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Vincent Van Gogh used to eat yellow paint because he thought it would get the happiness inside him. Many people thought he was mad and stupid for doing so because the paint was toxic, never mind that it was obvious that eating paint couldn’t possibly have any direct correlation to one’s happiness, but I never saw that. If you were so unhappy that even the maddest ideas could possibly work, like painting the walls of your internal organs yellow, then you are going to do it. It’s really no different than falling in love or taking drugs. There is a greater risk of getting your heart broken or overdosing, but people still do it everyday because there was always that chance it could make things better. Everyone has their yellow paint.
Unknown  (via idioticteen)

(Source: latenz)

You weren’t online today. I miss you.

Every time a notification for an email from you pops up in my inbox, I can’t help but smile. Every time I read your words, I feel warm and fuzzy inside.

I know your schedule better than my own. Is that creepy, or do we just know each other that well?

I stay up late at night rereading messages between us. I stay up late at night waiting for that first message from you to come through.

Time zones suck.

I don’t really know what romantic love is, exactly, but I know that even in my most introverted state I want to talk to you. That the first few hours of every weekend are useless because they’re devoted to emailing you. That almost everything you do makes me smile and that I am always afraid that you’ll disappear from my life one day and I wouldn’t know what to do or worse, what happened to you.

I don’t know what it means that I feel this way when I’ve never seen your face. I don’t know what it means that I feel this way when I still don’t know your full name.

I am so afraid you’ll read this and know it’s about you. I am so afraid you won’t accept it.

I love you, I think.

I love you, I know. I’m just not certain which way(s), yet.

ten emails i’ll never send, Drea O. (via tamikaflynned)
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