Now Playing Tracks

I Have Some Profound Thoughts. Sometimes.: Write a letter to the last person you kissed.

faces-intherain:

Dear Juan;

I know you still don’t hate me. I don’t want you to hate me & I sure as hell don’t want the friends that we share to be turned against me for this whole damn mess. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry for breaking up with you after I lost feelings for you. I’m sorry for letting us be stupid…

I am going to re-write this entire letter right now.

Dear Juan,

You are not dear to me. You have been pushed to the back of my mind, teetering helplessly along with my deepest, darkest monsters that I buried in a desperate attempt to change myself. I am not sorry for anything. Back then, I was too wrapped up in the absolute internal agony of having my best friend stolen by my other best friend that I didn’t notice the excruciating external pain you were putting me through. I am not sorry for anything at all, except for dating you in the first place. I cannot leave my house, I cannot walk the streets alone, and I do not travel without a weapon ever since that day a state officer told you to leave me alone and you blatantly disregarded every single thing he said. Even when I was 18 hours from home, more than three states away, I was terrified I would see your face. It’s plastered over every single male persona I see, and I feel my blood rush and my heart race as fear grips me. I have never feared anything as much as I fear another encounter with you. You were mentally ill, which is almost forgivable, but your actions are irreparable in my memories. It took me months to whisper your name, and here I am, almost two years later, still shaken by the entertaining thoughts of even thinking about you. I am damaged. I am a better person now, but I am still damaged enough to lock my doors and shut out every single person I could have been friends with because I wasn’t sure if you knew them. Every fear I have stems from the fear of you. I start my Survivors of Abuse Recovery therapy soon, and I hope to God my restraining order goes through. Because, two years later, and I still hope I never see you again, never hear your voice, never have a thought that directs back to you. and if I do, I now have hopes that it will not leave me shaking in my bed late at night, scared that you’re waiting for me to go out alone.

I Like to Howl at the Moon.: the letter to sean that i haven't gotten around to sending... or writing.

we-are-all-skin-and-bones:

sean,

it’s been almost a year since you left. the leaves are changing again, and my fingers are numb from the moment i woke up to the moment i start dreaming again. this whole fall-winter-spring deal is lovely and all, but it’s far too cold for me. maybe it’s because winter is so lonely, that…

i just read this and the worst part is, nothing’s changed.

carysanwen:

This is my dog, Izzy (Isabella).

A woman took the time out from walking her fucking Yorkie thing, to tell me how much she hates Rottweilers and how aggressive they are and how I should have mine on a chain and a muzzle. Bitch, does this look like the face of an evil dog? She’s so dippy that she spends most of her day chasing her tail and sliding across out laminate floors. 

my aunt has a huge Rottweiler, Lexi. she is the most… interesting… dog. she totally bullies her dog-friend, Layla, who is almost a full-grown German Shepard. She also takes great care to not hurt her friend, nor my aunt’s 10-year-old niece who likes to grab their faces and pull them apart. Lexi is totally dopey and drool-y and all she wants out of life is a good butt-scratch. I totally understand the fear of Rottweilers (I was completely terrified the first time i met Lexi) but people need to respect the power behind the dog before they can even say anything.

We make Tumblr themes