GIRLS

“I don't want to freak you out, but I think I may be the voice of my generation. Or at least a voice. Of a generation.”

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I love this quote so much

(Sorry about all the F-words, mom) “You think you’re such a fucking free spirit because you shacked up with me for two months? I have been living this life for 25 fucking years. I am going to look 50 when I’m 30! I’m going to be so fucking fat like Nico and you know why? It’s because I’ll be full of experiences. But you—you’ll have only lived with me, that will be the one thing you’ve got.“ --Jessa to Thomas John on GIRLS
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Let July be July

By Morgan Harper Nichols Even here, you are growing. When August is approaching and you feel a little restless thinking about how this month might end and how this year might end and how you are supposed to start again, you are growing, you are growing, in grace courage strength. And it is okay if it does not feel like it. It is okay if there are moments where you cannot see the way you have grown, because far beneath the surface the seeds have still been sown. The ground beneath your feet is still a bed for new beginnings. So much is changing around you but you are changing, too. You are so much more than the brokenness that you were certain would define you. It has not been easy for you. You have worked so hard to be the positive one. You have given your best in areas of your life where the effort was not returned. And this has made it so hard for you to keep going, and there have been days where you were not sure if it was even possible. But after everything, here you are, just a li...
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"Getting Yourself Home"

"It's three o'clock on a winter morning, foggy, the roads slick with ice. You turn in the bed, away from the man and his thick arms, his muscled chest, the wrists powerful from days spent with hammers and saws. You open your eyes and begin to calculate each of the moves it would take to get you out of here: the flip of he blankets, the swing of your legs onto the floor, the search for your clothes crumpled on the chair by the desk, gathering those clothes in your arms and tiptoeing over the creaking planks to pull them on in the other room--the boyfriend muttering from his side of the bed, or not making a sound, his eyes tightly closed, his head twisted away. And then the search for your purse, your shoes, your keys, your coat, standing with all these things by the doorway, trying to decide whether or not to say good night... ...Just the thought of it exhausts you, and when you contemplate even the first of these moves--the turning back of the covers--you realize the imp...
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