Looking at me.

he looks into my eyes tensely, deeply, like he's looking for something. And then he relaxes, sits back, like he found it. That's how he looks at me. Idk what he's looking for, or what he finds there.

*my secret*

Save Tonight

Wet N' Wild Natural Wear (101)

In The Flesh

You were here. You were here in the flesh and you were here for me and we got food and we went to the hotel and we watched that movie you didn't want to watch
 - you watched it for me -
and after the movie ended we sat and we talked and talked and talked like we always do and then we weren't talking anymore and it was magnificent and we tried
 - we tried -
to have sex but it hurt so bad (they don't tell you how bad when they say it hurts but maybe I think it's just so different for everybody) and we stopped and it was awkward but I sat up and rested my head on your knee we talked and we talked
 - and we talked -
and it stopped being awkward and there was laughter and there were jokes and there were tender gentle kisses and we went and tried again and it hurt at first again but you were slower and kinder and we had sex
 - I had sex, we had sex, there was sex -
with Looney Toons playing in the background on this hotel's T.V. room and it was a strange and unfamiliar experience and even now I'm still not entirely comfortable with it but it takes me a while to adjust so I think that's okay.

Then we were lying in bed together and we were talking and talking and talking
 - as we do -
and there was laughter and you asked me if I felt different and at the time I was indifferent, it was okay, here we were lying in bed laughing and joking and talking as we do and it was okay. You were holding my had but you asked me to not hold it all night, you couldn't sleep like that
 - you're not so affectionate -
which kills me because I'm more affectionate than  anyone I know and then we slept together as in actually speaking but it kind of felt like you were miles away from me on this bed and I was so cold so cold so cold.

In the morning you woke up you woke me up but I refused to wake up as I'm apt to do because mornings are never my strongest moments and you turned on football and slowly I woke and there was more sex
 - Michigan V. Michigan State -
which will make you feel like a bro.


So that's what happened when I lost my virginity and maybe it wasn't the best experience to hold out for when you put it on paper but I don't regret a minute of it which is what really matters.

Chelsea yelled at me and Keber told me that it's possible and sometimes I worry that you're just using me for sex and it's a possibility but there's weird things you do that make me not believe it.

It's the million tiny things throughout the day versus the one big thing they think I should be seeing -
you may not have brought me flowers and chocolates but when I accuse you of being a duck murderer and make references to world war two and I am at my nerdiest, most exposed and truest moments when you tell me you want to be with me, again.
 - they refuse to see that -
or they blow it off as "guys will do anything to sleep with you,"

and I'm sorry but I'm NOT sorry that I refuse to believe that guys are all just pigs - because it's not true. At this age guys are young and idiotic and mis-focused but that doesn't make them bad people, even if they may not treat your loved ones like royalty. This is the real world and people are

real

and

honest


and


 flawed.

I'm not pretending that you or they or I am any different.

This Should Be a Non-Issue.

You know what sucks? My dog died.



Almost three years ago. Two days before Christmas. I was seventeen.



I'm twenty now, and life has hit me like a ton of bricks several times over, and I still have this on my shoulders. My dog died. Since then, my family has gotten two more dogs, and they're both brilliant and retarded, and absolutely gorgeous creatures. They're both extremely loving and quirky and amazing as far as pets go... And they're both very young.

Sable used to be young. But when Sable was young, I was young. When I was growing up, Sable grew up with me. When Sable died, I died.

Okay, so I've been able to be okay and live a life, but a part of my heart is missing and it's scarred over, and sometimes I can still feel the emptiness. I haven't loved anything on this earth as much as I loved, and still love, Sable. The last few moments of her life are burned into my memory with surgical precision, and they're never going away.

There's things I'll always have in my life to look back on and say that I was able to move on, and they were supposed to happen to me. My best friend left town and I had to find a new one, in sixth grade. My next door neighbor died right after his fifth birthday because he was hit by a drunk driver. My first love absolutely stomped on my heart. These things will always remain with me because I learned how to be a better person from them. I learned how to grow close to others even in the face of uncertainty. I learned to always take the keys from those who didn't understand they weren't sober enough to drive. I learned to be guarded, and love.

When Sable died, I learned that very, very few people will come into your life, be the most loyal, trustworthy friend, fight for your life and safety, never yell at you, always be willing to play with you, always lay by your side when you needed to cry, love you endlessly, be completely selfless, and make you fall in love with them with absolutely every fiber of your being - these few people will come into your life, and they'll go until their last breath protecting your heart, making sure you're okay. But these people will die.

When Sable was dying, she knew she was dying. She could feel it, but she fought to be strong, tried her hardest to not let us know until she physically couldn't even sit up anymore. The vet told us that this was typical of retrievers. Because they're so loyal, you know.

I've had some amazing friends in this life. A couple that I have absolutely nothing to complain about. But no friend as devoted to me as Sable was. And to this day, the tiniest thing will trigger my memory and it'll be back to the pain I felt the minute my dad picked her up and took her away.

