He Who Must Not Be Named

We all have the potential to fall in love a thousand times in our lifetime. It’s easy. The first girl I ever loved was someone I knew in sixth grade. Her name was Missy; we talked about horses. The last girl I love will be someone I haven’t even met yet, probably. They all count. But there are certain people you love who do something else; they define how you classify what love is supposed to feel like. These are the most important people in your life, and you’ll meet maybe four or five of these people over the span of 80 years. But there’s still one more tier to all this; there is always one person you love who becomes that definition. It usually happens retrospectively, but it happens eventually. This is the person who unknowingly sets the template for what you will always love about other people, even if some of these lovable qualities are self-destructive and unreasonable. The person who defines your understanding of love is not inherently different than anyone else, and they’re often just the person you happen to meet the first time you really, really, want to love someone. But that person still wins. They win, and you lose. Because for the rest of your life, they will control how you feel about everyone else.

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—	Chuck Klosterman (via 0nceupnmytime)

Stanford neuroscientists host the world’s first love competition, asking contestants between the ages of 10 and 75 to spend 5 minutes in an fMRI machine thinking deeply about the person they love. The results are certain to bring a tear to your eye.

eweeeka:

-kevin-tran-:

Let’s get lost in the city.

Cellphones off, no maps, no plans .. just you, me, and the city lights. Let’s walk aimlessly and stumble upon late night cafes and hole in the wall restaurants. Let’s find art exhibits, hip hop joints, record stores, fashion boutiques, and buy token things to remember the night. Let’s eat the food off the carts, and take pictures of everything. Everything, darling — everything.

Glance at me from time to time and wrap your arms around me if you sense a mere shiver. Don’t offer me your jacket, since I would hate for you to feel discomfort, but offer me the warmth of your presence. Let’s pose, run, skip, jump, climb, walk — to nowhere and everywhere. Let’s lose ourselves, only to find ourselves yet again. Let’s strike conversations with all walks of life, and meet people along this journey.

Catch me staring at you, and smirk — okay? Let me know you caught me at the act, but assure me with a slanted grin that you reciprocate my feeling of pride in having you by my side.

Let’s forget about the past, get lost in the present, and daydream about our future.

Let’s find the perfect downtown loft, and pretend to go “home” to it. Let’s greet the door-man like old friends, and ask about a resident that doesn’t exist. Let’s just see if he pretends to know what we’re talking about, just to remain polite and professional. Let’s walk away laughing, and stumble off like drunks in the night.

Let’s find a fountain and toss pennies in with cynical mindsets. Let’s make pointless wishes for millions of dollars, perfect futures, and a happily everlasting relationship. Let’s make smart remarks about the absurdity of our actions and express our doubts in the actuality of our wishes coming true. Let’s have a witty banter laced with sarcasm and quick humor, but continue throwing pennies in regardless. Let’s be hypocrites, but hopeless romantics at the same time. Let’s dream — realistically.

Let’s get lost in the city. You, me, and the city lights. Let’s get lost in the hustle and bustle of the sounds, and allow our hearts to beat with the bass of the night at hand. Let’s take pictures of every waking moment, as to not forget the night.

Let’s have a perfect night.

Just one.

You, me, and the city lights.

I love tits.

Could you say this to me?

I feel like sometimes I’m in my own little world and you’re always next to me and I don’t know how you do it but you understand me.

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—	Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind (via anditslove)

Sometimes skulls are thick. Sometimes hearts are vacant. Sometimes words don’t work.

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—	James Frey, A Million Little Pieces (via holliann)

He nearly called you again last night. Can you imagine that, after all this time? He can. He imagines calling you or running into you by chance. Depending on the weather, he imagines you in one of those cotton dresses of yours with flowers on it or in faded blue jeans and a thick woollen button-up cardigan over a checked shirt, drinking coffee from a mug, looking through your tortoiseshell glasses at a book of poetry while it rains. He thinks of you with your hair tied back and that characteristic sweet scent on your neck. He imagines you this way when he is on the train, in the supermarket, at his parents’ house, at night, alone, and when he is with a woman.

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—	Elliot Perlman, Types of Ambiguity (via withdecorum)