Kater of all this happiness
Summer: I can’t believe you left me like that. Now I have nobody!
Beth: You have Rick and Morty.
Summer: They disappear for a year or two at the time only to come back for two months with some comics in between!
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THE SIGNS ON THE FOURTH OF JULY
- Aries: *rips open shirt to reveal tattoo of American flag* CAN I GET A HELL YEAH FOR AMERICA
- Taurus: Manning the barbecue while wearing ear plugs
- Gemini: Is enrolled in every hot dog eating competition
- Cancer: In the pool with family and friends
- Leo: Playing with sparklers on their front lawn
- Virgo: Complaining about the noise and pollution until they see a beautiful ass firework
- Libra: Partying with friends and getting drunk
- Scorpio: On the roof watching the huge fireworks go off
- Sagittarius: Setting off as many fireworks as they can get their hands on
- Capricorn: Accidentally commits arson
- Aquarius: "I was patriotic till I became woke"
- Pisces: Taking pictures of the fireworks, probably burns themselves with a sparkler
My old grandmother always used to say, Summer friends will melt away like summer snows, but winter friends are friends forever.
George R.R. Martin, A Feast for Crows (via wordsnquotes)
The summer I turned twenty, I cut off all my hair,
got wicked drunk and took shots at the stars,
kissed a girl for the first time.
I didn’t fall in love, but I tried to.
It was the summer where three people died—
where tragedy was never more than
two weeks away from itself.
First, it was Allison’s brother.
Then, Mary’s fiancée.
Then, my father.
One. Two. Three.
The men in our lives, gone in a heartbeat—
too much death under one roof,
too much emptiness for the Texas sun
to lay claim to.
We dug up parts of ourselves we
could never put back in the ground,
that summer.
We learned that sometimes
people wear grief too differently
to hold one another:
that no one knows what to say because
condolences don’t pry nails out of coffins,
that tombstones are not grave-markers for the dead,
but stone slabs the living carry on their shoulders.
We learned that the aftermath of death is
unique as a fingerprint.
Allison’s was brave.
Mary’s was quiet.
And mine,
mine was furious—
I wasn’t done with him, yet.
There were too many battles left unfinished—
this was not how I wanted
to win the war.
Grief looks ugly in the mouth of a girl
still relearning how to love her father.
It is a useless extra limb on the body of someone
with ten years of bad blood to make up for.
When you know your father as little more
than sickness in a skin-suit, there
is nowhere for the rage to go when you’ve lost him.
I didn’t speak at the funeral because
I couldn’t trust myself to be kind and
much as I wanted to be angry at my father,
his memory didn’t deserve that.
My mother didn’t deserve that.
See, there is this impossible love that children carry
even for the parents that hurt them,
and I remember what he was like
before the pain and the medication
got the best of him.
And I just wanted to be good enough
for that man.
To everyone who knew me when my father was alive—
to my mother, especially.
I am sorry for the rage I hung my shoulders with.
I am sorry for becoming
all the worst parts of him.
I’m sorry that I went looking for a place
to bury all that heartache and that
I became graveyard, instead.
But the one who taught me
loud,
the one who taught me
chaos and thunder and boom
was Dad.
And I learned it well.
I didn’t have Dad’s excuse: how
the medication wore my father’s face
for him: shook my home down to its foundations
then left when there was nothing left
to lay waste to.
I just kicked and screamed and rattled
hoping that someone would hear me.
I am quiet, now.
Dad
is quiet now.
And sometimes
I miss the way his voice
could fill the house.
THE SUMMER I TURNED TWENTY by Ashe Vernon (via latenightcornerstore)
1. lay in a field and watch the stars
2. go out somewhere for the day and take lots of photos
3. go to a concert
4. have a food/paint/water balloon fight
5. go to a car boot sale
6. dye my hair
7. text a random number, “i’ve hid the body, now what?” & “i’m pregnant”
8. start doing yoga and skating...
Where’s Pete? Is he still on the show? That’s a direct quote from my mother.
Pete Davidson - Weekend Update Summer Edition - 8/24/17 (via themaidofdishonor)
Where’s Pete? Is he still on the show? That’s a direct quote from my mother.
Pete Davidson - Weekend Update Summer Edition - 8/24/17 (via themaidofdishonor)
-Starve
- do it for the off the shoulder tops.
- do it for the skinny jeans.
- do it for the rings that will slip off your fingers.
- do it for the tube tops.
- do it for the short shorts.
- do it for the bikini you’ve never worn before.
- do it for summer.
- do it for you.
the signs as vibes
aries: the warmth and smell of campfires in the summer, drinking coca-cola from a cold, glass bottle; walking downtown on a saturday evening, wearing blush, red and orange sunsets, cigarette smoke, the feeling of laughing so hard your stomach hurts.
taurus: mementos you want to throw away but have too much sentiment, the smell of linen, pearl earrings, blurry photos, silver jewelry, drawing a smiley face next to your signature; ballet shoes, coconuts, the taste of homemade cookies, faint smiles.
gemini: fountain pens and bullet-point journals, the cold breeze in early spring, the spaciousness of a big, quiet library; marble pillars and greek architecture, graceful movement, mint gum, the smell of green tea, loud laughter and sparkling eyes.
cancer: soft, fluffy pillows and silk bedsheets, seeing the flowery trees in spring, the salty smell of the ocean and collecting seashells, soft eyes, dewy skin; chandeliers,warm hugs and care for the ones you love, the taste of sweet fruit.
leo: fields of tall sunflowers, summer tans and freckles, old black and white movies, the smell of guava juice and sunscreen, tap dancing and smiles worn only for the camera; brightly colored hair and walls, leather jackets and sneakers.
virgo: the smell of clean laundry, singing softly to yourself; calligraphy pens and wool sweaters, gold necklaces, the hum of moving bikes, writing poetry about the changing of seasons, sitting in a meadow in the early morning to clear your head.
libra: talking so much your throat gets raspy, drinking fruity iced tea, wearing oversized clothes, palm trees and tropical flowers; the smell of makeup, wearing bikinis and pushing your friends into the pool, face masks, red or pink lip gloss.
scorpio: listening to synthy music late at night, streetlights, dark colored clothes and staying up until sunrise, doc martens; plaid skirts, dancing like nobody’s watching, disco lights, the clicking of high heels, quiet downtown streets late at night.
sagittarius: big coats, polaroids, taking random roadtrips to the southwest; 70’s music, red lipstick, arizona tea, comfortable silences, getting up early enough to watch the sun rise, hiking through the mountains, glittering smiles, golden retrievers.
capricorn: earth tones, grassy meadows and rushing lakes, cocker spaniels, picnics under an old tree; planting your own vegetables and fruit, owning a sunhat, painting with watercolors; drinking black coffee early in the mornings, loving and thriving off of your routine.
aquarius: looking at saturn’s rings through a telescope, going to art museums; the smell of lilac, riding your bike through an unfamiliar part of town, old maps, vintage telephones, listening to music with the windows down, buying your clothes at thrift stores, bubblegum, cool tones.
pisces: the phases of the moon, the feeling of calm after a good cry; rain during springtime, fuzzy socks, otherworldliness, talking about your feelings, creating a whole story in your head before going to sleep, looking at constellations, the smell of oil pastels.