Wherever you are, Sabledog, I love you, and I miss you. <3

On Semi-Dating You.

Be ridiculously cute. Invite me to play pool when I notice you playing by yourself in our dorm building. Talk about everything from music and tattoos to faith and hometowns. Make my heart flutter a little bit because it takes about 10.7 seconds for me to fall in love, every time. Say goodnight. Exchange room numbers.

Don't employ the use of the room numbers but play pool a couple more times. Laugh with me, be a little awkward around me, and don't open up to me. Then, at 2:15 in the morning when you're most drunk, invite me to play pool. Be a total, goofy, sweetheart drunk and make me laugh. Get way too excited about graduating and tell me, "I just have to hug you." Hug me, a lot. Smile widely. Take both of my hands and intertwine your fingers, and kiss me. Be confused as to why I'm kissing you back and then holding back. You don't understand, I don't want to take advantage of your drunkenness. Invite me to your room. Take my number when I say no.

Apologize profusely the next day. Ask to take me to a movie. Don't tell me your fear of demons when I say we should see Insidious. Don't realize that I'm screaming inside Keber's car that I have a date with this totally sexy man who lives in my dorm building. Don't sound impressed when I immediately tell you I just got his car up to 125mph.

Ask me out on more dates. Pay for almost everything. Invite me over. Drunkenly hit me up and be kind of a dick, but it's okay, I'm used to it. I'm used to having asshole friends. Make Chelsea angry when you can't remember her name. Pass out on my bed and hog the covers on a frequent basis. Make me angry that one time that you get trashed before our date and not be able to sit through the whole thing.

Take me out on more dates and be a total sweetheart. Make me feel wanted. Make me feel on top of the world. Text me at 3am asking me to come spend the night - and no, you're not drunk this time. You soberly want to spend the night together. Kiss me gently and make Chris - your roommate - extremely uncomfortable. Spend all morning in bed with me. Avoid the subject of our impending separation.

Drink a case of beer and a bottle of Smirnoff Raspberry Vodka with me. As we're both lit up have the hottest night of my life with me. Take me to lunch the next day. Don't show up when we're supposed to meet to say goodbye, but text me as I'm on my way to the airport with "I'm so sorry I missed you, have tons of fun! We'll meet up sometime this summer."

Tell me you miss me every night I'm in California. In fact, tell me you miss me as I'm reliving my own sleepless in Seattle moments. Make me want to write an indie love song out of your words. Get on your boat and become less and less talkative. Two weeks before my birthday, lose service and don't talk to me for a month. Talk to me sporadically before the school year starts again. Simultaneously be the thing I hold on to and the thing I put on pause and learn to be patient for all summer.

Come back for the beginning of the school year to drop off your sister & tell me you're in town for a few days. Your first night here, tell me you're gonna get shitfaced and that you'll just see me tomorrow. Have me pick you up. When I get out of the car give me a HUGE hug and say "It's so good to be seeing you right now." Be the drunken sweetheart you used to be. Come over and hang  make out with me, and as the alcohol hits you harder turn into the drunken asshole I hate. Ask me to sleep with you. Get mad when I don't.

Go outside and smoke three cigarettes. Try to convince me you're sober so I'll sleep with you. When I call you out say that it's not just that you want to get laid - it's that you want to be with me. Smirk when I say you're doing a shitty job of showing it. Piss me off. Throw up from my bed into my trash can. All of a sudden be hella congested. Say you want to go back to your hotel. Ask me to drive you.

Be at a loss as for what to do when I tell you no, I'm not driving you, I'm too mad. Ask what you're supposed to do, then. Look confused when I scream "Call a fucking cab!" Ask why I'm mad. "You'd remember if you were sober enough to remember things for more than three seconds!!" Ask me to not be mad. "Fuck you." As you're leaving, ask if you can see me tomorrow. "I don't know. Maybe. I'm too mad to think about it right now."

Now be me. Be miserable all the next day. Avoid anything that makes you happy. Not even this hella cute outfit is going to cheer you up. Hate your first day of your junior year of college. Hate your life. Hate your apartment. Try to ignore the heartstrings inside you desperately wishing that he'd call, or text, and try to save face.

Wonder how the hell you're going to get to Valdez now.

A Friend...

HP

Shit I'd say If I could get away with it.

Dear sister. We've been sharing a room for less than a month. We're never in the room at the same time unless we're sleeping. BUT

Quit fucking touching my stuff.

My computer? NOT FUCKING YOURS.
My pillow? ESPECIALLY NOT FUCKING YOURS. DON'T STEAL MY FUCKING PILLOWS. PAY FOR YOUR OWN GODDAMN SHIT.
My D.S.? Leave it the fuck alone. Don't touch it.

and how about you actually get fucking dressed in the mornings so I don't have to listen to dad yell at you and slam on the lights every morning at 7:00 am. If it's gotten to th epoint where I have to open my eyes to tell you to put some fucking clothes on so Dad doesn't yell, it's become a fucking problem.

