On such sunny, sad mornings I always feel in my bones that there is a chance yet of my not being excluded from Heaven, and that salvation may be granted to me despite the frozen mud and horror in my heart.

Vladimir Nabokov - Pale Fire   (via coffeewithajla)

One day,
Our goodbyes
Will turn into
Sleepy goodnights
Escaping our tired lips.

Our can I call you’s?
Will turn into
Come here and hold me’s.

Our things
Won’t be
mine or
yours anymore.

One day,
I’ll scream in the middle of the night,
And you
Will pull me close;
tell me everything’s alright
And I’ll fall asleep.
Safe.

One day,
You’ll come home
And tell me we need to get groceries,
We’ll make a list, and tape it to the fridge
But tomorrow we’ll forget it there
And you’ll blame me,
And I’ll blame you
And we’ll spend a hundred because
We couldn’t remember.
And were both too damn impulsive.

One day,
You’ll understand every aspect
Of my condition
But love me all the more.
And I’ll treasure you,
Hold your hand everytime it gets bad
Knowing I am okay,
With you.

One day,
I’ll wake up in the morning,
To the smell of cooking,
I’ll come down the stairs
Of a house we call ours,
And I’ll kiss the love of my life
Good morning
As well as goodnight.

It’s important to recognize yourself and learn how to pick yourself up. And you have to do it all on your own, because others are far too busy doing that same exact thing.

I feel unspeakably lonely. And I feel - drained. It is a blank state of mind and soul I cannot describe to you as I think it would not make any difference. Also it is a very private feeling I have - that of melting into a perpetual nervous breakdown. I am often questioning myself what I further want to do, who I further wish to be; which parts of me, exactly, are still functioning properly. No answers, darling. At all.

Anne Sexton, A Self-Portrait In Letters (via foreverrtired)

I feel unspeakably lonely. And I feel - drained. It is a blank state of mind and soul I cannot describe to you as I think it would not make any difference. Also it is a very private feeling I have - that of melting into a perpetual nervous breakdown. I am often questioning myself what I further want to do, who I further wish to be; which parts of me, exactly, are still functioning properly. No answers, darling. At all.

Anne Sexton, A Self-Portrait In Letters (via foreverrtired)