♥: Archive

butterisnotacarb: My mother was wrong. Some wounds even time can’t heal. This is one of those wounds. You’re one of those wounds. And you won’t even leave a scar because that’s not what you are. What you are is an eternally deep, fresh, bleeding, throbbing wound. And the sad part? I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Feb 24th

6 notes

1 tag

butterisnotacarb: I still remember that day. It was a Monday and it was raining hard. I was in the first grade, maybe six or seven years old. My mom woke me and my brother up at 6:30 in the morning, ate breakfast with us, told us to hurry up, shower, and change into our school uniforms. I was standing on our porch staring at the rain when I heard my dad call me into their room. “It’s bad...

Feb 20th

136 notes

2 tags

Feb 18th

10 notes

4 tags

Feb 15th

13 notes

5 tags

Feb 13th

37 notes

4 tags

Feb 13th

27 notes

3 tags

Feb 13th

15 notes

5 tags

“It’s true. I didn’t want to make it bad. I wanted to take the sad...”

– Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

Feb 3rd

8 notes

2 tags

I want to know. If you can curl your tongue. If you bite on your straws. If you chew on your fingernails and if it’s been a habit since you were a boy. If you are into Star Trek or Star Wars and whether or not you know that you can only be a true fan of one of them. I want to memorize. The curves of your face. The taste of your lips. The scent of your skin. The curls your fingers make....

Feb 2nd

8 notes

2 tags

“Paper” Books, Year 2036. My daughter will ask me: Mommy, is it true that when you were young, you read books written on paper? Weren’t they too heavy to carry around?” And my reply will be: “Yes, darling. That’s true. When I was young, we didn’t have Kindles or iPads. We had paper books. And we couldn’t just buy them online. We had to scour...

Feb 2nd

208 notes

1 tag

My mother was an artist. Her paintings lined the walls of the stairway in my grandparents’ home. My favorite was the one of a mother and child. She painted it while she was pregnant with me. I probably thought my mother could see into the future because the mother in the painting looked like her and the child looked like me even though she hadn’t even seen me yet when she was painting it. My...

Feb 2nd

4 notes