Monologue at 3 am  

"The breath from the lips
and the rhythm from the hips
and the sheets we stir."

shit, this is perfect.

Daily Haiku on Love by Tyler Knott Gregson (via tylerknott)

In a certain type of sadness, there is, in fact, happiness. 

Green. The color of those healthy juices and smoothies, so often promoted by skinny celebrities. The color of the anxiety pills she was prescribed. The color of leaves and stems and grass — burgeoning life. 

But, honestly, her life was gray. It was not a happy life, but it was authentic. She was comfortable. She knew she was being passive, almost proactively so. The possibility of a artificial green life was both intriguing and frightening. 

I was suddenly thankful that I lived in a suburb: there was no loud music, honking taxis, and raucous laughing — laughing, especially, irritated me — coming in through the windows. When I closed the door, pulled the curtains tightly against each other, and shut off the light, the room was still. It was full of nothing, which I thought bitterly, matched perfectly with my life. 

In dreams I see stories of vivid love. In the lucid, passive sense of sleep, I feel epics of resplendent romance and anecdotes of pedestrian passion. 
As consciousness seeps into my unwelcoming mind, love is again empty in my hand. By the time the time the sun is high in the sky, the glow has faded. I have not let go, yet I have lost last night’s stories. 

"Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one’s lifetime."

— Mark Twain

"It was a mistake to give birth to you."

— My mother. 

Really depressed right now. 4:36 am, can’t sleep.

Disheartened by the past; tense about the future.

heart-filled-with-hope:

If you’re battling a mental illness and didn’t want to wake up this morning but did anyways, you’re a motherfucking badass. Because living with a mental illness is hard and I’m damn proud of you for still being here and fighting. You’re metal as hell and tough as nails. So keep on fighting, you kickass Viking warrior. You can win this.

This week is the first time I’ve realized that I receive comfort from the success of others.