just-a-hopeless-writer

[just-a-hopeless-writer]

true writing is knowing exactly how your wip starts and knowing exactly how how it ends but the middle is the equivalent of you standing stranded on highway 52 while your car burns in the background before a freeze frame zooms in on your face and a voice-over goes “yup that’s me. you might be wondering how i got here.” 

[just-a-hopeless-writer]

I did that thing where I was checking out a wip I haven’t touched in a long while, and before I knew it I was really sucked in and just reading it and enjoying it, and then it just fucking ended abruptly during a good scene and I nearly started screaming, and then I remembered it’s my own fucking wip and that means I have to be the one to fix this and finish it and I really really nearly started screaming and just asdfghjkl

[just-a-hopeless-writer]

You guys realize you’re interacting with other human beings on here, right?

[just-a-hopeless-writer]

seeking writeblrs!

Hello!

I'm a new writeblr and need to follow more writeblrs to spice up my dash!

Reblog if you do the following:

Original writings

WIPs

Spilled ink / ideas

Excerpts / Drabbles

Headcanons / Tropes

Writing pompts and inspo

Ask memes / Character memes

Book reviews

Text aesthetics

[just-a-hopeless-writer]

[just-a-hopeless-writer]

I just needed you to comfort me

I just wanted to know it was okay

I didn’t know you’d let me bleed

I thought you’d stay.

[just-a-hopeless-writer]

[just-a-hopeless-writer]

I tried to write you a love letter, Because god, love, it’s what you deserve, But the words wouldn’t come out right, And it ended up a lot more like an apology. I love you, I wrote, Because the words looked so damn pretty on the page - But then I crossed it out, Because I am trying to be truthful. How could I love you? I don’t even know you, Not anymore. I miss you, I write next, and I cross that out, too, Even though it’s true – So true it aches; sometimes it feels as though missing you Is all I ever do. (which isn’t true, I drink cups of coffee but never finish them, I write poetry in pencil at 3am, I wear friendship bracelets and walk barefoot in the rain, I live, and every moment of my life leads back to you.) I brushed by a woman wearing your perfume And suddenly I couldn’t get you out of my head; Couldn’t fathom why I was anywhere but In your arms. I don’t even know who I’m apologising to anymore; I miss all of you, I love none of you, All I know is that it’s nearly September and I wish it was the start of summer again – I wish I could redo it all, Turn back the clock.  (except that if I could turn back the clock, I would stay far, far away from you, I have learnt my lesson – you can’t get addicted if you never try the substance) ((except you can, and I haven’t, and if I could turn back the clock I’d hold your hand so much tighter, knowing it’d be the last time I’d get to)) I keep checking my texts, though I know there won’t be one from you – I pushed you away, I know that, My fault, my fault, my fault – You should probably stop reading now. You should probably leave me now. I’m sorry – Please, I’m so sorry. I wish you could tell the difference Between my anger, and my inability to reach out to you – I wish I could, too. Everything is unravelling, love, Everything is falling apart, And I’m not sure how to do it without you. I should’ve known it’d end in pain - I can never do it quite right, I can never make anyone stay, But you don’t care and I shouldn’t care and it doesn’t really matter now. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t blame you – I hate this callous, cold version of myself too. You made a mistake, you regret it, I get it – I’m sorry, I’ve had so many friends be ambivalent to whether I am in pain I forget my actions and words can hurt, When so many have been apathetic marble statues. This was such a bad apology, I’m sorry. What I’m trying to say is, It’s not your fault I can’t tell the difference Between hate and hurt and love, Especially when I feel none of them. It’s not your fault we became a tragedy, And you aren’t to blame For the force with which I hit the ground.

[just-a-hopeless-writer]

deadmen tell no tales, but they know more than you’ll ever hope to

[just-a-hopeless-writer]

What people think writing is like: careful planning and thought out plotlines

What writing is actually like: being possessed by an idea that you are constantly arguing with

[just-a-hopeless-writer]

It’s not their fault

That the person they’re pushing forward

Doesn’t exist.

Tell my anger that.

I’m a dissapointment.

I’m not her.

I’m not this shadow they know.

The shadow

She makes me sick

The shadow

She’s like me

But a better me

She’s the me that you see

She’s laughing and smiling

It’s fake

And forced

And sickening

Would you be able to tell the difference

Between a girl and her shadow?

It seems easy

But maybe it isn’t

Because you haven’t so far

My shadow is a shapeshifter

She’s not dark and lanky

Or faded and short

She looks like me

A perfect copy

A laughing, smiling copycat

Of a crying, cracking girl.

It’s cheesy sure

A concept kind of worn out

But would you?

Could you?

Would you put the expectations of a mansion

On a dollhouse

And then be dissapointed

when it does not perform

Just simply because it looks like the real thing?

[just-a-hopeless-writer]

[just-a-hopeless-writer]

me as a writer: obsessed with being original, constantly worried that ill copy another artist by accident, i can’t use that phrase i saw someone use it on may 12th, 2014 and

me as a reader: happily reads 2349460283 different versions of the exact same plot

[just-a-hopeless-writer]

[just-a-hopeless-writer]

“i whisper, i’m doing fine to those eyes in the mirror”

— e.e.

[just-a-hopeless-writer]

The memories never leave us,

Even when the years have passed,

Such is the audacity of human mind,

Even when it wants to forget,

It never ceases remembering.

You looked at me with a longing,

While I talked about her with you,

Seeing you yet never seeing your eyes,

The eyes that held love within them,

From that moment on,

For a person unworthy of such a feeling.

Countless days have passed,

Numerous memories I have lived,

Yet somehow everything with you,

Always eventually comes back to me,

Such is the gravity of situation,

You have left me in, to perhaps suffer.

- DG (Memories Of You)

[just-a-hopeless-writer]