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23 ; va beach ;
figuring out life day by day and learning how to see through the bullshit

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4/7/14  11:00 pm , no way out 


"Vincent Van Gogh used to eat yellow paint because he thought it would get the happiness inside him. Many people thought he was mad and stupid for doing so because the paint was toxic, never mind that it was obvious that eating paint couldn’t possible have any direct correlation to one’s happiness, but I never saw that. If you were so unhappy that even the maddest ideas could possible work, like painting the walls of your internal organs yellow, than you are going to do it. It’s really no different than falling in love or taking drugs. There is a greater risk of getting your heart broken or overdosing, but people still do it everyday because there was always that chance it could make things better. Everyone has their yellow paint."

(via fleurslibres)


click to trip balls

"I wanted to be free with you.
I wanted to find you inside of myself between cracked liquor bottles and boys that once loved me.
I wanted to swim in trust and dive to the depths of love and learn every secret you had to hold and then when we got out you’d be dripping with the residue of trust and love and I’d be free with you.
I wanted to walk from the shores to our small house we had named eternity and stay there with you until I hear you whisper I love you and really mean it.
Then I wanted to record you and then play it with my favorite songs in the background over and over again so every time I’m in the car driving to work at 5 A.M and you’re out drinking yourself to life I can hear you say it and convince myself that it wasn’t just an empty promise.
I wanted to find safety in your lavender scented sheets as if the detergent could wash away all your other pasts and the softener could sweeten the hardness of your lips and we could finally find another place to call our eternity.
We would stay up all night and come up with stories and drink red wine and I would finally have a home.
Because they say home is where the heart is and I swear to god that one night we were drunk and I was with you and you were with me and god looked down on us and painted our porcelain figures onto a canvas and created a priceless painting and called it “Betrayal”.
And another couple would pick us up in the small art gallery just outside of Paris and we would scream psalms of perfection and lust but not of love.
Because the love you were once dripping had dried and I had been searching for that same place we swam in the first night we made love but I couldn’t find it within you.
Instead I found it in the bottles on your bedside gleaming with lust and the smeared lip stain from last night that was not of my lips.
And my frame disintegrated and I found myself alone and shackled and destroyed and afraid and I wouldn’t look you in the eyes.
And when I look back on all that time I loved you and all that time you did not love me I can not help but feel freedom.
And I look at myself in the mirror and I say “I will be free without him. I will be free without him.” Over and over and I tape it and play it to the background of your favorite songs so that when I’m sitting there at 5 A.M. with a bottle of jack and a cigarette hanging out of my mouth I can almost hear myself mean it.
I am (not) free."

I sobbed writing this - Grayson Herrg (via cyberfake)

Fuck. I felt that