fatal errors

i thought i was over this fall’s fling. something that started and ended in the span of two months shouldn’t be that big of a deal, right?

i made the mistake of looking at his twitter. he posted a cover he did of one of my favorite songs. i made the mistake of listening to it. now i’m crying in the study room, wondering if i fit into the lyrics.

i can’t stop thinking about all the little mistakes i made.

“

Time, I think, is like walking backward away from something: say, from a kiss. First there is the kiss; then you step back, and the eyes fill up your vision, then the eyes are framed in the face as you step further away; the face then is part of a body, and then the body is framed in a doorway, then the doorway framed in the trees beside it. The path grows longer, and the door smaller, the trees fill up your sight and the door is lost, then the path is lost in the woods and the woods lost in the hills. Yet somewhere in the center still is the kiss. That’s what time is like.

Engine Summer, by John Crowley (via aprilwitching)

(via aprilwitching-deactivated201808)

“

Male fantasies, male fantasies, is everything run by male fantasies? Up on a pedestal or down on your knees, it’s all a male fantasy: that you’re strong enough to take what they dish out, or else too weak to do anything about it. Even pretending you aren’t catering to male fantasies is a male fantasy: pretending you’re unseen, pretending you have a life of your own, that you can wash your feet and comb your hair unconscious of the ever-present watcher peering through the keyhole, peering through the keyhole in your own head, if nowhere else. You are a woman with a man inside watching a woman. You are your own voyeur.

Margaret Atwood, The Robber Bride (via sealedtome)

image

i can’t uncouple these in my mind

(via sobriquetinbedgrowyrhair)

(via agooduniverse)

ok update
I’ve lost 15 pounds since January (25 total down from my highest weight)
I’m now at a number I haven’t seen since 2012 😜
fuck yeah