Friday, 10 May 2013

'Sometimes I want to run away like Igby Slocumb. Not from family and friends or military school like he does, not from anything really at all, unless you can count myself and everything I am afraid of. I want to run to something, or in fact just have a something to run to in the first place. Misfits and bohemians and people with mattresses on their floors, vague job descriptions and vaguer plans. People who party, people who don't. People who love libraries as much as I do, who love coffee and and drink it all the time without feeling sick. People who will take anyone in just to have some company and create a miscellany of vagrants and artists that make joyful cacophonous noise with instruments they can't really play, but try anyway because the sound makes them feel less lonely. People who like bare floorboards and empty cupboards because it makes them think of simpler times, or maybe just because they like to have real reasons to feel sad and emptiness can be a real reason as much as any. Empty houses, empty hearts, empty thoughts. 

A place where it's okay to sit all alone in the dark thinking about nothing, where the television is broken and sometimes the only light comes from lit cigarettes and stars. It's okay to write on the walls too. Write your lists, your words, your quotes, your thankyou notes.

"Thankyou for the sleep and the smiles, for the smokes and the cereals, the milk was off but the heat was on. In short, misery loves company and it thanks you for your time." In eyeliner, on the west facing wall, under the fairy lights'

this girl writes and thinks beautifully

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