from the passenger seat

the walls are going up, and they’re blocking you out, and you’ll read this and think i’m talking about him but i’m not. it’s you, you now. you’re there always and yet somehow i can’t bring myself to say anything important, because you never realize i have anything to say at all.

or that there are things you do that sting me. it is your song now.

you’re the ever moving blur and all, but sometimes i pause and sometimes i feel. because i realized something, something that happened to me in the midst of all this change and truly leaving the past behind. truly moving forward.

i’m completely human again.

is the best, ever. i tackled everyone dear to me and a few more. my adrenaline pumped, my eyes welled, my throat stuck and i jumped for joy left and right. to each of you i shared this day with, i’m so happy you were there with me.

here i come, san francisco.

today we wore the same underwear. no planning involved. mylifeis…nenlissa

i said go away, i said hide, i said block, and you’re still around. go away, get out of my life, please please PLEASE.

in real life you haunt and at night you give me mares. just please get out. go. i don’t love this person in your skin and i can’t take it anymore. and goddamnit i won’t anymore. 

i’m sorry. i’m sorry i can’t stand you anymore, and i’m sorry that you’ll never ask so i’m never going to explain.

i’m sorry. but please dear god i’m begging you, disappear.

inmyskin:

kristenbobisten:

And it’s too hard to focus through all this doubt.

I keep making these “To Do” lists but nothing gets crossed out.

she wears jeans and plastic combat boots. she owns one purse, one backpack. her candles are from the 99 cent store and her shelves are piled with novels, some actiony some literary. well all literary, just some with more merit. she stamped up art and photos by her and friends in her room and her walls are stark, stark white. at the top of her bookshelf you can see a green mini mannequin holding up her kandi she wears from time to time. she has a corner with two guitars, a dozen magazines, and a bright pink teddy bear. she owns too posters: one audrey hepburn, one halo 3. her hair is half brown, half blonde, and half gone. she’s never without her ipod, and when she turns on her music she’s impossible to talk to. she drives a massive purple minivan she named moby, and has the tendency to go barefoot. she’s not afraid to speak her mind about what she truly feels and she laughs easy. she’s terrible at instruments but beautiful at words. and most of all, she’s always full of love.

she understands stereotypes, but she doesn’t know if she fits between the lines. and that to her is just damn fine.

all these sounds to swallow, only now am i nauseous. i could rant about so many things and people and triumphs and old long drags of life, and yet…

all i think of is the little blue flowers. and i wonder where this will go and how it will end, and how i’ll now attribute chalk and tiny blue flowers to you. i wonder if i’m only speculating and this will all pass by the weekend’s end. or maybe, the giggly bubbles that rise throughout me will last til i see you next and only grow from there.

this nauseous-ness is rising through me, eating my throat and and my head. i don’t understand and i don’t really care, it will pass like everything else.

all i want to do is meditate and my body functions against me. hopefully, as the music loads this situation will improve.

inmyskin:

togetlost:jumblejo:heartbunnies-rabbits:alexislovess:yournameinthesand:lilmzjojo:incrediblyridculous:(via m1llion)

i was there in the library again and you came up again, for a moment. but i’m glad you faded away as always. you always come up, and it’s because you won’t leave me alone.

but the thing is, your default image, your filler name so like lorem ipsum, is fading like the ink on my wrists. but that’s because it’s crayola marker and i always thought you were more like the sharpie on my legs, the one that took weeks to scrub off. until i realized it came right off when i shaved my legs.

for you, it only took me roughly six months to remember i own a razor. better late than never.

i’m pissed because i can’t reblog myself and the great quotes i get from people.

so here’s the link to all of it: http://fuckyeahwhatisit.tumblr.com/

dedicated to finding out what “it” is—that feeling you have for people after you’ve stopped loving them but something is still there.