(Source: vodka--diamonds, via onefatcow)
I'm Christie. I spend most of my life around horses, to the point where everything I own is covered in either horse hair, hay or chaff. I love rain, the smell of books, men who can use swords, and music festivals.
• Myself
• Write to me
Underneath a newspaper sky.
• Myself
• Write to me
Underneath a newspaper sky.
“That’s how people live, by telling stories. What’s the first thing a kid says when he learns how to talk? “Tell me a story.” That’s how we understand who we are, where we come from. Stories are everything.”
— Jeffrey Eugenides (via troubled)
(via inkpalms)
It seems we both suffer the same affliction; we can only speak the truth when words are slurred and fingers fumble, scraping keys against locks and tumbling into bed. Only when there is the possibility of escape do we bare our souls and admit that we are vulnerable. ‘I don’t remember, I was way too drunk’ is the fallback on which we rely, feeling safer in the knowledge that we have covered our weaknesses and admissions of love.
For love is indeed giving another person the ultimate power; they could crush you if they chose to and yet we are forced to trust each other, if only while the vodka is flowing.
cause if you let me here’s what i’ll do, i’ll take care of you…
Today I realised that mentally I’m about 5 years old when my ex called and my response was to blast ‘We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together’ down the phone and then hang up.
