Delete her number.Lauren Hooper (via nvtive)
Stop ringing her. Stop messaging her. Stop making excuses to see her, to drop by her place.
Erase her name from memory. Remove yourself from her life, more completely than you would like but as completely as she deserves. Move on, so that you can allow her to also move on. When you close your eyes, you don’t get to see her face. Not anymore. You don’t get to think about her lips, the warm glow of her skin when she rests next to you, or how she squeezes your hand in her sleep. You are not allowed to remember the smell of her perfume, that she only drinks mint tea (with two dollops of honey), or that she loves you.
She loves you.
She has been in love with you for too long.
So, forget how she says your name. Forget how she calls your name. Forget how she screams your name. Forget that time you got sick and she stayed up with you all night, letting you lay your head in her lap and holding a cold compress to your forehead. Forget how her hair feels in your fingers. Forget how she looks in your sweatshirts.
Know only that she existed at one point in your life, but relinquish all hope that she could exist at another point — sometime in the future that you are unwilling to specify because you don’t know what you want. Yet. It is not fair for you to swoop in and out of her life as you choose. It is not fair for you to say that you are satisfied with “things as they are” and you will have time to “figure it out” later. Let her stop investing emotionally in you. Let her pour that love and care into the people who deserve her.
Don’t tell her that you think about her all the time. Don’t tell her that it bothers you to hear about her with other people, but that you’re willing to understand as long as she likes you more than them. Don’t tell her that this isn’t the right moment but that there will be a right moment. There is not going to be a right moment. She shouldn’t have to wait for the right moment.
Don’t tell her that you can’t handle ultimatums, that you don’t like the idea of finally adding finality to your relationship — whatever still remains of it.
What you are telling her is that you want to keep her on as an option, that you are taking her for granted, that you want to know she will be there, that you can depend on her at the end of the day. When you find that no one else has stuck around or that those who have are less interesting, less thoughtful, or less doggedly loyal to you.
Doggedly loyal to you.
That is what she has been to you, for you almost as long as you have known her: a constant emotional crutch, the guarantee of stability, a safety net while you reach out to grasp objects that sparkle and shine far greater than she does. All that glitters is not gold, haven’t you heard?
She is fire. You are ice, and you are afraid that her slow burn will smolder your cool, hard demeanor. That’s what has driven your decisions, your actions all along: fear. You are a coward. You are a hypocrite. You are terrified to let her go, but you are afraid she is too good for you, that she could drive you wild, that you would choke on her flames. That she is too much for you to handle right now.
But if you choose not to love her now, you can’t choose to love her later.
for future reference (via extrasad)
1. When a boy who leaves goosebumps on every inch of your skin tries to play you his favorite song, don’t let him. He’ll get it stuck in your head and under your fingertips and when he leaves, you won’t be able to listen to it without feeling like you’re choking.
2. Don’t let him touch you all over no matter how much you want to feel him against you. Leave a few spots untouched so that when you’re sleeping alone again, at least your left wrist and an inch of your right hip won’t sting with the remaining burn of his mouth.
3. Don’t let him break your ribs.
4. Don’t watch the sunset with him. He’ll poison it. You won’t be able to look at the sky without swallowing a mouthful of him.
5. Don’t mistake wasps for butterflies. Sometimes when you feel your stomach flutter and your hands start to shake it’s pain, not love.
6. Just because he tells you he loves you doesn’t mean he’s going to stay.
7. It’s okay to delete his number after he kisses the pretty girl he met when he was drunk. It’s okay to leave when he hurts you. You don’t have to keep falling into him.
8. When he tells you that you’re beautiful, try to remember that you were beautiful before him too.
9. Just because he reads and smokes cigarettes and talks about the stars doesn’t mean he’s your soulmate.
10. After you kiss him, remember to wash your mouth out right away so he doesn’t burn into your tongue.
11. He’ll kiss you in the rain and take you to little coffee shops. He’ll brush your hair out of your eyes and kiss your nose. He’ll grab your waist and whisper in your ear but six months later you’ll find yourself drunk texting him that you miss him and he won’t respond.
12. Your heart is going to break a million times. It’s going to feel like the world is falling apart around you. Your lungs will stop working some nights. You find yourself grabbing at your bones trying to hold yourself together. You’re going to feel like you’re dying. It’s going to be okay. You’ll find someone else to kiss you goodnight.
Shit like “save the tatas” makes me cringe. While they may be doing some good in helping to fund cancer research, I am uncomfortable with the underlying tone of the slogan. It downplays that breast cancer is a deadly, awful disease. It becomes all about breasts which reinforces that what makes a woman’s life worth saving ( even though men get breast cancer too ) is the fact that she has breasts. It reinforces the idea that her body is what gives her value. Once again, it’s not about her life, her goals, her dreams. It’s about her breasts, which are objectified in the media, used to sell products, used to pander to the male gaze that runs throughout our society.
While it is often very very hard for survivors to lose one or both breasts, what’s important is that they survived. They are here.
Save lives. Save people. Save breasts too, but focus on the people those breasts belong to.