last year, i bought a picture of the view of downtown providence from the point street bridge to remind myself to never go back to how i felt that winter, to never think those kind of thoughts again
four months later and i’m right back there
the thought that all this torture i’m putting myself through to make enough money to be able to stop torturing myself to make money might not work out makes me sad
this that prom shit, this that what-we-do-don’t-tell-your-mom shit
mental ails, physical ails
welcome back to brown
philadelphia, save this november soul
summer’s last rains
it’s pouring, i’m drowning,
"I want to tell you I miss
you with no subtext. No guilt,
no anger, no expectation
that you’ll fix it. I don’t want
you to feel bad or to tell
me it will get better. This
is where we are meant to be
right now – me apart from you,
my hands a little empty and
my heart a little sad.
I just miss you.
I wanted you to know."
these past ten months
and when you think to yourself,
"this is rock bottom"
reality surprises a fool
the things i would do for a rack of dry aged ribs right now
"You want everything so much and when you get it it’s over and you don’t give a damn."
Ernest Hemingway, The Garden Of Eden (via llawra)