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Stupid cunt

@brookeq32

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another-dumb-teenager
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poppyflowerpoetry
We have a refrigerator magnet that reads, ‘I’ll quit smoking when you quit breathing.’ When I was a kid I would hold my breath until I choked but my father still burned through a pack a day, my mother still stopped at convenience stores, still shelled out money to Marlboro. She complained about wasting money when we asked for candy at checkout. When I was too old for blue-faced protests but not old enough to be cynical, I found myself half in love with a boy who craved nicotine like I craved his skin. One day I pointed at the cigarette glowing in his hand and said, You smoke like they’ll make you live forever. He rolled up his sleeves and showed me the scars criss-crossing his arms. No, he told me. I smoke like I’ll die tomorrow. Because if I smoke enough, I will. I started to notice my father’s weary eyes, My mother’s trembling hands. I wondered if they were as invincible as I’d always thought they were. I wondered if they thought about tombstones with every flick of the lighter. I wondered if that’s what made them raise the cigarette to their lips.

I never saw the cigarettes on our coffee table in the same light. (via poppyflowerpoetry)

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observando
I shot an arrow into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where; For, so swiftly it flew, the sight Could not follow it in its flight. I breathed a song into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where; For who has sight so keen and strong, That it can follow the flight of song? Long, long afterward, in an oak I found the arrow, still unbroke; And the song, from beginning to end, I found again in the heart of a friend.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (via observando)