Manchester Orchestra - Don’t Speak (No Doubt cover)
This has to be one of the best covers I’ve heard in ages.
Very justifiably my favorite band once upon a time
this is positively gorgeous.
(via mare-akami)
21
→ ask me ANYTHING
Just a young girl writing about her life via blog. It doesn't matter who I am. Let the mystery lure you in.
→ ask me ANYTHINGAnonymous asked: Sometimes I miss you even though I know you're so close to me. I heard you had a new blog and finally came across it. I read it all and at times, felt like I was getting to know the real you that sometimes I see when you smiled. I miss you constantly and just want you near me again. I want to have silly conversations and crack up at the smallest things. I want to hold you close to me, feel your heart against mine, never letting you go. You're the one keeping me happy, living life. thank you.
Well …
Bye.
Going to go away for a while, mentally or physically.
I can’t decide yet.
But it’s going to happen.
I have to make it happen before it happens to me.
Goodbye.
It’s been a fun ride.
![victoriousvocabulary:
“ BIBLIOLOGY
[noun]
the history and science of books as physical objects; the study of books.
Etymology: Greek biblion - book.
”](https://64.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m26t9kCUJg1qzmz4co1_500.gifv)
BIBLIOLOGY
[noun]
the history and science of books as physical objects; the study of books.
Etymology: Greek biblion - book.
(via burrowpress-blog)
Reformation (Death a Life)
I had the choice to either write a long or short piece about something everyday (swans, kittens, ect) or some sort of biblical or fairy tale character and give it a twist. In a way tell their “real” story. So I wrote about death going to rehab to get fixed of his feelings and happiness. Originally I wrote a much longer piece, about 360 words, but I think this did it more justice than any legnthy and wordy piece would. I may add one more segment to the piece talking about what happened while in rehabilitation but I’ll have to think on that one. As for now I quite like it, so here for you to read is: Reformation.
Pre-Reformation
My father came to visit today. “How are you Death?” “I’m doing good dad. I feel happy, lively, sometimes even euphoric.” “Don’t worry son, it’ll get much worse, I promise. They’ll have you back to your normal self soon.” I was Death, Destroyer of Life, The Final Horseman and all I wanted was a Cabin on the lake and some hot cocoa.
Post-Reformation
They said I had become too addicted to life. My father came to pick me up today. “How are you Death?” “Horrible. I feel void, empty and blackness overcoming me.” “My God son you’re back. You look worse than ever!” I was back.
Frosti, by Fireflies
from the album Snowstorm
I can’t believe I found it. I haven’t felt this happy or this sense of calmness in quite a while. My song is back. The soundtrack to my life is back.
Living Art
Elizabeth had always grown up around art. She had her hands on paintbrushes and was making a mess of oil pastels before she knew how to spell. Through the years she studied and learned to love each stroke of her favorite artists. She was drawn to the classics. They always had that presence that drew you in instantly. For her sixteenth birthday the local museum was hosting a “Women Alive from the Greatest” exhibit. Elizabeth begged her father to buy a ticket and drop her off opening day. The doors opened at seven so she got there an hour early to explore the rest of the museum beforehand. Time slipped by her and it was seven thirty before she knew it. Elizabeth sprinted up the stairs and into the grand room. Before her eyes were the great paintings. Vermeer, Da Vinci, and Botticelli all surrounded her. She pushed through the crowds to get a closer look. Her jaw dropped and her brows furrowed as she stumbled back. From afar the paintings looked right, but up close they were deceiving. They were imposters. They were real; almost living. Before her were actual women in the flesh. Except this time the flesh was not fresh. Lifeless bodies were pinned, tucked, and dressed to look exactly like the classics. The Girl with the Pearl Earring no longer had that glow that Elizabeth had come to love. Mona, the ballerinas and the goddess Venus were all hanging there with forced expressions and arms twisted into the perfect position. From behind her, Elizabeth heard a low voice start to introduce himself. He was the artist who had brought all of this to life. He saw Elizabeth from across the room and was going to ask her to be his next muse.
First encounter with my mystery man
He wasn’t like what I thought he would be. All those times I had seen him walking around, I thought he was someone different. His dark black worn motorcycle boots made me thing he was a lone wolf. That he rode his motorcycle on the open road for days, never looking back and never knowing where he was going. His dark indigo jeans rolled just once at the bottom looked like they had seen many miles. Like they had sat in many bars and laid on many a floors of fine young ladies. Don’t get me wrong, I never once thought he was a ladies man. It always just seemed like he appreciated a woman’s body and never let it go to waste. His shirts are never much. Always patterned but never attention grabbing. When looking closer, only then do you notice and intricacy in his shirts. always with the top button undone to let his neck breath and his dark chest hair see some light.
He is a modern Dorian Gray, walking around campus without any knowledge of it. He does have signs of age here and there. A couple crows feet near the eyes and a few grey hairs in his perfectly unkept stubble. His hair always eloquently disheveled. Everything about him is interesting and mysterious without every putting forth too much darkness.
But when he first introduced himself he was soft and inviting. In an instant his former vanished. He was a completely new man, standing right in front of me, staring directly at me. I sat there, back against the wall, fidgeting my legs, readjusting them every 3 minutes, and just stared directly back. I could tell that he was uncomfortable with my intense gaze, or maybe, he was just not used to having someone never break the contact. I felt like he stared at me with fascination and wonder. Or maybe I just fantasize too much. All I know is I have about sixteen more weeks to get to know this dark hair, light eyed man.
Thinking back now, the only thing I didn’t notice, or forgot to look at, was his left ring finger.
