Guenevere. Twenty-one These are a few of my favorite things.
It’s a mini victory when I can remember which light switch goes with what light.
I think England may actually possess the power the cure me of my massive guilt complex. Learning how to give no fucks one day at a time.
I love being horribly straightforward. I love sending reckless text messages (because how reckless can a form of digitized communication be?) and telling people I love them and telling people they are absolutely magical humans and I cannot believe they really exist. I love saying, “Kiss me harder,” and “You’re a good person,” and, “You brighten my day.” I live my life as straight-forward as possible.
Because one day, I might get hit by a bus.
I could be walking down the street one day, blasting Rihanna or Fleetwood Mac, jamming so hard that I don’t see the bus coming. I could be walking with a book in my hand, reading until the very end. I could be paying total and complete attention, imagine the impact before it arrives.
And I’d really, really rather not die with some confusing statement I said sitting in the phone or the thoughts or the memory of someone I know, care about, need.
I know how it is—we all want to be mysterious. None of us want to get hurt. None of us want to look desperate. So we wait to respond to texts, phone calls, emails, Facebook messages, Tweets. So we communicate our emotions in how we end our messages (no period this time? Really gonna get them.). So we say vague, half-statements and expect people to read our minds.
But what if we died?
What if the last thing you ever texted that girl was, “I don’t know, whenever,” when she asked when she should come over, even though you really really wanted to see her right now? What if you were head-over-heels in lust with some beautiful human in your Lit. class but you chose to wait 15 seconds before texting them back, only to never get the chance to text them at all?
Maybe it’s weird. Maybe it’s scary. Maybe it seems downright impossible to just be—to just let people know you want them, need them, feel like, in this very moment, you will die if you do not see them, hold them, touch them in some way whether its your feet on their thighs on the couch or your tongue in their mouth or your heart in their hands.
But there is nothing more beautiful than being desperate.
And there is nothing more risky than pretending not to care.
We are young and we are human and we are beautiful and we are not as in control as we think we are. We never know who needs us back. We never know the magic that can arise between ourselves and other humans.
We never know when the bus is coming.
Rachel C. Lewis
Since having my own room for the first time in college I have discovered that I really love to be naked. I like sleeping naked. I like blogging naked. I like brushing my teeth naked.(bonus:you never get toothpaste on an outfit!) Naked makeup. Naked whatever I’m doing right now. You get the point.
I don’t mean for this to sound lewd or provocative because that’s not the point of this post by any means.
I just feel that no one should look in the mirror and feel alienated by what stares back at them. I think that building a comfortable relationship with yourself in your most vulnerable and rawest form causes even the most stubborn people to begin to love themselves.
That was seriously the fastest I’ve ever gone through security. There was no line at all…I didn’t even need to rush to take my shoes off.
Also, mini grown-up victory for me because this is the first tine I’m not wearing sweatpants or leggings on a flight!
Watching Leonardo DiCaprio win a Golden Globe:
Please don’t play the music on him! Give him this moment! For the love of god! *music plays*