When I was a little girl the first crush I remember having was on Kevin Arnold. At 25 I’m sipping tea and watching the pilot episode of the wonder years and realizing that my taste in men is not much different from those I crushed on as a child. Articulate brunettes constantly battling a narrative in their minds and total romantic idealists. Kevin Arnold and Winnie Cooper love forever.
Waking early on a Saturday morning after barely sleeping a wink on Friday night. All I want to do is go to the farmers markets and sit on the hill in the cool autumn air and drink fresh warm chai watching all the people and their dogs whilst listening to musicians. I want to buy boxes of fresh produce come home and cook delicious food and relax on my balcony. Instead I have to go to housing inspections and slowly die inside. The idea of selling all my things and moving overseas is becoming ever more appealing.
“My feelings for you shame me into silence. The truth of this and your name will never be revealed. It is you who has made me realize the failure of my life. The thought of you fills me with longing and at the same time, a burning humiliation that produces scar tissue and dead brain cells. Your existence mocks me and I am unable to confront this. You have no idea of any of this. None of this is your fault. It is completely with me. It is you who makes me see what I really am. I am weak and out of touch with myself.”—Henry Rollins (via mindcontroltactics)
Late blooming seasons, the joyous couple, holding heads above water. Grandeur against the grain. “I know that smile.” I know you too well. An uncomfortable, weary tone. A stray touch, a shrugged acquaintance, contemptibility. Stay lost in translation. Grow fond, grow old. Maybe we’ll forget about ourselves. Maybe.