I am not unhappy. I am not happy either

And I only have you in my dreams

like a writer that's bad with words, a painter that's color blind, a lyricist who can't dance for shits cause they can't keep a rhythm, you're all the things that seem to not go together but end up creating magic.

Give me a few days of peace in your arms-I need it terribly. I'm ragged, worn, exhausted. After that I can face the world.

— Henry Miller | a letter to Anaïs Nin

My writing was about you. All I was bewailing in it was what I could not weep about on your shoulder.

Franz Kafka, Letter to his father.

I think I've come to terms with the fact that there will always be a ribbon of loneliness running through who I am.

I'm a simple woman I see a baby and I puke inside of my mouth