What's another year?

I was catching up on shows yesterday. and a movie, or something. Strangely enough, there was a common theme to some of them. In Psych, Girlfriend had to go to Uganda for 6 months+. This was, apparently, the end of the world.

All I could think of was, 6 months is done in the blink of an eye. Even when you're counting down the days, it goes by so fast. Who here remembers their senior fall semester? For me, it sped by. I still remember lazing around at home in the summer.

Maybe my perception of time has been skewed. 4 years of college have breezed past, and I can barely believe people I know, I met 3 years ago. 2 years ago. 5 years ago.

In the next 5 to 10 years, most of us will be well on our way to getting married. I won't be surprised at all if we blink and it's been half a decade.

So what is with all this 'i'm leaving for 4 months, plz to break up now'?

As much as it depresses me that maybe possibly we aren't living our lives the way they deserve to be lived, I think a part of me has changed in that I believe people were meant to grow old together.

One year is nothing. One year ago I was still crunching snow beneath my boots and damn if I don't still remember the smell of the midwest air or the weekend laundromat.

Being with somebody, if anything, makes the time pass by faster.

With the conviction of the utterly inexperienced and naive, I believe so much that if we can find someone we connect with on a deeper level, that we can see ourselves waking up next to for the rest of our lives-- we'll wake tomorrow and reach gnarled hands over to brush back grey hair and tell them it's morning.

RIP, salinger

I was half in love with her by the time we sat down.

That's the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty, even if they're not much to look at, or even if they're sort of stupid, you fall half in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are. Girls. Jesus Christ. They can drive you crazy. They really can.

_catcher in the rye

gmail status

Dane: Give me your data, i want to do things to it

Well don't stop calling

 you're the reason I love losing sleep.


p.s i am so freaking obsessed with phoenix's 1901 right now. wish i could stop listening to it ahhhhhhhh

look down, look up, look down

I only say that word for you

Gluey feathers on a flume

sometimes i think we can only say the most beautiful and painful and inexpressible things we feel in a language not our own.

and why not?

there is too much familiarity with our fluency to ever really give justice to our stumbling, irrational words.

they bleed all over paper streets,

soft, fickle, quick and dying.