Marylovelace - 21 And Alive - Tumblr Blog

I miss having an intelligent conversation with someone. It makes me feel less alone.

I just want attention and praises.

I want cuddles, forehead kisses, praises, bruises, and bite marks so that the bad thoughts go away.

I want a romance that is so strange it must be truth instead of fiction.

I just want to go on a drive to find the edge of the world the old Europeans were raving about.

Wish I had someone to read to.

Does no one understand the intimacy of sharing your writing? That there are parts of me in my writing that I might not be aware of.

What if the reason why creative people are attracted or plagued by darkness is because our universe dawned in it?

If I combust, it's because my soul wants to create but there's a dam where my spirit meets my brain.

I want bruises on my thigh.

I want to be seen for who I am, not for the traits that happen to make some of me up.

I want the music so loud that I can't even think. And nothing can get that loud.

I want to share my writing with someone who cares for my madness.

Sometimes, I think the stories of old were just used to explain the complicated simply. It was about the delicate balances of the world and we just use different stories to describe it, but ultimately we were trying to say the same thing.

Why does dragging a knife across my skin such an exhilarating experience? What is it about potential pain that is so alluring?

Counseling is not about being a being a victim. It is about breaking the victim mindset.

I'm the most bored from 1 am to 7 am because no one is awake. And I am wide awake and wanna talk until dawn.

Why is it the more I want a baby I can't afford, the more I find men attractive?

We all have standards until it comes to fictional characters.

I understand now how people can suddenly believe and not believe. The faiths fades in and it fades out. We make a decision and that decision affects everything.

I have the single bad because all I want to do is write love poetry for my partner. Write words on their skin. But none of that will happen.

Sometimes I don't want to to imagine the ink as my blood. Sometimes I truly want to bleed.

Why is it the more I read the Bible or think about God, the less I wanna be considered Christian?

Does anyone else feel like they're searching, not for a person, but for a conversation?