Unwerth

Dear Ms. Lemon,

Getting your email this morning was super sad. And then seeing everyone discuss how much they missed you already on my dash was even sadder. But, sort of happy, I suppose, in the sense that you made so many people smile.

Wow this just started sounding like a eulogy.

You’ll be missed on here, lovely lady.

Ivy

You all are a bunch of pervs for mostly suggesting I go naked. As for the legitimate clothing suggestions, thank you.

My friend took pity last night and came over. She dug out some tall wedges, a high-waisted skirt, and this little tank top. I insisted that it was a little over the top, but she replied that it was just fine. Aside from formals and other sorts of events, I typically stick to skinny jeans and a top or a casual cute dress when going out. The difference would be perceptible and I didn’t want him to think I was like some kind of seventh grader smearing glitter all over myself for my first date to the movies where our parents would be watching from a few rows behind.

Well. He noticed.

In a just staring when he thought I wasn’t looking way. In a very eagerly offering to rub my back when I told him it was a bit sore way. In a desperate attempt to keep his hands to himself while I was sitting on his lap and he was rubbing my back way.

We still had our banter, but it seemed to be riddled with knowing smiles and little chuckles. Sometime during the night, I was told by this random gay guy that my legs were “pure sex”. I blushed and sort of leaned back against him as I thanked the guy who had said it. From the look I was getting over my shoulder, I think he agreed.

We had a great time, but the evening was cut short due to some stuff not really related to either of us. Maybe I could’ve gone home with him, but I didn’t. I sort of want to leave a little bit to mystery,

lychees:

(via traveling with the ghost (旧館 Old): Олег Михеев (Oleg Mikheev) × Алена Водонаева (Alena Vodonaeva))

montecervesa:

I’m told red wine is good for you. So open up and take your medicine.

I’m not sure if the fact that the above commentary makes me hot is indicative of the tone being incredibly sexy and commanding and hot-mental-scenario-inducing or that I’m just an enthusiastic drinker.

I’ll be going with the first, for many reasons.

Have I told you all that I get unreasonably, um, eager when I have a little red wine? It’s an affliction.

That guy from my frat and I have a sort of banter going on, explains my friend. We’re interesting to watch, sometimes in a funny way and sometimes in a slightly painful way. We don’t always go easy on each other.

Today, he sat down with some friends of mine and I and we proceeded to go at it with each other. There’s something about someone who comes so close to being able to outwit me that incredibly turns me on. Intelligence is terribly, terribly sexy. So is confidence.

When he left, one of my friends threw his hands up in the air and cried out in frustration, “would you two just fuck already?”

Guess what I’m stuck thinking about now.

This is one of my favorite games.

rolledtrousers:

I like to play a little game, when you can’t speak. It’s a mean little game, but I find it amusing. You find it infuriating. That’s quite possibly what amuses me so about it, but then I always was a sucker for your reactions.

I like to talk to you, hold long conversations when your only input is the most monosyllabic of moans, perhaps a ‘uh uh’ if you really try. So I do your half of the conversation for you, because I’m generous like that.

“You know, the way you’re looking at me, it’s almost like you like being tied up and gagged like this. Do you like it?” You fix me with a piercing, angry gaze, all furrowed brows and needles for eyes.

“You mean you do? Oh that’s wonderful news. We should keep you like this more often then! I’d hate to get in the way of you and your passions.”

And so forth. It’s just a little game, but it’s one I enjoy ever so much.

Won’t you indulge me?

Oh my goodness.

I just received the most amazing message a few hours ago and I’m still shaking with joy. The future looks amazing, tumblr. My optimism is through the roof. I feel like I’m on top of the world.

wehadfacesthen: Lisa Fonssagrives on the Eiffel Tower, 1939, photo by Erwin Blumenfeld