I literally scraped a chunk of skin off of my toe, and walked back bleeding. I even stopped once to check it out. And she wouldn’t stop talking about herself. Earlier today she snapped at me because my lack of concern made her feel insecure, she never apologized. Half an hour later, I comforted her while she cried about feeling like she was being criticized for being too stressed. I have given all that I can in the past two weeks. Our friendship used to be pretty nice, but her constant struggle with insecurities and negativity are not helpful right now. What I will do is quietly step away. I will go about my business and do what I have to. When she is ready, I will be there. Friendship should never be this much of a slap in the face.
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Leaving is not enough. You must stay gone. Train your heart like a dog. Change the locks even on the house he’s never visited. You lucky, lucky girl. You have an apartment just your size. A bathtub full of tea. A heart the size of Arizona, but not nearly so arid. Don’t wish away your cracked past, your crooked toes, your problems are papier mache puppets you made or bought because the vendor at the market was so compelling you just had to have them. You had to have him. And you did. And now you pull down the bridge between your houses, you make him call before he visits, you take a lover for granted, you take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic. Make the first bottle you consume in this place a relic. Place it on whatever altar you fashion with a knife and five cranberries. Don’t lose too much weight. Stupid girls are always trying to disappear as revenge. And you are not stupid. You loved a man with more hands than a parade of beggars, and here you stand. Heart like a four-poster bed. Heart like a canvas. Heart leaking something so strong they can smell it in the street.
— Frida Kahlo (via ladiesnevercuss)(Source: allmymetaphors, via lusteres)
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A young woman and a child sit together in traditional, formal attire. Ongole | ©Maynard Owen Williams
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A.F. Vandevorst installation for Arnhem Mode Biennale 2011
“A girl sleeping in a hospital bed in her A.F. Vandevorst dress. But here, the girl as well as the mattress and pillow are made out of candle wax. Once lit, what starts as a perfect image will slowly melt and perish during the biennale.”
(via baroquedown)
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(via meditativemumbles)
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“Eventually soulmates meet, for they have the same hiding place.”
I want to believe that this is true, but what happens if you hide within yourself?
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(Source: myifeelyou, via meditativemumbles)
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