Reblog | 7
But it happens in every friendship, and in relationships
it’s even worse, that first moment where you feel it, that
there’s no curiosity anymore, no feelings to share or
things to do, and the park bench beneath your bodies
becomes especially hard, and one of you looks at the
other with eyes that are all apologies.
It’s never like how you thought it would be for as long as
you thought it would.
Everyday, satisfied or not, is comprised of opportunities
missed.
My forehead, marked permanently by attempts at
conveying sincerity, and the way that, as a kid, I learned
more complex and vulnerable ways of describing how I
felt, while coming to understand that quicker and simpler
descriptions are considered more polite, that these
descriptions of things, real or not, don’t lead me
anywhere, like the vaguest of allegories, how one thing
can be compared to the identification of the thing itself,
how so much that matters ceases to upon any
graduation, like deepening into oneself, falling asleep at
night and not being able to remember what you did that
day, how getting older transforms from an
accomplishment to a hushed source of guilt, how the
memories you have are always wasted.
― from you can make anything sad  (via spencermadsen)

(Source: tibets)

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Reblog | 1
Capitalism is a big bag of dicks.
― Karl Marx, Das Big Bag of Dicks vol.1 (via counterfeitfairytales)

(Source: foucault-the-haters)

10,119 notes

condom:

crystal math

8,547 notes