juneygram food for the blackbirds 14h

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juneygram thinking spot #2 2d

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juneygram Let's think back to your high school and adolescent years -- times when you had mandatory lunch and nutrition breaks and popping an unwarranted zit was the end of the world. Think back to the people you shared these times with, too. Think back to your first legit crush back in 3rd period of your Sophomore Year, the first person you liked, your first relationship, your first love, and the infinite amount of times you were dumped, let down, and broken up with.
Where are these people now? Do you know? And do you care? Chances are, you don't. It's a minuscule of an emotion. Time has inundated the authenticity that came with these memories so recollecting these foggy scenes can be difficult. However, there is a point to this epistle.
These were your bad weekends and bad times. The person who mourned their heartbreak at 16 no longer exists. A temporary speed bump on a road you've driven past, you realize how far you've gone.

Your current heartbreak has led you to believe that you will never find the same irrevocable romance you once had. I mean, blah blah blah, he's perfect, does this cute thing with his nose, and he has a great taste in music.
But you're disillusioned. You're hurt and betrayed -- a wrecking ball of emotions, packed into a sweet little thing like a devilish Hershey bar.
No one blames you though. And in a sense, these notions are perfectly normal. It's your way of calming your brain from what you're not yet ready to understand.
You reach your twenties and heartbreak becomes a little manageable. You learn to cling onto hope in areas as bleak as an Ebola diagnosis. You strip the toxins from your life and you learn to appreciate the moments that'll fade in time. Because we can all sense if a relationship is doomed from the start.
So, when he tells you to move on, you should. Do what you have to do to get through the grieving process, the same process you had undergone at 16 when the boy you liked turned their back to you in class.
Because where is this boy now? The boy that turned his back to you when you were sweet and 16?
Chances are, you don't care where he is now.
You don't care at all.
2d

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juneygram I loved him religiously. There were nights when I'd reach for the crook of his arm before opening my eyes. It was an antique habit, the same way he'd pull me closer and into the heat of his groin at 2 in the morning.
But I complained about my expectance and his routine. I burned the bridges he worked so hard to build and spat on the foundations he stabled.
It's easy to tug at hearts we have no intentions of hurting. Only when we let them go do we realize how foolish our decisions have become, how badly we bruised ourselves, and how happy we actually were.

I learned about the fickleness and cruelty of time through my first heartbreak. The things I once had access to -- his life, his secrets, his body, his heart -- are locked away from my grasp and are now given to someone else.
But these emotions are the things I had to learn for myself. These were the sentiments I have yet to outgrow, memories I have yet to completely hide away and overcome.
I was twenty years old when I met him. And I was that twenty year old who waited for the car to stop, for the stars to fall, and for someone to change my life.

But the car never stops, stars don't fall, and the only person who can change my life is me.
So the next man I am bound to love, I will still love religiously. With the same grief, of course. And the same passion and flame that could light an entire church.
In this new love, my antique habits will be celebrated than observed.
And the infinite words in all languages will not epitomize how he'll move against me in his sleep.
4d

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juneygram I kissed your eyes as if they were capable of miracles, kissed your lips as if I knew nothing about our due time.
And my happiest memory? The late afternoons I visited you. Times when I glided through your living room as you anticipated my every moment. Everything in your house was golden; the light, the tables, the bedroom walls.

I missed you even as you held me in bed. I remember how your skin smelled sweet and tasteful; like the rinds of watermelon during the summer, like the winter fields after it has rained.

I wanted to begin my life there -- moments when I found a balance between my body and yours, as if you were boat and I river. For the infinite days that has yet to unfold, this, I thought, would erase the bitter sting of past goodbyes.
4d

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juneygram Friday nights in Downtown. 4d

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juneygram Kaylee and I 4d

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juneygram "I was standing in an apartment which had nearly half of my worldly possessions, but which didn’t belong to me. I only realized at that very moment how alone I actually was, how much I had grown to depend on someone who could easily throw me out at any moment. The fact that, after eight months, I still didn’t have a key, should have been a sign — it wasn’t. I only believed what I wanted to believe, and 'you are only partially welcome' was not something I was interested in realizing.

He gave me a few extra boxes and offered to help me get my things together. I somehow managed, in my delirious grief, to interpret that as an act of kindness. Looking back, it seems the very portrait of pathetic to be flattered at someone’s offer to help me get out of their life faster, but we tell ourselves what we need to.

I got in my car with a few bags in my hands, one containing dirty laundry that never had the chance to make it into the washing machine. Part of me still felt like he was going to come running up to me when I got out of the car and tell me that I had imagined the last hour and a half. Part of me could still feel his hands on my shoulders from when he awkwardly embraced me goodbye.

My apartment had never seemed more cold. It had never felt less like the place I actually lived, or more like a vague insult to my current state of aloneness.
Maybe I was asleep. I could still feel my extremities, but only in pain. I could feel little needles pricking the ends of my fingers. I could feel bruises on all the parts of me he had touched, and I wondered if they would ever feel good again. For hours, I would try to give myself an orgasm, touching myself raw. I couldn’t come. It was like that part of me had withered and died, and I was touching a corpse to try and remind myself how it felt when it was alive.

