A southern girl, east coasting into "adulthood". This is how I feel about it.

Open Letter to the Guy Who Kicked Me Out of his Apartment After I Refused to Have Sex With Him

Saturday, May 31st, 12:39 AM

G: You think we’re getting out all our aggression of our past relationships on each other?

To answer your question: no. But that may be because I don’t perceive my refusal to have sex with you as a form of aggression. It is, however, strikingly apparent that something in your sexual development has left you with a hatred of women, or at the very least, a complete and utter disregard for the fact that they don’t exist for the sole purpose of pleasing you.

Being the charming and handsome guy you are, I suppose it could be possible that you have never made a move on a girl who didn’t genuinely want to have sex with you. However, it is far more likely that you have encountered girls who yield to your desires because they want you to like them or because they thought submitting would do less damage than trying to refuse you.

Read More

the miles between us weighed heavily on his gentle voice. he sighed rhapsodies of “someday” into the receiver as I sunk into a bed sheet abyss, anchored by an iron heart. we took turns grasping for comforting coos in our divided darkness. every word he spoke inscribed his name in yet another swirling script just under my skin. try as it may, this breadth of terrain could never erase it.

(one thousand seven-hundred and forty-two by madly_deeply)

She desperately searched his weary face for answers that would never be revealed.

Suddenly, she was seven years old again: Her parents had taken her and her sister for a picnic down by the lake, and she had forgotten to remove the pearl earrings her grandmother had given her from her tiny ears.

The little girls took turns doing cannonballs off the dock, making a competition out of who could create the biggest splash. When she climbed out of the water for the fourth or fifth time and took a moment to assess her form, her sister pointed out that one of the small ivory spheres was missing.

Her hand impulsively shot up to pinch her earlobe. Her breath caught and eyes widened as she inspected its new-found nakedness with her fingertips. In a split second, she dove back into the fern green water to search for the lost treasure. Her heart sank faster than she did as she haphazardly reached into the murky depths in hopes that the tiny, shimmering orb would manifest in front of her face like a rising moon. Instead, she inadvertently found herself surrounded by pondweed, which appeared as if it meant to entangle and drown her. She realized that in her haste to get back into the water, she had forgotten to take a breath. She thrashed wildly to escape what had soon become a forest of serpentine limbs, and immediately swam back to the surface; gasping for air, wailing for her mother, and knowing not only that the jewel was gone forever, but that it was entirely her fault. 

Hopelessness. That’s what surrounded her that day in the lake. That’s what was reflected back at her in his lacquered, rosy, dog-tired eyes.

(Emotional Recall by madly_deeply)