Love,
Ashleigh.;


Honestly can't wait to get the fuck out of here again.

What I Never Told Anyone (About That Night)

I'd prepped my entire self for that night.
Damnit I was ready. There were a few hitches - as there normally are when you're drunk.
But then we finally had the room just the two of us. I've already written down on the sweaty details, but towards the end when the alcohol had finally completed the process of turning your brain into mush, you asked me
"Baby, am I your boyfriend?"
In my own drunken state, I knew these words wouldn't last. You were speaking with the words of a 12 year old. Having consumed less than half the alcohol you'd had, I knew that my response could be construed as me taking advantage of you. It wasn't like I wasn't drunk - but I'd remember this in the morning and for weeks to come, and you wouldn't. Were you my boyfriend? For that time we'd been dating, and hooking up drunk and sober? The question hung there for a millisecond as ten thousand thoughts ran through my mind. You were the only person I was seeing, but you weren't captured in the exclusivity of being mine. We called each other baby, and had grown comfortable in each other's presence and it was a regular occurence to cuddle watching movies. Our quasi-relationship had become the talk of the building. And this night - our last night - was a night meant to boil down to this very question, yet meant to be asked in a very different state of mind. When I got off the plane in a different state the next day, would you be my boyfriend? Would I be your girlfriend? When I returned to this city, the same I called home, and you were gone, would you still be my boyfriend? This was the talk we were supposed to have that night, but didn't soberly discuss. Instead we'd polished off Miller Genuine Draft and Smirnoff Raspberry Vodka, and gotten to know every inch of each other's naked bodies. When we finally stopped touching and tasting and teasing, we'd settled into a comfortable position, me with my solid buzz and you with your solid drunkenness, waiting out the remaining time until your roommate returned, under the guise of trying to fall asleep. I hoped beyond hope that my answer would remain in the morning, but I knew with all knowledge that it wouldn't. Your question still haunts me and it's been 36 days since you've asked but never again asked me sober, and the answer still I wouldn't change, still ringing in my ears.
"Yeah, baby. Of course."

You know that ridiculous stupid smile I have when I'm ridiculously, stupidly happy? I love that feeling. That smile ensures that for a good amount of time afterward, colors in my world are brighter, sounds more in harmony, and life a pure symphony. Even if the person making me smile like that ends up being a fleeting memory when I've finally found The One who always makes me smile like that, having those days, weeks, couple of months that the world was more beautiful always feels great, and I get a little nostalgic to feel it leave.

Shhhhhhhhh.......

Tomorrow, I will allow myself only five minutes to be completely and blissfully happy at your existence in my life,
and after my five minutes is up, I will reign it back in and maintain some semblance of reason with my heart.


well, at any rate, i'll maintain a semblance of reason with my mind and use that to keep my unruly, blissfully unaware, content and passionate heart in check with reality.

I've fallen in love

with thoughtcatalog ♥
it makes me laugh, cry, love, be passionate, think intellectually.
the articles make me question myself, build myself, see how I've grown.
Thoughtcatalog forces me to look inside myself and see what's broken, what's healthy, and what's grown a little rusty.
I believe it's a healthy relationship, for now anyways.

An Open Letter To My Five Year Old Self.

