no matter how great people look they are still humans. it must be hard being ridiculously good looking, there are such high expectations for them.  ha ha.

the sunset from lentil as anything

The green eyes, you’re the one that I wanted to find
And anyone who tried to deny you, must be out of their mind
Because I came here with a load
And it feels so much lighter since I met you
Honey you should know
That I could never go on without you

During the five minutes before I remove my clothes and situate myself into the shower my Grandmother is awkwardly maneuvering around me in a tiny bathroom. I am standing at the mirror holding my hair flat with two hands inspecting the new dead skin that has stationed itself in my scalp overnight. 
“Do you want to wash your hair?” she asks,
I flick a piece of debris from the wreckage in my hairline.
“Uh, yeah. Yeah I will wash it.”
She leaves the room and walks into the guest room that she is sharing with my Grandfather. I follow her like a shadow with no real explanation except that when she is around I seem to inadvertently follow her everywhere. She fetches two small bottles of shampoo and conditioner from her bag – the ones you get in travel packs from the supermarket.
“Jack and I haven’t used these yet so you can have these ones” she says – this is my Grandmother’s way of saying that she has saved these especially for my visit. I follow her back into the bathroom where she moves over to the washbasin,
“Do you have a toothbrush?”
“Yep!” I smile down at her,
“And toothpaste have you got any toothpaste?”
I hesitate; fumble into the top drawer,
“Yep I brought my very own toothpaste Grandma”.
She shuffles for a meter over to the shower where she opens the glass door, blocking the entrance and wedging us inside the tiny room. She points to a bar of caramel colored soap sitting on a soap holder, Pears – my Grandparents have been using the same soap for as long as I can remember.
“That’s mine and Jack’s so you can use that one,” she says.
“Ok Grandma thanks”.
She stares up at me smiling which marks the end of a ritual that she has raised me on – everything that I partake in under her watch has to be set up for royalty, it is a routine I never tire of. She holds me in one last squeezing hug.
“Ok well, I’ll see you soon” she says, as though she is leaving me to put on my wedding dress for the final time.
its 130 and i am giving up on this essay. uni is a lot harder than high school but when they tell you that you don’t believe them. there’s a bunch of kids that come into my work every saturday and muck up ralph lauren t-shirts and i wanna tell them you think you are pretty cool because you shop lift but really you’ve just got this big hole in your chest and you want your friends to think you are cool. i know they won’t listen because i never listened. i have to stop myself from getting angry at strangers - particularly the robot at the woolworths self-serve check out. some days i will spend the entire day stuck in my own head and by nightfall i am so angry at everything and everyone. my room mate said the same thing, we have no explanation. i am in a paradox of wanting to be friends with everyone and hating everyone for relying on me. another thing that i have little explanation for is the fact that i cannot look at photos from last year. for every year that i experience, the following year i feel superior, smarter, more experienced. looking back now on myself a year ago i think you were a fucking idiot. but i am the same person. i am a nostalgic sap so i will attach sadness to anything from my past. i can’t even think about my dogs anymore. it makes no sense really as i am a happy person. perhaps it is just pessimism attached to the sudden weight of reality. today i was informally offered my first job at a magazine. inside my head i am truly excited but i think if these thoughts manifest into anything verbal i may ruin my chances of making something of this. some weird karma thing. tonight i was walking home with groceries through tin alley when i bumped into lawrence and charlie. we went to rathdowne street and got shitty pizza. charlie threw artichokes on the road and i paid for the taxi home, “thanks hol, i’ll shout you a coffee this week”, he says. everyone calls me hol here even though i never asked them to.

"Our hearts beat so loud the neighbours think
we’re fucking
when I’m just trying to find the nerve to touch
your face."

— Andrea Gibson, Pansies (via nakedandreckless)

"I write because it is while I’m writing that I feel most connected to why we’re here. I write because silence is a heavy weight to carry. I write to remember. I write to heal. I write to let the air in. I write as a practice of listening."

— Andrea Gibson (via teenagedeathboys)