“You let me look through your record collection and tell me, “Most people think they’re outdated and silly to buy.” You let me laugh at your cartoons. You let me borrow your favorite books and drink Coca Cola on your back porch. But when I try to study the scribbled out drawings hanging above your desk, you pull me down. You say, “That’s not for you to see.” You mean you. You’re not for me to see. “Come on, let’s go somewhere”, as if we ever end up anywhere but parked in a field or a dark street or the back of a restaurant. I don’t mind, I’m dying to get close to you any way I can and if pressing my skin to yours in a stuffy car is the only way I can, then I’ll do it. Afterwards, I look at you with a big, child’s smile that cracks my cheeks and you ask, “What? What’s wrong? Why are you smiling?” I swallow my feelings, and pretend they’re not collecting in my throat. I spend the summer acting like the way I feel about you is not threatening to spill out every time I kiss you. I spend the summer pulling on your paint-splattered jeans and touching you beneath your sheets, while your dad listens to jazz downstairs. I spend the summer trying my hardest to be cool, be cool and not care, but I can’t help it, I’m so close to telling you how I feel each time you try to talk dirty to me. One night, while you’re drunk across the continent, you spill your guts and type, “I love you, I love you, I love you” and I, sober and smiling, reply, “Oh God, finally.” But in the morning, you are forgetful, an amnesiac. You erase the incident. And I finally take a deep breath and erase you. I spent the summer undressing you and wishing I could see more than what’s beneath your clothes. You spent the summer refusing to get completely naked for me.”—Falling In Love With Your Summer Fling | Lora Mathis (via soggypoetry)
“Lexington, Massachusetts, was the Eagleton to my hometown right next door, which was Burlington. Lexington had the Shot Heard ‘Round the World, and more doctors and slightly fancier houses. Rachel Dratch is from Lexington. Our [high school football] teams play each other on Thanksgiving, and we still trash talk each other. I’ll say, ‘Lexington’s a bunch of fuckin’ snobs.’ And she’ll say, ‘How dare you, you Burlington trash. Get out of my town.’”—Amy Poehler (via everybodyandtelevision)
“It is all loneliness, the way you live.
You get up and make the bed like you are trying
to prove a point. You make coffee that is never
quite right and never finish it. This is the third day
you’ve worn this shirt. Eventually, you will paint
your nails again, wash the grease from your hair.
Once you have someone besides your own reflection
You go to parties where you know
you will only stay an hour. Lean quietly against the wall,
watching people with enviably easy laughter.
Your smile is a cracked boat in a flooded river. Close,
but still useless. You do not talk to strangers, just sit there
like a begging dog beside the dinner table,
with eyes that say “Please, come, be my friend.
I am a coward, but I’m hungry.”—Clementine von Radics, "But Lately" (via perfect)