"Depression is stupid and not a thing that makes me a better writer. One time I went a whole year without writing and I stayed in bed and drank. Fuck your Bukowskisms. I want sunlight and love and running down some street I’ve never been on where it’s warm and cool at the same time and I’m smiling. I want nothing to ever be bad again- and I don’t mean that I want a life free of conflict, I mean that I want a life free of meaningless conflict. Not being able to will oneself to take a shower or leave the house is meaningless. There is nothing to be gained, no lesson to be learned from that kind of life. My heart is stale, my prose is stale. Give me fire if you want to hurt me. Give me something I can taste. There’s nothing romantic or mysterious about where I am. There’s nothing here worth holding onto."
I want to be kissed angrily.
I want a girl who has had an extremely bad day and is mad at the world, shove me against a wall and kiss me until both our lips start to bruise. I want her to pour out all the anger shes feeling and shove it down my lungs, and then I want to push back. Not with force but with air, I want to turn that anger into love and turn the bruising kiss soft. I want to remind her that life is too beautiful to hate.
This is absolutely perfect.