build to spill

I’m done; done fighting against the universe in hope to optain things I crave that are not necesserly right for me.
—  Spilled ink: i’m done.

i hate that my heart feels so much. like i can dead ass see the SMALLEST thing ever and it’ll impact me SO much it’s unreal. that puppy over there? yeah that hit me and i’ll probably go home and think about it because it was so dang cute. that joke that was kinda sorta rude? yeah i’m gonna think about that for a solid month straight and i’ll refrain from doing anything like what the joke was pointed to again. like peoples words and actions impact me so much more than they should and i just feel like 10x what should be normal and i have yet to determine if this is good or bad because it means my highs or so high but my lows, they get so damn low. everything i feel is in extremes or nothing at all and it’s so crazy which is why i usually just keep everything inside and let it all build up and only spill to a few people or spill a little bit out and so many people think they know me and have me figured out but like, they don’t!! you only know what i show you!! because i just tell people enough so it makes me seem easy going and not at all different but really i’m so damn complex i’m like the puzzle that is a thousand pieces and when you finally piece it together you realize you’re missing some and god it’s so crazy. nothing inside of me is ever calm, i am always one inch away from the panic button, i am always one scream away from deafening myself. but you’ll never know that because i make sure i hide it so good and i make sure that i’m so damn kind and positive that you’d never see me struggling a day in my life.

hanabiira replied to your post “I want the K”

She blinked at him, speechless. Her eyes searched for a second, but there wasn’t anything exactly that she could say aside from, “Well, maybe you should try it again”

Smiling as he nodded “Gladly…” Leaning back in mimicking his prior kiss, slow to build at first but soon spilling over into a ravenous desire. Hands trailed down from her back wrapping around to glide down over her sides resting at her hips.

Kisses broke off from her lips, now trailing along her jawline and down her neck. Curiousness exploring her body, kissing along his path.


All the beautiful words have fallen away.
Her heart aches.
Her heart aches for a life she doesn’t have.
She can’t find the strength to get up.
But she knows she has to keep going.
Her story isn’t close to ending yet.
Her heart aches.
Her heart aches for who she wanted to be.
She wants to fade away.
But she has to get up.
The darkness won’t swallow her this time.
She won’t let it write her story’s end.
Even if her heart aches.
She’ll find the beautiful words again.
—  K.N.B.

“Car” by Built to Spill from There’s Nothing Wrong with Love (1994)

This week I haven’t been writing a lot, mainly because I started classes and I have to be there at seven (in the morning). To be there on time I have to be on the bus stop at around 5:30, considering that the university where I study is quite far away from my house and that buses never come on time (but don’t worry, I might change my schedule because I don’t think I will last a lot with this routine.)

When I got on the bus today, envying the ones who could get a sit, it was still a clear night. The slow sunrise of a cold winter morning was just beginning – I would only see the day once my first class finished –, but it still kept the deep blue sky’s sweet tranquility of silent homes and last night dreams’ nostalgic longings of the already awake ones. 

As I looked out to the window and saw from above the few cars besides us, I thought: “Build to Spill’s There’s Nothing Wrong with Love would fit this moment perfectly”. 



I need a car, you need a guide, who needs a map?
If I don’t die or worse, I’m gonna need a nap
At best I’ll be asleep when you get back

I love the library.  When I was a freshman, I cried every day for the first few weeks.  Then I had to have one of those research appointments for English 111.  When I started to describe what I’d found and how I wanted to write it, everything else began to build and spill over.   I ended up crying on the librarian’s shoulder for half an hour.   Do you know what she did?  She didn’t make fun of me.   She didn’t scold me for wasting her time.   She looked up stuff – STUFF I DIDN’T KNOW ABOUT – about how college is hard.   Other stories, from other college students, from other states and countries, where all of our feelings were the same… we missed home, it was hard to leave.   A librarian and I cried over Starbucks. Because I’m supposed to be the sensible one, the one that’s so “together.”   But she didn’t judge me.   Sure, I got my paper written.   But I also had a person who listened to me, in a way that I was afraid to keep holding it together for my RA, my adviser, and my new roommates. For every semester between freshmen and senior years, I came back and studied, used the library, and said a kind word with that librarian.   Your survey question is about how important library services are to me.  I’d say pretty goddamn important.   And I tell all my little sisters [in sorority] that the library’s the best, because they care.
—  When a librarian is able to share a survey free-text answer from an appreciative undergraduate