Dear Ashleigh,
  In about four years, you're going to realize that boys are the most desirable things on earth. At first, this will make you very happy. You'll tell someone which boy you want and the resulting humiliation will result in wanting to keep every boy a secret indefinitely. You will be twenty years old someday and still feel like this. It'll be a curse.
  When you're thirteen, you'll begin to realize that everybody is coupling off, and you'll fall "in love" with someone who ends up being your best friend. This "love" will last four years before you realize that this boy is the last person you'd ever really want to date, or marry, or even kiss, because EW. That is your best friend, and that is all. You'll start writing your name as "Ashlie" because it makes you more interesting.
  Freshman year, you'll meet a total loser scumbag who is just the best thing on the planet and the only one for you - even if he's three years older than you and has not just a criminal history, but a criminal history in sexual assault. Way to pick a winner. He'll be your first kiss and you'll be confused and think you love him. You don't love him. After your freshman year you'll never see him again, except for that time at Disneyland sophomore year where you could've sworn that was him.
  Throughout high school, you'll only ever have a "boyfriend" for a couple weeks at a time. There will be very few of them. You'll become a hopeless romantic who believes every crush is "the one" that's going to at least last a couple months. You will only kiss two of them. You'll kiss one more boy you never actually date your senior year of high school - and he'll be a sophomore (who you nickname "eleven" with a close friend) who doesn't know what he wants. But neither do you. You'll delude yourself into thinking that kissing someone is significantly important, a sign from love gods that this person is so important in your life you'll never forget them. You'll keep count of how many people you've kissed.
  Two months before you graduate high school, you'll meet someone online. You'll fall in love. You'll maintain a long distance relationship through your first year of college and visit his home, and spend the money for him to visit yours. You will never get this money back. After a year of working out plans to be together forever, get married, and planning names of your children together, he will leave you for someone who lives in the city next door to his. He'll have sex with her and you'll learn he's bad at it because he doesn't like sex. You'll remain a virgin, always glad you didn't have sex with him.
  A week later you'll get drunk for the first time in your life. You'll spend the summer making no money, getting trashed, and meeting people who you'll forget almost instantly. You kiss four more people who won't mean a thing. That best friend will leave for the military. Your other best friend is one of the four people you'll kiss - and it will be hot because he's supposed to be in this fucked up non relationship with your other "best friend" who is female. You will be that shitty friend.
  You'll start your sophomore year of college with a dorm room and a roommate who will unconsciously help you realize how close you are to God. You'll realize you've been reaching for God for at least a year now after years of believing in "Love." You'll realize they're one in the same. Your roommate will introduce you to a boy who will date you in the most superficial relationship you've had to date. He'll do nice things for you because you're  his "girlfriend." You're a title to him. When he breaks up with you you'll cry for three days, on your carpet.
  You'll kiss someone who seems desirable and after you kiss him you'll realize he's kind of immature. You'll begin to feel like he's your little brother and it'll gross you out that you ever kissed him. You and your roommate will start going to Church and you'll fall in love with God and it will be the beginning of a glorious relationship but you still feel like God wants you to love somebody.
  You'll be four months away from turning twenty and you'll meet a boy who's playing pool by himself in your dorm building. You'll play seven games with him and walk away smiling. He'll drunkenly knock on your door at two am and the next day you two will go on your first date. He'll be the eleventh person you kiss. In the weeks that follow you'll go on many dates and have drunken encounters and sober encounters and you'll wonder what will come of it. At the end of the school year you'll go on vacation and he'll graduate and leave for the summer - and he's not coming back to Fairbanks for graduate school.
  He'll tell you incessantly that he misses you and you'll begin to believe in something more. You'll justify this boy as different because he's got just a strong a faith as you and because you're too happy to not believe. But there will be moments like this morning where he didn't say goodnight last night and you'll read too many thoughtcatalog articles and wake up bitter and accidentally cry a little bit.
  You'll sit on the fact that you still don't know where this is going and realize that your heart may be in a little too deep and you'll write a letter to your five year old self, wishing she could read it and not wake up one day fifteen years later consciously giving her heart to a boy who isn't close enough to hold it.
  Stay strong,
Love, Ashleigh.

thoughtcatalog sparked rant.

Read Thought Catalog obsessively, sharing particularly heart-wrenching pieces on Facebook or Twitter and being comforted by the fact that you are not alone, there are girls just as ridiculously, stupidly in love. Emphasis on stupid.


http://thoughtcatalog.com/2011/dating-an-emotionally-abusive-man/


I just want to know what part of me demands that I long for something so out of reach yet dancing so mercilessly within my vision. It's the texts every night that make me feel spoiled because I wasn't supposed to be able to talk to him - and then the heart wrenching agony that he didn't say goodnight tonight and it's been five days (FIVE!) since he's told me he missed me. But then he expresses how badly he wants to see me... But no matter what he says there's the reality that it's all me - that I'm investing too much stock in this almost-nothingness because really, what could we be? That hook-up every time we're in the same city? A potential reconnection years from now? An affection that sideswept me and left me incapacitated for months, but in five years I'll have barely any recollection of? 


goddamnit it may be wrong and it may be stupid and entirely reckless and it may bring me wayy to much grief and it may be the exact reason my heart shatters in a month or two or three, but I refuse to just let go. and if I could tell you why I refuse to let go I wouldn't be writing this trying to justify it to myself. this is not what I'd ever wish upon myself, or anybody, but this is what I'm going through and this is where I'm standing strong - I'm walking this path, right or wrong, because no other path feels right.


fuck it. if i can't explain why i'm doing it then fuck it. just realize this: no matter what you say, i'm blazin down this path. fuck consequences, i'm doin it.

Five things you probably hate about me.

1. Every love song ever is about me.
If there's just one chord, one lyric, one amazing sounding harmony in a song, then it is quite obviously about me and my love life. If this supposed love song does not strike a chord with me, then it is obviously inadequate and not truly a love song. "Need You Now" was totally about me, despite what Lavina and the video both say. "Lucky" was ruined for me when a couple I didn't agree with sang it at the local fair, even if I hadn't seen my significant other yet. Absolutely ruined because how could they know? It wasn't about them at all, stupid fucks.