I came back from the dead, of course, but part of me never really returned. Part of me still lives in my little designated drawer in his perfect downtown apartment. Part of me is still waiting there because it feels it belongs, and you can never kick a ghost out when it still has something to haunt."
5d
  •   che.luna @juneygram Be strong my friend. 5d
  •   bel_m252 Perfect shot 5d
  •   josh_tucker232 Amazing. Words and picture both. 5d
  •   epic.nana They say all things happen for a reason. I believe it's true! You will find your true happiness, just as I will survive my recent loss. httpswww.facebook.com/patricia.thomas.56481/posts/10203385571623119Lifeisfufull of hills and valleys. full 5d
  •   jesusita_maytorena Nice 1d

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juneygram Late night grocery shopping with Jenn. I have the most beautiful and compassionate friends.
I wouldn't trade them for the world.
6d

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juneygram "Part of me wants to ask you to let me go, even though I know how ridiculous that is. If I really think about it, I understand that you are not intentionally stringing me along or periodically giving me false hope for something we might have in the future. You’re no longer a part of my life, and you don’t even acknowledge me. Your days probably turn into months without ever fondly looking back on the time we spent all day walking through the woods with our fingers laced. Those memories don’t exist for you — or, at least, not in a way you have to acknowledge. I have to live with these memories, constantly nipping at my ankles and reminding me that they are everywhere I go.

But I want to let go. I want to walk away from what we had and make every day a conscious step towards something more positive, something where I don’t factor someone into my life who no longer cares about me. I want to return to the me who laughs at jokes the loudest and is always up to try something new. I miss him, and at times have almost forgotten who he is. Part of me believes that the moment I truly let you go will be the moment I get him back — that you are, in a way, crowding my life and preventing me from living fully.
I love you more now than I ever did. And I know that part of this must be because I cannot have you, and things are always heightened with desire and longing.

Please know that I’ll stop reaching out. I’ll stop making a fool of myself. I’ll stop being this person that I never wanted to be. I am working every day on making my life something beautiful and interesting, something that has nothing to do with you. I’m working up the courage to phase you out of my mind, so that one day, you can enter and leave as any other acquaintance might. Because I’d love to just run into you in a grocery store one day and have a nice little chat about what we’ve been up to, then go about my day as if nothing happened. But right now, I know that seeing you unexpectedly would destroy me. One day, I will get there, though. I’ll be me again, and I’ll have forgotten this brief interlude of sorrow. I hope you meet me when I’m that person, so you can forget who I am today."
6d
  •   mitchibelss That's i can relate to the pain 6d
  •   mitchibelss Hello, can I post this? 6d
  •   johncagz 6d
  •   haverstock12 It took me more than 18 months to get where I'm now. Still I don't know how I'd feel if I met him somewhere unexpectedly. So, I'd rather not. Although I have started a new relationship recently and although I have true loving feelings for that new man in my life who is really a dear one, I still would prefer not to run into him. I don't want to be confused by him ever again. I don't want him to put a toe into my life ever again. There was too much pain and disappointment and hurt. It took me too long to get out of that and to enjoy life again. ... I think you are still quite a bit away from that. Don't wish him back. He hurt you, he isn't worth another chance but you are worth getting happy again! 6d
  •   jesusita_maytorena Great . 1d

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juneygram Sometimes, the best way to know if something is as real as it sounds is if you put your heart up for bargain. 6d

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juneygram As promised by friends, books, and the universal truth, time is slowly pushing you out of my brain. It is bound to happen; wounds that were once so fresh will eventually heal, as our displeasures and suffering are at the mercy of the clocks.
I think of the times you bruised me intentionally, times when I stood out your footsteps in the cold. These memories have dissipated into almost nothingness; it has become a fog within me that floats through every pathway my blood has yet to fill.
Despite the madness, the deafness, and the displeasure of what was once my salvation, I have come to terms with what we have become. You have weaved your way into my past – recycled stories and snippets of a life once lived.
You have become the fleeting scenes through the windows of a fast car. Everything about you is slowly diminishing into blobs of faded color.
I think of your calloused hands, a forceful nudge I’d want every inch of my body to recall, and nothing. I can no longer remember the sound of your voice and the taste of your mouth. I can still picture your bookshelves and the plates that stood by the kitchen sink, but the ghosts of these inanimate objects no longer phase me.
I am embracing the cruelty of time, the same way I am celebrating it. I motioned through the months like a raw nerve, provoked by the slightest affection and judgment. This was the person I once was, not the person who I’d like to be.
But, I think back on all the times I’d take the Pacific Coast Highway. Times when I’d look back in the rearview mirror and catch a glimpse of the hazy sleep in your eyes.
And I’m not sure if I’m ever ready to let that go.
1w

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juneygram Narcissism, insecurities, and selfishness are often the causations of one's singleness. These are the qualities we can manipulate and control. Of course, there are infinite reasons and external factors that come into play when it comes to your solitude, but these three qualities often prevents us from establishing meaningful connections with other people.
Often times, the most insecure people are the most self absorbed. There's a faint contradiction, but it makes absolute sense. So many people are so attached to their ego and neuroses that they can't be bothered to look outside of themselves.
These people are often those that don't understand the vital importance of selflessness when it comes to sharing a life with someone. You're part of a team now and falling in love with someone categorizes itself as one of the least selfish things you could possibly act upon.

