Just reading your xanga and tumblr make me relate to you so much, I lost my mother at the age of 3 and. I am 18 right now and it still hurts me so much the pain never goes away no matter how much you want it to :( looking thru all your postes about your parents makes me cry everytime, and I've been probably reading them for years now, you are such a strong person how you are able to just write it all out, I wish I could have the strength to even talk about my mom. I adore you Kara,
Thank you. You are never alone and she is always watching.
TEN LOVE LETTERS BY CLEMENTINE VON RADICS →
The difference between being loved and being fucked is I can’t remember how the first feels. I have a body like an open door. I have a body like an open hand. It is too easy to hold me.
Find me a boy with a heart more hopeful than spun sugar on a hot day, I will teach him…
Is it just me or you don’t really realise how drunk you are until you are in a bathroom alone???
I like to think i'll see you again one day →
We’ll be in our late twenties in the supermarket comparing peanut butter prices on aisle 4.
Your hair will be shorter and your shoes will be clean but you’ll still look like you. You’d tap me on the shoulder and you’d say my name like it was a question and my eyes would widen and i’d wrap my arms…
Sometime I look at this picture before I goto bed. The way his eyes look happy even though their closed. The way his hand is resting on her head. Sometimes I smile at it and sometimes when a sad songs playing I cry a little too.
The other day someone was talking to me about love and forever and how they don’t think two people can truly be happy together for their whole lives. How sometimes they just stay together because they have to, because they’re supposed to.
You know, for the kids, the house, because what else are they gonna do at 56 with a joint bank account, two kids and a gut full of landshark. And sometimes I believe that too. That humans, we settle, and maybe ”love,” despite our best efforts, won’t last.
But then I look at this picture. And I remember how every Christmas season he would bring me to his secret stash of Christmas presents for her and show me each one. How he was so excited every year and how he made me spy to make sure he got more for her then she did for him. How he couldn’t wrap a present to save his life so he you-tubed it. How they used to dance in the kitchen after dinner. For no reason. With no music. And then I think about the way she paced around the living room on the eve of his homecoming from Iraq. How tight he squeezd her that next day. I remember him calling her princess in the hospital room. Telling her hair looked pretty after a grooling eight hours in surgery.
I remember the light sucked out of her eyes the night he died. How she had to follow him up there. And then sometimes I think that two people really can be completley and totally head over heals in love for the rest of their lives. And maybe even after
One day, whether you
you will stumble upon
someone who will start
a fire in you that cannot die.
However, the saddest,
most awful truth
you will ever come to find––
is they are not always
with whom we spend our lives.
"A dying friend once told me, ‘I wish I hadn’t spent so many Mondays wishing it were Friday. I also wish I had made better use of those Fridays, for better stories on Monday.’"
Been following you Kara since Xanga.. Just read to my daughter- it was pure magic. I got chills and I could say I'm a different person after reading it. Love to you.
Wow. What an uplifting message. Thank you from the very bottom of my heart.