(Source: listenlikespring, via allshallfade)
Social Sciences student at Cardiff.
I like chillin, sewing and watching a lot of films.
This is a brandy snap.
I just had to eat a ‘count on me’ (M&S, naturally) microwave meal because ‘it contains less fat, calories and it’s better for me than a normal microwave meal’. That justification is baseless, and I would have been happier making something I wanted but whatever, I’ll roll with it.
I’ve spent the passed 20 minutes looking in every cupboard for brandy snaps and the lack of them in this house has sent me over the edge. I got a double whammy when the only ice cream I found to go with my stale wafer was Carte D’or.
Despite tonight’s culinary disasters, I’ve finished my revision prep for next weeks’ exam and I’m currently watching the Game of Thrones episode I should have watched on Monday night.
I always think that going back to a situation that left you a bit worse for wear opens up old wounds, but this morning it did the opposite. The way things worked out used to play on my mind a lot, but I ended up clarifying a few things for my own piece of mind. I guess things worked out the way they were always meant to. I just don’t feel the need to hold a grudge any more but I’m not going to complain about that. For me, I think things worked out for the best.
I’ve lived my life the way I wanted to and that’s all I care about.
I think it’s great for two people to be together. That is a good number. I think, that to keep it alive though, you can’t spend every day together. It wears out the magic, Love means nothing to me if it’s not fortified with fierce, painful longing, brief explosive instances of furious passion and intimacy and then a sad parting for a time. In that way, you can give your life to it and still have a life of your own. I think some couples spend too much time together. They flatten out the potential for experience by constant closeness. Passion builds over time like steam. Let it rage until it’s exhausted and then leave it alone to let it build up again. Why can’t love be insane and distorted? How can it be vital if it has the same threshold as normal day-to-day experience?
Why can’t you write burning letters and let your nocturnal self smolder with desire for one who is not there? Why not let the days before you see her be excruciating and ferment in your mind so on the day you go to the airport to pick her up, you’re nearly sick with anticipation? And then when desire shows the first sign of contentment, throw it back it its cage and let it slowly build itself back into a state of starved fury. Then when you are together, it all matters. So that when you look into her eyes, you lose your balance, so that when she touches you, it feels like you have never been touched before. When she says your name, you think it was she who named you. When she has gone, you bury your face in the pillow to smell her hair and you lie awake at night remembering your face in her neck, her breathing and the amazing smell of her skin. Your eyes go wet because you want her so bad and miss her so much. Now that is worth the miles and the time. That matches the inferno of life. Otherwise you poison each other with your presence day after day as you drag each other through the inevitable mundane aspects of your lives. That is the slow death that I see slapped on faces everywhere I go. It’s part of the world’s sadness that’s more empty than cold, poorly lit rooms in cities of the American night.
Henry Rollins (via theacid—queen)
(Source: prozacrock, via bluishorbs)
