Beauty and the Mustache

With you there are only two distances that matter:  Here. Not here. You are not here.

You underestimate how deeply you cut when your intentions carry no knives.

Apathy between family members makes the blood they share turn to water.

When you cried, I learned what helplessness tastes like. Because all I could do was swallow.

In that moment, I finally figured out what kind of handsome he was. He was fiction-handsome. Romance novel handsome; but not the clean-cut (billionaire) alpha male or even the tattooed (billionaire) bad boy archetype. He was the Scottish highlander, Viking conqueror, bodice-ripper historical romance kind of handsome; an unshaven, lion wrestling, mountain man recluse, toss you over his shoulder and plunder your goodies kind of handsome. He was both scary and swoony. I wanted to braid his beard. I also wanted to run away.

No. Since I first saw you. Since I first laid eyes on you and felt sorry for every beautiful thing that was made no longer resplendent—nullified by your being.

Fire burns blue and hot. Its fair light blinds me not. Smell of smoke is satisfying, tastes nourishing to my tongue. I think fire ageless, never old, and yet no longer young. Morning coals are cool: daylight leaves me blind. I love the fire most because of what it leaves behind.

My type has a romantic soul. He’ll make my brain and my heart fight over who gets him first. He does what’s right, even when it’s not easy—actually, especially when it’s not easy. He knows the value of discipline, education, honor, and restraint. And his strength of character is the only thing that outweighs the strength of his love for me.

This came from Sandra. "Roses are red, violets are blue, rhyming is hard. Wine.

Reading for me, was like breathing. It was probably akin to masturbation for my brain. Getting off on the fantasy within the pages of a good novel felt necessary to my survival. If I wasn't asleep, knitting, or working, I was reading. This was for several reasons, all of them focused around the infititely superior and enviable lives of fictional heroines to real-life people. Take romans for instance. Fictional women in romance novels never get their period. They never have morning breath. They orgasm seventeen times a day. And they never seem to have jobs with bosses. These clean, well-satisfied, perm-minty-breathed women have fulfilling careers as florists, bakery owners, hair stylists or some other kind of adorable small business where they decorate all day. If they do have a boss, he's a cool guy (or gal) who's invested in the woman's love life. Or, he's a super hot billionaire trying to get in her pants. My boss cares about two things: Am I on time ? Are all my patients alive and well at the end of my shift? And the mend in the romance novels are too good to be true; but I love it, and I love them. Enter stage right the independently wealthy venture capitalist suffering from the ennui of perfection until a plucky interior decorator enters stage left and shakes up his life and his heart with perky catch phrases and a cute nose that wrinkles when she sneezes. I suck at decorating. The walls of my apartment are bare. I am allergic to most store-bought flowers. If I owned a bakery, I'd be broke and weigh seven hundred pounds, because I love cake.

With enough use, practice, and honing of skill, words were the weapons of choice used by exceptional writers and poets. Minds can be changed, hearts can be lost and broken, souls can be surrendered given the right words.

If I told you I love you now How many seconds would it take How long would you allow All that I am to break I turn away Before you can see How badly I need you to stay With me

We are most awake to the world and to our own longings and desires when we suffer.

Does he give you zings in your things?

I would not always be joy, nor would I want inert contentment. Sorrow and struggle bring gravity to the soul and to the mind, a gravity that cannot be achieved through mere happiness. We are most awake to the world and to our own longings and desires when we suffer.

Ashley, I caught a bear today in the new trap. We’re taking it a hundred miles north. That’s a hundred miles closer to where you are. I’ve decided units and measurements of distance are bullshit. With you there are only two distances that matter: Here. Not here. You are not here. - Drew

Take romance for instance. Fictional women in romance novels never get their period. They never have morning breath. They orgasm seventeen times a day. And they never seem to have jobs with bosses.

There is a stillness that accompanies the death of a loved one. Everything becomes quieter, but it’s not just sound that is dimmed. Movement, action, perception, emotion—everything is distant and removed.

Everyone knows that in real life, fictionally handsome men are vacuous vessels of Satan.

If we couldn’t laugh, we would all go insane.” — Robert Frost

How does the ocean say hello to the shore… it gives it a little wave.

I've never been a fan of funerals for more than the obvious reasons. Of the emotions, mourning in particular feels like something that should be sacred and intensely private.

To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.” ― Ralph Waldo Emerson

Can a man still be brave if he’s afraid?” “That is the only time a man can be brave,” his father told him. ― George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

How can you tell the sun doesn’t feel good… it’s not so hot.

The rain, like the flame, is dangerous. But you don’t realize its power until it’s too late.

Sugar, I’d be honored to catch you anytime you’d like to fall.

Death is a very dull, dreary affair, and my advice to you is to have nothing whatsoever to do with it.” — W. Somerset Maugham

... maybe it was the feeling of certainty that these next days would be full of lasts: the last time I'd laugh with my mother, the last time I'd see her smile, the last time I'd hear her voice.

We’re taking it a hundred miles north. That’s a hundred miles closer to where you are. I’ve decided units and measurements of distance are bullshit. With you there are only two distances that matter: Here. Not here. You are not here.