The problem with dieting is sometimes I just eat like a Gilmore.
I’m on the Gilmore diet, tbqh.
I have been with my boyfriend for a little less than two months now. We are both freshmen in college and for both of us, this is our very first relationship.
When I am with him the thought of having sex with him is fantastic and makes me happy, but I’m so so terrified we are moving too quickly. That and terrified of what having sex with both of us being virgins will be like. He says that no matter what, he will wait until I am ready.
I love him and he loves me, yet I don’t know if this is BECAUSE neither of us have dated anyone else. I’m just not very sure of myself and I would love to know what you think. Thank you!
You’re adorable, that’s what I think. First love. First relationship. First time having sex. It’s all too precious for words.
Enjoy yourself. Just be present in the moment, and don’t worry so much about getting it right. It’s not gonna be perfect. Not even close. That’s okay, though. You’re supposed to be clumsy and clueless and terrified. Enjoy that part too, because as ridiculous as it sounds, one day you’ll miss it.
You don’t get to be sure of yourself yet, but don’t be afraid. Everything has a beginning, middle, and end. You’ve got a lot of beginnings going on right now, and that’s a beautiful place to be.
Don’t be afraid of any of it.
It doesn’t make sense to call ourselves ugly, because we don’t really see ourselves. We don’t watch ourselves sleeping in bed, curled up and silent with chests rising and falling with our own rhythm. We don’t see ourselves reading a book, eyes fluttering and glowing. You don’t see yourself looking at someone with love and care inside your heart. There’s no mirror in your way when you’re laughing and smiling and happiness is leaking out of you. You would know exactly how bright and beautiful you are if you saw yourself in the moments where you are truly yourself.
Scroll to the emergency contact: his name pops up. Mail would come in stacks for both of them and he’d scratch out the “s” in Mrs. when it was addressed as a couple, even though they never made it to a ring. They slept peacefully on patterned sheets that took 50 minutes of argument in the isle to reach a compromising color. They shared three bookcases full of fiction and textbooks and combination of 5 degrees between them and one photo of a kiss at a café in London. Inanities in objects and routines about dinner and dishes and who’s socks and cardigans belonged to who and a weekly Friday morning brunch. (I’ll never have class on Fridays and he’ll go in late). The tangible things of meaning that even boxes of cards and letters couldn’t capture quite perfectly. Birthday cards from his mother signed to the other him, photos of nieces and nephews that put uncle in front of both of their names. An apartment life, a family life, an adventurous one, a shared one. I know that wouldn’t last forever, not even a bulk of my life but I’d really like to fill a chapter up, someday, full of such a life.
I want my life recalled in ink and pixels, the misery and happiness in equal measure. No. In measure with reality. I write more words out of misery. The ideas need to be flushed out, put aside, so I can turn the page or press refresh. The happiness, I can’t let it escape or simply dissolve away into a page. Happiness…I want to let it remain more than bite of memory.
At some point in life the world’s beauty becomes enough. You don’t need to photograph, paint or even remember it. It is enough. No record of it needs to be kept and you don’t need someone to share it with or tell it to. When that happens—that letting go—you let go because you can. The world will always be there—while you sleep it will be there—when you wake it will be there as well. So you can sleep and there is reason to wake.
—Toni Morrison (via tokillahumblebee)
Your mental health is more important than your education. Better to have a degree of sanity than just a degree.