One more blank dial tone
I wanted to call you up last night. Wanted the phone to ring, at most three times, before you picked up and said hello. I wanted to hear your voice before I went to bed. I wanted you to hear mine and I wanted you to want me. Not just want me to be around you, but for you to truly want me. I’ve always had a feeling, some sort of feeling, but I was never sure of it. Because as many words as you’ve thrown my way, actions speak louder to me than anything else. And sure, little pokes and nods and eyebrow lifts do tell me more than words could, but they do not and will not ever show me enough.
I sit here often, drinking my tea and listening to beautiful film scores, and I, not fantasize but, simply wonder what it would be like to move away to a distant town and live life simply day to day with you. The town would be small, but not too small. The population would actually be quite big but no one would ever know it because of how spread out everyone is. In the morning we would walk into town, visit the bookstore then the cafe. I would get my usual hot chocolate and for you, coffee, maybe. We’d talk about whatever was on our mind. Feeling comfortable enough with each other to express any opinion without fear of rejection or harsh criticism. But along with that familiarity we’ve somehow made with each other so quickly, we would feel just as comfortable sitting next to each other in complete silence reading our own books.
Because there, at that moment, is when I realize, life is amazing. You are my soul mate, maybe not forever, but maybe forever. I don’t necissarily think that a soulmate needs to stick with you forever, I think they come in and out of you life in order to tear down walls and shine a light in your soul that you had forgotten about. I’m not saying if I found my soulmate I wouldn’t expect them to stay with me as long as possible, I’m simply stating that I would not be completely broken if (or once) they left.
But back to the story, we would sit next to each other, we would be in each others lives, while throwing ourself into whomever’s life we were currently reading about. Again, I realize that was all very misguiding and completely befuddling, but I want him, I want you to want me. And this does not plainly mean just in romantic relationships, but with my close friendships as well. Because I think the number one quality of a good friend or a good lover, is that they like you. Not your hair, not your laugh, not your car, but you. As a whole. As a human. To feel wanted is one of the most satisfying feelings ever.
And I do feel that, do not get me wrong, I would just like to feel it more, and more passionately from those I do feel it from.
Summer laughs and leeches.
It’s summer once more. Beaches are filling up with bodies and lungs are filling up with laughter. Laughter caused by friends reunited and goofing around like the good old times. I have friends coming back to town that have seen the world. Some lived in Italy, Spain, Paris, Hawaii or even just in small towns scattered around the south west. No matter where they were they’re here now. I’m excited every time I see them again for the first time.
But along with those best friends that are back come others that I’d prefer not to run into. Those who were once close but are now a sort of personal dementor. The one’s who use to be the reason for your lungs full of laughter are now the ones that make your eyes fill with tears and your heart full of hate.
I would not normally say hate but what they haven’t learned through this silly and childish fight is to keep my name out of their mouth. As adult as they may claim to be I know they will always be a shit talker. They are one of those who can’t think of anything else to talk about other than silly gossip. Forget deep intellectual and philosophical conversations, they’d rather talk to you about how your girlfriend or boyfriend isn’t good enough for you and how they’re emotionally cheating on you or how they’re not trustworthy because they’re emotionally remote. I understand it may all seem so true, it may all seem so honest when it comes out of their mouth but the fact is that they don’t have any facts. They have nothing to back up these heart shattering claims. No evidence against these harsh words that have the potential to hurt both parties in a relationship between two friends.
What frustrates me the most is that they don’t and won’t even take a minute to think about the power of their silly little words. They’ve had their close friends tricked for so long, into thinking that they really care about them and their lives.They suck you dry for their benefit, they want to know everything as a build up of knowledge so they can use it against you in the most inappropriate moments. But they don’t ask you about your life because they care, they ask because they’re trying to make conversation. They ask because they’re curious, not caring.
And that’s it.
Sorry if it hurts to read.
Trust me, it’s hurts to write it.
The pains of being a wallflower
The little things my friends do are what make me look at their character more than the big over the top actions. When they put on a big show and are good hostesses at a party, making sure everyone is comfortable, those are the things that are unimpressive to me. It’s when they specifically, for example, pick someone out and make sure they’re comfortable, it’s little small actions like that that impress me.
But that rarely happens. What ends up happening More, is that they forget about that one person at the party who didn’t really know anyone. They, as a hostess Knew this said person had no friends but they never once stopped to check on them. To be forgotten at a party, to feel like you blend in with the wall at a party can be the absolute worse.
But what’s worse than that is when that person whose been forgotten is you. You never think it’ll happen to you, and when it does you just sit there both cofused, sad and numb.
You no longer blend in with the wall, you are the wall.
it feels like one of those nights
Where I am now.
I was weak when I fell for him. I was in a time in my life when I was beyond confused as to where I was. Like I had forgotten who I was; who I wanted to be. I had forgotten all the work I had put in to mold myself into exactly who I wanted to be.
For too long I was okay with being alone. I actually preferred it. I always was a lone wolf, never dipping her toes into the pool of commitment. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve never been afraid of commitment, just afraid of committing to the wrong person.
I think what I’m afraid of most, above everything else, is hurting someone close and making them unhappy for any period of time. Because I've been so sad for so long. But because of that, I personally force myself to be the happiest. I know what it feels like to feel absolutely worthless and therefor I would never want anyone else to ever feel that way.
That’s why I chose him. Because I knew that he was hurting and I was the possible cause of all that. And I hated knowing I hurt someone else; so I asked to be with him. I asked if it was okay if I could be in his life to make him smile, laugh, and feel happy again. I needed to forget about my emotions, put them on the back burner for the tine being, and put his first. Because I hurt him, I think, and I needed to fix that.
Where I am now though, I still don’t know.
I’ll be fine.
I’ll be ok.