shit happens.

Don’t you just love those long rainy afternoons in New Orleans when an hour isn’t just an hour - but a little piece of eternity dropped into your hands - and who knows what to do with it?

I don’t care about people. I only care about you.

You make lists in your head about what you want in a lover, like brown hair and a sweet voice. A sharp mind and a soft heart, a sense of humor that actually makes you laugh like you mean it. This and that. And it’s all bullshit. Because people aren’t lists. And I’ve always wanted to be the person who made someone realize that. I want to come across someone with a list in their head that is nothing like the person I am, and I want to show them what they didn’t even know they were looking for. People who think they know what they want are fooling themselves. Nobody really knows what they want. Not until it’s right in front of them.

I can’t believe this is my most popular post.

Moving on was the day my body forgot how your hands felt to be on it. Moving on was the day my thoughts didn’t find their way back to you. Moving on was the morning I woke up to whisper into the still morning air “I forgive you”. Moving on was letting the past be in the past, and remembering that your hands, your words, your atrocities to me will never be relived. Moving on was the day I finally saw who I was becoming - a fearful, solitary creature - and said “no more”. Moving on was the day I accepted that there will be so many people in my life who will love me no matter what my past was. Moving on was walking away from the memory of you.