See what’s real and enjoy it(Love).

     Growing up I always thought true love was red roses, dates on Saturday nights, little block box that held expensive things, and always knowing what to say. I thought true love was a kiss in the rain, deep explanations, and the perfect story. But now that I’m older I’ve realized it’s not like that at all.

See because true love for me is ugly snapchats, and peeing while you’re on the phone. True love is kissing at 6 AM despite the morning breath and singing at the top of your lungs. It’s saying all the wrong things, at all the wrong moments. It’s sarcasm and being honest even when it hurts. It’s late hours of the night when it’s been a long day and it’s no make up and bad hair. It’s tears from laughter, it’s tears from sadness and it’s nothing like any storybook you’ve ever read. It’s never running out of things to talk about, and it’s being comfortable in the silence of things. True love is watching The Titanic though you swore you never would. It’s getting mad over stupid things. It’s “you’re an idiot,” and “you’re a little shit” and knowing you’re so lucky to hear those every day. It’s spilling your feelings at 4 AM when you should be asleep. It’s that song you hear on the radio that always makes you smile. It’s the worst story you could imagine, but thank God it worked out anyways. True love is never losing the magic. True love is not leaving when things get hard.

I like my definition better anyways.

Another Piece About You 

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She is meant to be loved.

If you find a woman
with a wild heart
do not try to tame her.
You must adore her
recklessly, the way
she is meant to be loved.

Do not try to quiet her,
for her roars will reach
far and wide.
She has something
important to say.
Help her say it.

Do not get in her way.
She stops for no one.
Do not try to change
the path she has chosen.
Learn also to love the wind
and let it change you.

C.B. Wild-Hearted Woman

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I am a woman, hear me roar.

I once dated a boy who told me that I could never be dainty, (as if that were something I was striving for) he said that I was too edgy for that (as if this were a bad thing.) I wonder if he knows that boys like him are the reason my mom bought me pepper-spray for graduation instead of the cute mini skirt I wanted. Boys like him are the reason my throat is coated with razor blades instead of honey. Boys like him are the reason my gender is the most insulting term in society today and also the reason I have to run the dark spaces between street lamps like young boys used to run across no mans land in WW1. Boys like that are the reason that there is always a scream building up in the back of my throat, the reason that I took self defense classes in the 7th grade instead of going to cotillion. Those boys think of bitch as the most derogatory term in their arsenal because apparently it is better to spread your legs than to spread your opinion – boys like that are the reason that being a bitch is worse than being a whore. When that boy told me I could never be dainty I let my sharp edges cut his supposed „insult” in half. Boys like him do not deserve girls like me. My lips have turned into razor blades and my tongue into a knife, my bite is much worse than my bark. I am not the weaker sex by any means: my body has the power to make boys like him lose their inhibitions entirely. I refuse to be dainty just because it is what boys expect of me. I have spent years sharpening my edges, preparing for battle. I am woman, hear me roar.
― the midnight writings of my best friend Carly Ebinger
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Source: Tumblr