You're a hero, Castiel

the thing is, somebody cares. i know your best friend seems really busy all the time and is shit at texting but she still loves you and she talks to you more than she talks to anyone else and you’re the only breath of calm she has on this planet. the boy in your science class loves seeing what music you’re listening to on your headphones - he has the same taste and wishes he had the nerve to ask you about it. your english teacher loves the insight you have on your papers. somebody cares. the person who lives down the street from you notices when you are sick because they don’t see you stomping your way to the schoolbus - it’s how they know it’s time to get their breakfast ready. somebody is looking for you at the party, even if they don’t know they’re really looking for you - but when you don’t show up, some part of them is disappointed. somebody is looking for you in the library, in the spot where you eat lunch, in front of that one step you always seem to trip on. i know your parents are a complicated mess and there’s drama between your friends and your love life is sort of shaped like a constant question and everybody seems all caught up in their own lives and their own happiness and nobody really notices: but somebody always does. every face in your dreams is someone you have met, and that means that you are in a million’s stranger’s heads. they see you when they go to bed. and somebody cares. somebody still thinks about you even though you were just a person with a nice outfit or good eyeliner or a great smile or because you were having one of those moments that are so charmingly human in nature or because they regret not asking if you needed help when you fell or because they wonder what you were thinking about or drawing or writing or just because you’re alive, and that makes you fascinating. somebody cares. when you were on break from work and saw a dog hanging his head out of the car and suddenly broke into a smile: there was a girl in the back of that car, and I was her, and I still think about you, and i hope you get more chances to smile like that. and there is you, sitting here reading this, and by some small extension, meeting me, and i am telling you, I care. somebody always does. i promise. i promise. you are loved.

the saddest thing i have found about  the response to this is the number of people who said “i don’t believe this” and it makes me sick because two years ago i would have said the same thing but trust me okay somebody does care and if your brain doesn’t let you think that’s true, tell it this: you have cared about plenty of people who you will never know. you let them cut you in line or gave them your last dollar or complimented their clothes or laughed quietly at their joke. and there are seven billion people who, like you, care deeply and terribly about other human beings. that furious sadness that rises in you at the thought of anyone else hurting: it rises in us too. and i live what you have been through. i’m sad too, and that makes us kin in some small way. i want you to be happy. i know what burden you are carrying. i want you to believe me. it might take time. the person who cares might have to be yourself. but trust me when i say: at least one person cares, because i do. 

I have a very big crush on u but sadly I am only a little bug and u are a garden

my grandmother died having only used her china like twice in her life. during the year or so before her death, she was starting to package up and give things of hers to her kids, and gave mom the china while sighing “oh i wish i had used the china more!” and mom tried so hard to convince her to just keep it, then, and eat corny dogs off it if she wanted. she insisted she couldn’t possibly, you need a special reason to use the fine china. when nana died, we used her fine china as our everyday dishes for years. i was 18 when she died, and never really stopped having that in the back of my head. now, when i hear myself say “i wish i had a reason to wear/do/eat/use X!” i hear nana regretting never really using her china. and let me tell you a thing: spaghettios taste great when eaten from fine china.

please show me you love me. i don’t take much. little notes, doodles on post-its, noticing how hard i worked on something and taking the time to really appreciate it. i don’t need long facebook posts or large shows. i need you remembering i had a hard day and bringing home takeout because you know i’ll be too stressed to discuss what to have for dinner and need to just eat my feelings. i want text messages just randomly sent that have dumb romantic things in them, i want a leaf you saw that you thought was pretty, a smooth rock that made you think of me, anything. i need it because my brain doesn’t always think you want to be with this and these small things help me say: see, look, this is what love is, this is true, this is okay and i’m not a burden.

Gotta do it

I don’t care what news I get I just want this stupid potato dog on my dash

^

Reblogging for the stupid potato dog

I need to hear good news