2. Every conversation MUST tie back into my love life.
Raise your hand if you've talked to me in the past month and haven't heard me bring up Javan. See this metaphorical absence of people raising their hands? Yes. Because no matter what, the only thing that's ever on my mind is who I happen to be seeing. This time last year, if you told me you were from the South, "Oh my boyfriend lives in the south." Now, you tell me you ate a fish taco? "Oh the guy I'm sort of seeing does commercial fishing. You ever seen Deadliest Catch? his cousin is on that. Yeah he's a sweetheart... (etc.)" NOTHING could be possibly more interesting to talk about than whoever I've set my sights on. That's just the way it is.

3. Fuck this food in the kitchen.
If you're not going to make me a gourmet meal with whatever is in the kitchen, we HAVE to go buy already prepared food, or hit a restaurant. I have wasted thousands of dollars buying food because the thought of putting together a sandwich with whatever's in the kitchen sounds like a SHIT TON more work than wasting the gas to go to Fred Meyer's and get one of the most delicious fucking wraps ever made for man. The ONLY time I willingly get food out of the kitchen without pacing it realizing I have no cash and no gas is when there's leftovers from the last jaunt to a restaurant with a friend because fuck making mac and cheese, i'm going to spend thirty bucks on a quesa-fucking-dilla at chili's.

4. I'm terrible at hanging out consistently.
The only person who's never experienced this is probably Chelsea. Because I fucking live with her. But aside from constantly being in my same living space, chances are you've gone at least two months barely hearing from me. Not that I'm trying to be such a shitty friend, I just suck at keeping contact with people until all of a sudden realize I really fucking need to see Lavina and go to Glow Putt right now or I'm going to die. Or one of those drives with Emily where we're both like "why do we never hang out?" Or how I only see Hannah when I'm with Lavina which SUCKS because I LOVE Hannah. Or how the only reason I see Keber as often as I do is because He makes an effort to hang out with me. Which is strange because of all my friends he's the one who never says "I REALLY want to hang out with you!" And I've tried to remedy this habit - but then I get busy with work, school, boy, or nothing is more enticing than sitting on this couch and staring off into space. Idk. I just suck as a friend, really. I'm lucky I have the friends I do.
And as a bonus, when I see that certain friends have done this or that together, I get REALLY jealous that I didn't get to go. Which is shitty. Jealousy as a whole is absolutely shitty and I'm the most jealous person I know.

5. I'm an awful texter
Unless I want to jump your bones, chances are you sent me a text two days ago and I don't even know I got it, or if I did, I said I'd answer later to myself and then forgot about it. Not that I'm trying to ignore you, like I said, I'm just a shitty friend, I guess.

BONUS NUMBER SIX: I have a TERRIBLE addiction to facebook. Don't even need to explain this one.

This post used to have a picture of my boobs. (In a bra). And it's full of self hatred. With self love for dessert.

I'm sorry, I just can't deal with this any more.

this stomach will be GONE by July 16th. I will exercise, I will eat right, I will do whatever it takes to have it ABSOLUTELY PERFECT by the time I turn 20. I can't deal with this self hatred any longer. I can't go shopping and see all the cute clothes that fit funny or don't fit at all around this absolute monstrosity. I just can't fucking take it anymore!! It hurts getting in the shower and seeing it and thinking to myself "holy fuck... how much longer do I have to deal with this?" in the past month i've lost a pant size which is great but I know I can push myself more and I've had it. The minute I get home, no more junk food, no more excuses I'm going to the gym every day. I just can't hate myself over this any more.

*INSERT PICTURE OF MY UNEVEN BOOBS HERE*

(i removed the picture because it really doesn't need to be on the internet. but if you've never noticed, one's a D and one's a DD. it's embarrassing as fuck)

I'm  hoping that losing weight will even these puppies out but if not, then I'm having corrective surgery by the time I'm 21. These are my two biggest insecurities and it bothers me that I've recently let a guy get in my pants but I won't let him see me topless. What kind of fucked up is that? Maybe it's vain to worry about cosmetics but I refuse to be self conscious about what should make me feel absolutely sexy - because either size would be great to have!! I wouldn't mind going to the smaller size - all of my bras actually fit that one anyways!! So I'm unapologetically going to get cosmetic breast surgery if weight loss doesn't fix this issue. These are my two biggest flaws, my two biggest insecurities and I refuse to let them not let me feel sexy any longer.

That being said, I have to give myself some love. And if I'm going to give myself some love you know I've got to love my hair. It's fantastic. It's so rarely done me wrong even when I've used and abused it. It has it's days where it doesn't want to cooperate but don't we all? I don't think I've ever had a truly bad hair cut in my life. Hair cuts (and perms) I didn't particularly like have happened numerous times, but never once has my hair said "Fuck you, Ashleigh. I'm going to look like shit until I grow out and you can cut me differently." or "Fuck you, Ashleigh, I'm going to look like shit no matter how you style me. Why don't you just give up?"

