If you don’t laugh during sex at least once, you’re having sex with the wrong person.
One morning you’ll wake up and you’ll think, ‘how did i get here?’ you’ll inhale a long drag of smoke through your lungs, and before you can exhale, pictures from your life pop into your head. Behind each picture lies a story. the first picture you see will make you smile. The image will remind you of a time when you were happy. Actually happy. the kind of happy that makes you jumble your words, the kind of happy that makes your insides twist, the kind of happy that makes you use the word ‘forever.’ the next image that pops up shows you your lowest low. the kind of low that told you to slit your wrists, the kind of low that makes you pull your hair and scream, the kind of low that never wants to know how long forever is. Then you’ll look around you and you won’t know whether to laugh or to cry. And you’ll think ‘I’ve loved and I’ve hated.’ and you’ll realize that you wouldn’t have to hate if you never knew love.
People always say that it hurts at night and apparently screaming into your pillow at 3am is the romantic equivalent of being heartbroken. But sometimes it’s 9am on a Tuesday morning and you’re standing at the kitchen bench waiting for the toast to pop up. And the smell of dusty sunlight and earl gray tea makes you miss him so much you don’t know what to do with your hands.
Rosie Scanlan, “On Missing Them” (via yoursly)
this post makes me feel sick to my stomach
(via appetitefortrouble)
