Telling other girls that they look pretty is like cracking a glow stick full of positivity and female friendship
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editionaladdictions-deactivated asked:
I would not say that you're an ugly brunette.
but i do.
batwings asked:
who are you
“I’m an ugly brunette. I’d like to leave school and have fine babies.”
esg233 asked:
you're not an ugly brunette. you're a badass bitch and i love your blog :)
hahahahahaha i like you.
Another bed. Charles Bukowski.
another bed
another woman
more curtains
another bathroom
another kitchen
other eyes
other hair
other feet and toes.
everybody’s looking.
the eternal search.
you stay in bed
she gets dressed for work
and you wonder what happened
to the last one
and the one before that …
it’s all so comfortable—
this love-making
this sleeping together
the gentle kindness …
after she leaves you get up and use her
bathroom,
it’s all so intimate and so strange.
you go back to bed and
sleep another hour.
when you leave it’s with sadness
but you’ll see her again
whether it works or not.
you drive down to the shore and sit
in your car. it’s almost noon.
—another bed, other ears, other
ear rings, other mouths, other slippers, other
dresses
colors, doors, phone numbers.
you were once strong enough to live alone.
for a man nearing sixty you should be more
sensible.
you start the car and shift,
thinking, I’ll phone Jeanie when I get in,
I haven’t seen her since Friday.
Another bed. Charles Bukowski.
another bed
another woman
more curtains
another bathroom
another kitchen
other eyes
other hair
other feet and toes.
everybody’s looking.
the eternal search.
you stay in bed
she gets dressed for work
and you wonder what happened
to the last one
and the one before that …
it’s all so comfortable—
this love-making
this sleeping together
the gentle kindness …
after she leaves you get up and use her
bathroom,
it’s all so intimate and so strange.
you go back to bed and
sleep another hour.
when you leave it’s with sadness
but you’ll see her again
whether it works or not.
you drive down to the shore and sit
in your car. it’s almost noon.
—another bed, other ears, other
ear rings, other mouths, other slippers, other
dresses
colors, doors, phone numbers.
you were once strong enough to live alone.
for a man nearing sixty you should be more
sensible.
you start the car and shift,
thinking, I’ll phone Jeanie when I get in,
I haven’t seen her since Friday.
The best thing about the bedroom was the bed. I liked to stay in bed for hours, even during the day with covers pulled up to my chin. It was good in there, nothing ever occurred in there, no people, nothing.
Charles Bukowski (via wryer)
I enjoy controlled loneliness. I like wandering around the city alone. I’m not afraid of coming back to an empty flat and lying down in an empty bed. I’m afraid of having no one to miss, of having no one to love.
Kuba Wojewodzki, Polish journalist and comedian (via wordsthat-speak)
There she was, at 4am, in your bed. You loved her then, didn’t you? She was wearing your duvet like a cape, with her head poking out. She loved you back; she really did.
You said, “I don’t know what to do. I’ve never met anyone like you.”
She said simply, “kiss me.”
So you did. You lifted her chin and kissed her mouth and swallowed her giggles whole. You felt her sunshine fill your lungs as she wrapped her arms around your neck. You felt the duvet fall as she leant forward.
“Tell me a secret,” she said.
She was always saying these things.
“I’ve told you everything already,“ you said. Your lips were on her neck.
“Tell me a secret,” she repeated.
“Okay,” you sighed, “I love you.”
“Tell me a secret.“
“I’ve always loved you.”