"I can't breathe
because
he only
kisses
her
once;
He doesn't care
if that
kiss
is perfect."
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MakeMeFeelYourLove
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posted September 4, 2013 at 6:17pm UTC tagged with love, sad, kiss, poetry, ocd, spokenword, neilhilborn
more quotes by MakeMeFeelYourLove
- You close your eyes and fall asleep, Covered with the tears you weep, Trying to be good enough. Bright blue eyes, wrists of red, Not alive but not yet dead, Only wanting to be loved.
- You wanna hold me in your arms and rock me to sleep, Then act like you don't know me.
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- Hi! Thank you for purchasing the audiobook of “How To Ruin Your Life” for fun and profit as read by the author, Neil Hilborn. So, you wanna be unhappy? You probably think you need to be in pain to be an interesting person and artist, and you’re right! People who “care” about you will tell you you don’t need to suffer to be important. But just remember–musicians are always most popular the day after they die. So, are you ready to matter to someone? Step One: Hate yourself. You are, presumably, a human being between between the ages of alive and dead. So chances are you’re already there. Congratulations! Step Two: Fall in love. People will tell you that this takes years. Well we have a secret method that will allow you to fall for anyone in under a week! The trick is; you must be completely unable to tell the difference between love and co-dependence. Step Three: Fall in love. With someone else. At the same time. People will tell you that it is impossible, given the love already inside you, but they don’t know you. Your heart is limitless. Your heart is a well. It goes all the way down. You can fit everyone in there. But remember to lie about it! Love can’t exist with knowledge of other love. Step Four: At this point you may be doubting your decision to totally fúck up your life. So ask yourself: would you rather be happy or interesting? Would you rather be on the news or just watching it? Happy people don’t make history. Happy people make children, then die. Step Five: Self-diagnose yourself a mental disorder that makes you aloof and impossible to contact. If someone accuses you of being a bad friend, lover, or child, accuse them of being insensitive. Step Six: All the elements are in place. Now, start sabotaging your life. Remember; this isn’t crazy, this is research. This is material. This is necessary for your personal growth! Step Seven: You’ve been in love with two people for a while now. Tell them about each other! Whichever one stays is the winner! Eight: Call your boss a fascist chipmunk fúcker! Tell your friends fun lies about your other friends! Tell your mother she was the reason you tried to kill yourself! It’s just not depression without total isolation. Nine: Do something to hurt yourself. It may be credit debt, it may be gonrrhea, it may be a razor. Literal or not, make yourself bleed. Step Ten: Create something. Paint your scars on the side of a building. Write a poem and shout it to strangers. “The Misery Circus” is parading into town and you are holding the banner. Miles of people are following you; they are all wearing grey. A rainbow of grey. They are all watching and they kick themselves bloody on their own feet. You have scars and everyone wants to kiss them; this is stigmata pórnography. This is inspiration. You are right there, still alive. You are morning in a world of midnights. You are so brave. And they want to be brave just like you. Look at what you have built. Everything you loved, is gone. Tell yourself: “It was worth it.” --- Neil Hilborn, Audiobook
- The first time I saw her... Everything in my head went quiet. All the tics, all the constantly refreshing images just disappeared. When you have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, you don’t really get quiet moments. Even in bed, I’m thinking: Did I lock the doors? Yes. Did I wash my hands? Yes. Did I lock the doors? Yes. Did I wash my hands? Yes. But when I saw her, the only thing I could think about was the hairpin curve of her lips.. Or the eyelash on her cheek— the eyelash on her cheek— the eyelash on her cheek. I knew I had to talk to her. I asked her out six times in thirty seconds. She said yes after the third one, but none of them felt right, so I had to keep going. On our first date, I spent more time organizing my meal by color than I did eating it, or fùcking talking to her... But she loved it. She loved that I had to kiss her goodbye sixteen times or twenty-four times if it was Wednesday. She loved that it took me forever to walk home because there are lots of cracks on our sidewalk. When we