Now, your insecurities lead to surmountable sabotage. You're constantly intimidated by the life that thrives around you and you dwell on your notions of defectiveness.
But everything about it is poison. There's never a cap on success and love. Just because your neighbor seemingly has the best husband or the best job does not translate to, "My neighbor took the last best husband and the last best job, so that means I can't have none." Speaking of self-sabotage, I was reckless and stupid at the age of twenty. Not reckless and stupid in a sense that I'd jump in front of a train to stop it, but reckless and stupid enough to let my heart get stomped by the same man.
I was blind, I was young (still am, but better at it I think), and offered every inch of me on a silver platter to men who showed the least bit of interest.
But that's just how it is when you cruise and pave your own path during your twenties. Now, I no longer resort to self-explosions because it's no longer a thrilling and fulfilling act.
Loneliness, dating, forceful nudges for self-growth, friends who only call you up to revise their research papers, BAD MEN, more bad men, and you realize that the best parts about your life are the rotten things you can easily let go of.

So remember that.
Goodnight.
1w

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juneygram Having sex with your ex is a foreign deed. You find yourself in their living room, their kitchen, and their bedroom and everything has changed -- despite the arrangements and furnitures all being the same since you last visited.
You walk into the entrance of their home and everything feels so strange and unwelcoming. The hand towels have shifted, the lighting has changed, and the atmosphere you were once indulged by is cripplingly foreign to you.
You realize that this is no longer your safe haven and your second home.
You think about how this man has fucked and loved so many bodies after you in the very same bed you are sitting on and suddenly you feel the need to run from this place as far away as you can.

But the familiarity of all of this inexplicably pulls you deeper and deeper into its environment; a relentless vortex that refuses to let go.
When he's inside you, you notice the same stains on his ceiling. The same clock still ticks by the same bedside table and the curtains remain unchanged. How many months has it been since these inanimate objects have you seen last?
An epiphany is reached eventually and the things you recognize and the man you once knew have changed.
He still has the same eyes and lips, but the way he stares into you and the words that come out of his lips are that of a stranger's.
A part of you wants to simply cup his face with your hands and kiss the memories into his mouth; memories of a past life and the potential lives that have yet to be lived.
But the intentions were never the same; his primal desire does not equate to your need to be loved by this very same man again.
And while your heart thinks, "I still love you," as you clutch onto his bed sheets, his has been made up and is thinking of ways to whisk you out of his door.
1w

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juneygram You call my name and it feels like home. 1w

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juneygram "You’ll ask me if I love you, and I do. You’ll give me all of these big, overdone speeches about how no one will ever love me like you do — and that’s probably true, actually. People won’t love me the same. They will love me more wholly, more healthily, more meaningfully. Our love will become an unfortunate blip on a timeline, something that I look back on and shake my head.
But I do love you. I am consumed by you, and partially by how badly you treat me. It’s almost comforting to have someone there to dictate your life, like your mother laying out your school clothes the night before so you don’t have to think about it. But there is only so far I can get with that kind of love. And I am not interested in torturing myself with questions of 'What if he meets someone else?' Because you will and you did. And maybe you’ll manage to fool him for even longer than you did me.

I know that my love for you is something fundamentally unhealthy, something that chips away at my ego and saps at my self-confidence. It is an addiction like any other, something that I am paying for with my personality and autonomy and future. And yes, being in bed with you gets me high. Hearing you call me yours still gives me that thrill. But it comes at far too high a cost. I picture myself staying in this relationship for another year, another three years, the rest of my life — I hate what I see. I hate how many parts of me I allow you to take with you when you walk out of the room, how many opportunities I give up on so that you will believe I really love you.

I love me more. I love the idea of growing into someone who has his own apartment, his own career, his own future that only he dictates. I want to meet the man I become when I free myself of shitty men like you, when I allow myself to make mistakes and have flings and do all of the things that I would never be able to do with you.
You tell me what to do every day because I think you are afraid of what I’ll be without you. Maybe you think I’ll realize that I could do better, or that I simply deserve better. Maybe you think I’ll look in the mirror and notice that I’m beautiful. Because I am.
I am."
1w

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juneygram "Maybe I will get married one day, maybe I won’t. And maybe I was right to leave him, and leave every other man whose niceness was something like a blanket on a night that was too hot to have anything more than a sheet. Maybe there is something out there for me which ends better than any ending with them could have been. But maybe when I am waiting for that call from the guy I met whose every move seems calculated to make me feel at once incredibly excited, I am getting what I deserve. Maybe when I am ready to admit that love doesn’t have to be complicated to be real, I will finally be somewhere that doesn’t always feel like the prelude to an exit." 1w

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juneygram Where were you when I was still kind 2w

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juneygram Firm believer that I will love and be loved again. 2w

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