I am troubled and harsh and hopeless. Though I have love inside me. But I don’t know how to use love. Sometimes it scratches like barbs.
Clarice Lispector, tr. by Elizabeth Lowe, from Água Viva / The Stream of Life (via violentwavesofemotion)
theprodigalsoldier:
god, he was tired. after a long overnight shift, his whole body ached with weariness. it wasn’t anything like the long overnighters in the military. but it didn’t mean it was particularly fun or easy. especially tonight. with a rough domestic violence call, with kids involved. he was ready to go home. but he was starving. and eating at home meant cooking, and he definitely didn’t have the energy for that. “ hey, daisy, ” jax smiled warmly at the waitress behind the counter he knew too well after so many early mornings. “ steak and eggs? with sweet potato fries. to-go, please. and a black tea. thanks, darlin’. ” he was about to sit down, waste time on his phone, when he saw tate. looking just as exhausted as he felt. “ i can grab you one if ya really want. but you look like you need a nap more than caffeine, ” he pointed out, gentle and understanding as he sat across from his old friend. “ hey, man. rough night? ”
At the sound of a familiar voice in response to his request Tate looked up to meet Jaxon’s gaze. He was right, but there was no way he was going to get any sleep more at this point in the day. It might as well be noon Tate-time. Jaxon had always been able to read him. Although it wasn’t that hard right now to tell that Tate was exhausted. Between the bags under his eyes and the mess of hair he hadn’t bothered to comb through before he left the house, it was clear he had just rolled out of bed and come to the diner. Tate shook his head slowly letting out a sigh. “Thought you were the waitress.” He replied, setting his fork down as Jaxon took a seat across from him. His gaze moved to his plate at Jaxon’s question, staring at the barely eaten contents momentarily before he answered. “Just couldn’t sleep is all.” He shrugged, looking back up at his friend.
I punched a wall. And then I punched it a few more times. It was the first time I felt anything all day.
(via 50shades-of-you-and-i)
I scrub and scrub until my body bleeds, convince myself I'm coming clean, forget and ignore who I used to be. That kid is never coming back.
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