Continuing with the self love we get to MY favorite part of my body - My feet. I have amazingly adorable feet. They're cute, even if you don't like feet. And the little freckle on the middle toe of my left foot - it's absolutely, undeniably my favorite thing about my body. It's so freakin CUTE, I don't even know what to do with  myself. Sometimes my feet get a little rough because I don't like to wear shoes in the summer and I go a few months without a pedicure but they unfailingly make me smile. They've never been to fat, they've  never been too bony, I have clearly defined ankles and sometimes my toes move at just the right angle to make my veins appear in a very flattering light. So I love them, whether you think they're gross or not, and I always will.

Don't worry, this will only lead to pain and suffering.

What I want you to know is this:

There are things that make my tongue curl and my eyes spin, all because I want to say them aloud so badly. Say them to you. Strings of words that form sentences that don’t have any meaning until I write them down. Write them for you. I want you to know that up until today I never thought I’d write this. It’s liking carving in stone all that should be forgotten and now I no longer know if I want you to see the writing on these walls or to just knock them down. - thoughtcatalog

"missing you,  miss watson....." (should totally be an indie love song)
      "i miss you too..."

Tripping over ourselves to give compliments, longing to take the other person’s face in our hands and force them to look at us head-on: “You are beautiful, you are incredible and, no, you’re not going to blush and ignore this one.” The way he looks around and fusses with his glasses when he thinks, the way she takes her hair down and it effortlessly falls around her shoulders like warm caramel. Whoops, there it is, we are infatuated.

And then, as if by magic, those couples who annoyed us, the metro that was never on time, the forecast for rain, rain, rain–couldn’t be less relevant. The way he slips his arm behind your back, the way she opens her eyes like a child on Christmas after she kisses you, that’s all that matters. That’s what we should really be focusing on.

We suddenly want to go up and give all those couples a high-five, “You did it! You’re in love! Good for you guys!” We suddenly want to stop everyone on the street who looks upset and tell them how beautiful the weather is, that the flowers are starting to bloom, that kissing on a park bench at night may be the single greatest thing about living. “You should try it, seriously.”

Kissing, kissing for hours, stopping at random street corners and leaning across tables in restaurants and even while clumsily walking. Inelegantly, beautifully attached at the lips. Those long, urgent, yet somehow slightly chaste kisses that take over us before sex has even come into the picture are the best in the world. Pressed against another body, eyes closed, trying to make a mental image of every rise and curve you feel–shaking your present on Christmas eve, approximating its size, shape, its texture, trying to take a guess as to what it could possibly be. Giddy with anticipation, stomach fluttering, a hand on the small of the back. Not tonight, not tonight, but soon.

The moments where you listen to a love song that you previously thought trite and overdone, hearing it again as if you’d never known it existed, longing to take out every note and hold it in your hands, examining it. Surely it must have some physical mass, surely something so beautiful and so universally true must have a shape and size. How did they know just the inflection, just the chord progression to perfectly describe how you feel when he kisses your forehead? - thought catalog

"hey ashleigh, i'm kinda missing you..."


this is the part where i use my own words to be honest with myself. i've hidden them deep inside other people's words and you telling me that you miss me three times over and it's only been 7 days since I last saw you... 7 nights since you felt more of me than almost anybody else because you took the time to caress everything. 
and then i left and while i've been gone, you've left and you're not coming back. and I can't figure out if it's fate or if i'm deluding myself when i say that there's a reason we didn't get to actually say goodbye.
i really don't want you to be on a boat for three months and only get to talk to me once or twice a month, because I don't want you to forget about me. i want to be on the back of your mind, incessantly, all the time, i want you to miss me so much you can't wait to talk to me the minute you get to shore. 
but even not being able to talk to you for three months while you're stuck on a boat with a bunch of other men getting all smelly and fishing and other manual labor doesn't compare to how sick to my stomach i feel when i think about the fact that when you go to grad school, there are going to be sooo many other girls with so many similar interests who are there.
and that's why i won't ask you to be with me. i don't want to be the thing holding you back from doing whatever you want, whether it's pining away for me (hey, a girl can dream), or having mind blowing sex with different girls every weekend. i don't want to hold you back and make you miserable that way. i've already done it to someone once and it damaged me. 
and as much as i know it'll hurt me to see you as infrequently as i may, if i ever do, i'll keep seeing you because i'm me and that's what i do. i get caught up in the moment, too passionate, and i set myself up for pain. but i wouldn't trade that life for anything. 
so here's a toast to the tears and the heartache to follow, and the smiles and the laughter and the feel-good moments that won't ever last. here's to come what may and someday, and the fact that i'll get over you somehow but i hope not anytime soon. here's to the heartbreak i want to have on your behalf. here's to being entirely reckless with my heart, consciously, adoringly, despairingly. 
here's to the reality that it's going to take too long for me to pick the pieces up after i realize you won't want me anymore, but
here's to the dream that we'll make something of ourselves. the dream i keep hidden inside a mound of other people's words and things you said that made me smile.


