whatdoidoo
Status:
attempting to enjoy the baffling journey that is my life.
Joined: July 21, 2016
Last Seen: 7 years
user id: 397008
Joined: July 21, 2016
Last Seen: 7 years
user id: 397008
37
Quotes
170 Favorites
10 Following
8 Followers
5 Comment Points
Comments
Comments on Quotes
Comments by User
Quote Comments by User
Flair
170 Favorites
10 Following
8 Followers
5 Comment Points
Comments
Comments on Quotes
Comments by User
Quote Comments by User
Flair
quote 
');
❝True friendship is when two friends can walk in opposite directions, yet remain side by side." - Josh Grayson, Sia
catherine//usa//devotee of the office, baby goats and french fries
i like using this website as a home for my ramblings. what's going on?
i like using this website as a home for my ramblings. what's going on?
whatdoidoo's Favorite Quotes
A lot of people tell me
I'M A BIT DREAMY.
BUT
I
like the idea of that.
OF
BEING SOMEWHERE ELSE.
© format coded by: br0kenwings
Please don't remove this, or make it invisible!
Please don't remove this, or make it invisible!
“1. First of all, f.uck you, I am worth more than the £3.65 you spent on me in McDonald's, and the grimace on your face. I am worth more than the hand you brushed over my hips and the are you sure you want to be eating junk food, babe? I have stopped twisting my body into apologies for you, I have stopped interchanging water for food so you might find me sexy or pretty enough to f.uck. Listen, I've forgotten what your voice sounds like. It turns out, I don't miss it very much at all.
2. I have always had a voice that is too loud to be a secret, and the first time you treated me like one, I went home and threw up and hated you for the rest of the night. We didn't talk about it after but you looked at other women whilst you were with me and I wanted to take you by the shoulders and ask why everything I'd given you wasn't enough. It turned out that it was, and you were just too stupid or too blind to see it. I don't cover up lovebites anymore, I don't pretend to not belong. I am here, I am here, I am here. Where are you?
3. I met you outside a convenience store at 2 AM. You were pulling smoke from a joint and drinking beer, black leather and hair gel. When I walked past you leaned your hip against the cash machine and said hey baby, do you wanna come home with me? I did and I don't know why. I think I was lonely, I think I was looking for warmth anywhere I could find it and you were the first place I'd been in that felt alive. We stayed in your apartment for two days and only came out for food and water. The entire place smelled like s.ex and food. You didn't call me after. Somehow, I can't remember your name but I can't look at the brand of beer you like anymore. It only reminds me of how dark it feels to have someone f.uck your body and not your mind.
4. There's a few streets I can't walk by anymore because my body is splayed across every inch of them. The roads here are wearing my teeth and my clothes and the way we loved each other. When I look hard enough, I think that even the cement is oozing the bite of us. I avoid the cracks, I try not to look at any windows. Your face is everywhere. Somewhere, in this city, there's a quiet abandoned apartment that has been mourning quietly ever since we left it. Somewhere, in that apartment, is a letter I wrote you. It says, I will think of you when the sky looks like it's trying to touch the ocean.
5. On the first Saturday of every month I feel the ghost of your hands on my hips and drop whatever I am holding because the skin there is burning. Suddenly, I am all eyes and collapsed arms. Suddenly I am looking for something to hold. I have sacrificed mugs, bone china and all our porcelain for you. I am eating off of paper plates now. I have to drink beer out of cups. I am smoking more than I usually do because I know that you hate it. I'm hoping that somehow you'll feel that my lungs are still missing you and are trying to punish me for that. I think you were my worst addiction of all. They don't do anonymous meetings for lonely youths. If they did there'd be too much heart in one room, if they did, everyone would drown from the loss of it all.”
— Letters for the Boys Who Broke My Heart
That night when you come home and drape yourself next to me like a cat that's found its place you smell of Chanel No. 5, not mine. I want to scream, how dare you have the audacity to f.uck someone who can afford better perfume than I can. While you sleep, I lie in bed and think of the ways that I could hurt you. Your jeans are hanging on my drawer, you bought them for £145, I spend the hours slowly unstitching each seam. When you ask I say, God, baby, I don't know, they scammed you maybe, no one is trustworthy these days anyhow. For every time you put your mouth on my neck I think of your lips on hers, and the croissant I had for breakfast rolls in my stomach. I wonder if you know, that I can smell s.ex on you, I can smell longing for flesh that isn't mine. I think so hard that I get a migraine and you say, oh honey, do you want a massage? In a voice I thought was just for me but no part of you looks familiar anymore. I look at your hands on me, on her, on other hers, your beautiful fingers and I want to break them. You've been quiet lately, you'll say, rolling into our broken home, traces of other woman all over your body. Even when we shower together I can't wipe the scent and I think that maybe we can survive this, except on our last night, your hands are cupping my face and you're saying, god I love you, you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. I imagine you saying those things to her and I break like rubble, the scratch on your face will be there for weeks. I'll show you the door, naked and hurt and cold and I'll say, go to her. I'll say, I know what you've been doing. I'll say, I hope when you f.uck her you'll think of me, you'll think of what you lost.
“
There
are times I feel like I am not wholly here. Like I am looking in
on my life through a dusty old lens. I can make out the outlines
of the things and the people I love, but for the most part, it is
all a shadowy blur.—Beau Taplin
”