constantly needing other cities, constantly needing to put my faith in other people, constantly needing good food and miles long walks and talks and an overactive imagination and just genuinely good feelings.
When I was a girl, my life was music that was always getting louder. Everything moved me. A dog following a stranger. That made me feel so much. A calendar that showed the wrong month. I could have cried over it. I did. Where the smoke from a chimney ended. How an overturned bottle rested at the edge of a table.
I spent my life learning to feel less.
Every day I felt less.
Is that growing old? Or is it something worse?
You cannot protect yourself from sadness without protecting yourself from happiness.
"Too many books?" I believe the phrase you’re looking for is "not enough bookshelves".
and we’re both prone to misery
but you still get drunk and want to hang out with me
and i’m at my best when i’m sleeping alone
its funny how time stops and starts on its own
i came here alone and i plan to leave that way
but i still find comfort in all the things you say
Is it just a bad night or am I getting bad again?
- There must be a word for it, maybe in German, for what happens when you cry while wearing glasses.
something about an abundance of freckles and never realizing when i’m biting my lip, something about my hair never being long enough and feeling like my feet aren’t exactly on flat ground.