"kinda missing you right now"
       "i miss you too!"


While I’m aware cheating and love are not mutually exclusive, or even deceptive if you have done what I described above, I just can’t escape the hurt that discarding monogamy brings. Maybe I mean jealousy, but they go hand in hand don’t they? For me, loving you means I don’t want anyone else to have you. I don’t want anyone else to have even a semblance of the intimacy we share… to know about that oddly shaped freckle, to feel a drop of sweat, to feel any intensity together at all, even if I am the keeper of all your secrets, the shoulder you cry on, and the one you are so comfortable with that you’ve abandoned closing the bathroom door. The thought is maddening. - thought catalog


"you busy?"
       "nope just watching family guy."
"with whom?"
       "myself....haha."
"hmm, can I come over? :)"
       "if only(: idk how you plan on making it to california tho."
"i'll walk for you!"

Things running in my head at the Sea-Tac airport. (mostly about Javan and Tom Hanks.)

you might not want to read these if you don't want to experience "tmi" about my almost-sex life. especially since it's all centrally located on one boy and one night.


holy shit, I feel like he ravaged my body hardcore. this is amazing.

dear miss lady, please, continue to stare at the hickey like you've never seen one on a consenting adult before. shit happens. often times it's amazingly enjoyable. get over it.

would it be wrong to tag him in that picture as "sexy beast who touched and teased EVERY SINGLE INCH OF MY BODY LAST NIGHT" ?!?! Probably. Father wouldn't like that.

Is it weird that I spent the flight to Seattle crying because I miss him already and now I can't stop thinking about last night and how FANTASTIC IT WAS?

Really, really glad I didn't actually have sex with him, though. Because when I cycle back to depression, it'd hurt more.

But OH MAN if he was staying in the same area as me, and we were actually together... Woah man... Things would've gotten wayyy rowdier.

I have never. in my life. in real life. seen a penis that big. (i'm sorry to anybody who may have read that. you probably really didn't want to know.)

I'm giddy as a motherfucking school girl. and who knows when (or if) i'll see him again. and if I do - who says we'll hook up again? hmm.

yep, i'm Tom Hanks. Sleepless in Seattle and all. What's with him and movies involving planes indirectly. Plane crash, airports, ... Okay maybe it's just those two.

Soo many bruises. It hurts to move my neck - in any direction!!

But don't worry, it's amazing.

I think instead of satisfying the "horny as shit"ness i was experiencing yesterday, he just served to make it worse for me today. assshole.

Who even reads my blogs anymore? Cause i know nobody comments on them anymore. Do I not say interesting things anymore? Probably not. Oh well.

"man when we hook up... we hook up rough." apparently. but you LOVED it. even if you don't remember.

HOLY  MOTHERTRUCKING CRAPBALLS I just learned how to tag someone in a status with ONLY their first name... This is going to make tagging Chelsea in everything SO much easier.

Man, sex must be AMAZING. Why haven't I tried that shit before?

I don't think I've ever been called beautiful, sexy, or amazing that many times in one night before.

Not or, AND. Yeah. He's quite affectionate when he's drunk.

(Really, you don't want to read this next one. Unless you're chelsea and you already know.)
His fingernails... CUT... my vag. Like, really? One place I never thought I'd have to worry about lacerations...

I've really got to stop thinking about this, or it's only goign to get worse.

Shit.

I really didn't want anything more than a fun, flirtatious, casual experience. I am pretty sure that's what I was prepared for.
Yet here I am, wishing that tonight wasn't the last night we'd have, if we even spend it together. I guess that's the problem with actually getting to know someone.
I know that he's got a strong connection with God.
I know that he's dedicated to school,
                         and he really wants to be a lawyer.
I know that he thinks family is really, really important.
and I know little things.

So I guess it's just really hard to talk to him now about what we'll be, when tomorrow I leave. Especially since I never thought i'd even consider doing long distance, ever, ever again. Not after Adam.
Except I am considering it because I don't want to lose whatever this is. I really, really enjoy what we have going.

And I would just suck it up and talk to him - but what if he doesn't want to be with me?

Date A Girl Who Reads- Rosemarie Urquico

Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag.She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilightseries.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

I wasn't gonna post this here, but...

Did you feel that?
.   .How I kissed you?

For a moment I was more alive than I've ever been.
.   . Did your heart skip a beat?
.   .Did you see me stumbling on my feet?

From the Beginning. 
See while my soul was soaring your mind as a stampede of thoughts, staring at me, nervewracked,your mind and your heart racing a million miles an hour.
.   .I know you're worried about getting this right, but it's not like you've never kissed me before.

There was the first time, when we stumbled hand in hand,
.   .Drunken, giddy,
.   .and completely out of our minds. Forgetting the rest of the night but remembering our
.         .breath catching
.         .bodies pausing
.         .first kiss...