moved in together, she said she felt safe, like no one would ever rob us because I definitely locked the door eighteen times. I’d always watch her mouth when she talked— when she talked— when she talked— when she talked when she talked; when she said she loved me, her mouth would curl up at the edges. At night, she’d lay in bed and watch me turn all the lights off.. And on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off. She’d close her eyes and imagine that the days and nights were passing in front of her. Some mornings I’d start kissing her goodbye but she’d just leave cause I was just making her late for work... When I stopped in front of a crack in the sidewalk, she just kept walking... When she said she loved me her mouth was a straight line. She told me that I was taking up too much of her time. Last week she started sleeping at her mother’s place. She told me that she shouldn’t have let me get so attached to her; that this whole thing was a mistake, but... How can it be a mistake that I don’t have to wash my hands after I touched her? Love is not a mistake, and it’s killing me that she can run away from this and I just can’t. I can’t – I can’t go out and find someone new because I always think of her. Usually, when I obsess over things, I see germs sneaking into my skin. I see myself crushed by an endless succession of cars... And she was the first beautiful thing I ever got stuck on. I want to wake up every morning thinking about the way she holds her steering wheel.. How she turns shower knobs like she's opening a safe. How she blows out candles— blows out candles— blows out candles— blows out candles— blows out candles— blows out… Now, I just think about who else is kissing her. I can’t breathe because he only kisses her once — he doesn’t care if it’s perfect! I want her back so bad... I leave the door unlocked. I leave the lights on. --- Neil Hilborn, OCD
- ❝ The first time I saw her.. Everything in my head went quiet. All the ticks, all the constantly refreshing images just disappeared. When you have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, you don’t really get quiet moments. Even in bed, I’m thinking: Did I lock the doors? Yes. Did I wash my hands? Yes. Did I lock the doors? Yes. Did I wash my hands? Yes. But when I saw her, the only thing I could think about was the hairpin curve of her lips... Or the eyelash on her cheek— the eyelash on her cheek— the eyelash on her cheek. I knew I had to talk to her. I asked her out six times in thirty seconds. She said yes after the third one, but none of them felt right, so I had to keep going. On our first date, I spent more time organizing my meal by color than I did eating it, or talking to her.. But she loved it. She loved that I had to kiss her goodbye sixteen times or twenty-four times at different times of the day. She loved that it took me forever to walk home because there are lots of cracks on our sidewalk. When we moved in together, she said she felt safe, like no one would ever rob us because I definitely lock the door eighteen times. I’d always watch her mouth when she talked— when she talked— when she talked— when she talked; when she said she loved me, her mouth would curl up at the edges. At night, she’d lay in bed and watch me turn all the lights off. And on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off. She’d close her eyes and imagine that the days and nights were passing in front of her. But then...she said I was taking up too much of her time. That I couldn’t kiss her goodbye so much because I was making her late for work... When she said she loved me, her mouth was a straight line. When I stopped in front of a crack in the sidewalk, she just kept walking. And last week she started sleeping at her mother’s place. She told me that she shouldn’t have let me get so attached to her; that this whole thing was a mistake, but... How can it be a mistake that I don’t have to wash my hands after I touch her? Love is not a mistake, and it’s killing me that she can run away from this and I just can’t. I can’t go out and find someone new because I always think of her. Usually, when I obsess over things, I see germs sneaking into my skin. I see myself crushed by an endless succession of cars... And she was the first beautiful thing I ever got stuck on. I want to wake up every morning thinking about the way she holds her steering wheel... How she turns shower knobs like she opening a safe. How she blows out candles— blows out candles— blows out candles— blows out candles— blows out—... Now, I just think about who else is kissing her. I can’t breathe because he only kisses her once—he doesn’t care if it’s perfect! I want her back so bad... I leave the door unlocked. I leave the lights on. ❞