“The best thing about showers? You can cry and break down while taking a shower and after, no one will ever know you cried. No one will know that your heart was so heavy and that you were begging for the pain to stop. No one will ever know but yourself.”—K.L (via aztecianlipstick)
“How to love your depressed lover.
Last night I thought I kissed the loneliness from out your belly button. I thought I did, but later you sat up, all bones and restless hands, and told me there is a knot in your body that I cannot undo. I never know what to say to these things. “It’s okay.” “Come back to bed.” “Please don’t go away again.” Sometimes you are gone for days at a time and it is all I can do not to call the police, file a missing person’s report, even though you are right there, still sleeping next to me in bed. But your eyes are like an empty house in winter: lights left on to scare away intruders. Except in this case I am the intruder and you are already locked up so tight that no one could possibly jimmy their way in. Last night I thought I gave you a reason not to be so sad when I held your body like a high note and we both trembled from the effort.
Some people, though, are sad against all reason, all sensibility, all love. I know better now. I know what to say to the things you admit to me in the dark, all bones and restless hands. “It’s okay.” “You can stay in bed.” “Please come back to me again.”—(via c0rktree)
I’m gaining the small amount of weight that I lost back and I haven’t been to the gym in weeks and I’m just so miserable and depressed I guess I don’t care enough. I mean I care. But I can’t do anything but work and lay in my bed anymore.
“It ain’t the whiskey.
It ain’t the cigarettes.
It ain’t the stuff I smoke.
It’s all these things I can’t forget.
It ain’t the hard times.
It ain’t the all nights.
It ain’t that easy,
It ain’t the whiskey that’s killin’ me.”—Gary Allen (via thelittlestlondon)