...That opened up the flood gates to countless more
     Playful
          Longing
               Passionate.
     hundreds of thousands and aiming for millions
     not pausing to think before hand again until

You leaned towards me
     Stopped, and stared at me.
     and simultaneously we spoke
          "I love you." 
          I kissed you. You kissed me.
          I love you, you love me
     in one of those scenes that can only happen in movies
     written expressly
          for the hopelessly romantic like me.

then came the nights that bore no kiss at all
     only tears and screaming
     and saying the words to hurt each other in every possible way
   for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.
     and as passionately, madly in love with you 
     as I was 
     sometimes, I hated your fucking guts.

     and you hated mine.

So we'd fight and we'd scream
     turn our backs when we'd sleep
     and you'd seeth and I'd cry
     and halfway through the night I'd wake up, still crying
          begging you to face me again
          and let me know we're alright
     You'd take my hand, hold it tight, and promise me
          you'd always, always love me.

We always worked through those nights
     and eventually tired of fighting
     learned to talk, communicate.
         and our kisses got sweeter
         our love took over again.

But for the third time in your life
     your knees shook at the though
     of kissing me again.

You were late for dinner, and silent the whole night.
     sweating and stressing and fumbling with your hands 
     finally you smiled and asked me to dance
          I stood up, you took my hand, dropped to a knee...

So now here you are, standing across from me,
     the last time you'll ever be anxious to kiss me,
     because this next kiss, the kiss of our lives
     is our promise, our vow, my husband, your wife.

We step as close to each other as our attire allows
     I smile, I cry, I vow,
     I promise, forever, I do, 
          I can see it in your eyes, feel it in your heart, that you're feeling
               the way I kiss you

When I'm dead when I'm forgotten, you'll forever be my father, and I'll be saving tears in jars for this one.

Anybody who's been close to me for any amount of time knows the issues I can have with my father, and how much they upset me. Chelsea the most because she's the only one who's been witness to me waking up in tears because of dreams I've had with my father in them where we fight mercilessly.
And anybody who's known me well enough knows that I'm kind of weird about being called beautiful - I very rarely believe it so hearing it very rarely makes me happy.
But today being told I was beautiful made me the happiest it's ever made me - because it was my daddy saying it to me. It made me probably happier than a girl hearing her father tell her she's beautiful should be, but considering it's the first time in my memory my dad has ever told me that, I still feel like I could cry. From happiness. It touched me more than any compliment I've ever been given.

"I'm sure anybody would agree with me in saying you look absolutely beautiful."

That's not something I'm likely to forget, ever.

In other news, I had a mid-college crisis today. It hit me that I wasn't entirely sure what I wanted to do. I've been saying I want to teach history for a few months now, but the idea of working in a museum has also been on my mind, but more heavily I've been dreaming of opening up a book store. It's been weighing on my mind and I believe that God put the idea in my heart not necessarily for me to make it a reality, but to open my eyes and see that maybe just a history degree isn't going to cut it. So I've decided that when I go to change my major today, I'll be changing it to History officially, with a minor in Applied Business. But I'll be going past getting just a minor and I'll get an Associates in Applied Business with a concentration in Entrepreneurship. Having that degree will broaden a lot of horizons in my future should my dream of teaching- or being a museum curator- not work out. And they'll open that doorway should I decide I do want to open a bookstore. My dad did point out to me that bookstores are failing because of large corporations like Barnes and Noble, and Amazon, but I still think it'd be nice to have a quaint bookstore in a small town somewhere that's lacking a Borders or a Waldenbooks. Either way, I've got my class schedule set up to start this new path - and it makes me happy. I finally feel like I'm going towards a destination and not just wandering this college path until something comes to me.


Today has been life changing and unforgettable in the best of ways.(:

You and your life.

there are certain things I don't say to certain people because it pales in comparison to their life. does that make sense? that I censor myself and withhold feelings I need to talk about from the people I need to talk to them about because I feel like even if they don't say it, they're thinking "this problem is nothing compared to what I'm going through."
And if they are thinking that, you know what they're right. This problem IS minor compared to the life changing soul finding adventure they're struggling through. But you know what? As you're going through this you're gathering the experience and the strength to go through it. I haven't been through that - haven't gathered that strength or that experience. So is it so wrong for me to say
"Hey, I'm going through this... And I'd really appreciate that you just hold my hand through it and not tell me there are worse things in life."
Aren't friends supposed to guide you through your troubles at the pace that you're growing, and not push you through them because they're so far ahead and you just need to catch up? Because in pushing me ahead you've pushed me aside, cast me away. Or at least that's what it feels like. I don't want to lose you.
I feel like I've already lost you.
Your Life has taken your hand, run off with you and left me in the dust. Now My Life's a little bit darker, a little bit more sad, with the lingering feeling that you didn't want to stick around with me anymore.