one day, i will lead the way.

7 Places You Won’t Meet The Love Of Your Life



1. The club.

The club is meant for throwing up vodka Red Bulls in a bathroom stall while crying. The club is meant for giving the side-eye to hair-gelled assholes in the corner getting bottle service at their table. It’s for dancing to David Guetta and/or Pitbull songs and grinding your genitals against a stranger until your friends pull you away because they’re afraid you’re going to get herpes through your jeans. The club is meant for everything but finding lasting love, and we shouldn’t ask of it things it cannot provide.

2. At your ex’s place.

Don’t go back there. There is nothing for you. There is no magic end to this story wherein, after seventeen break-up-to-make-ups, you go over to your ex’s apartment (in the rain, of course) and suddenly have a Nicholas Sparks-esque Reuniting Moment in their foyer while you tell each other all of the things you did wrong and lick tears off each other’s faces. No. You’re just going to break up again. We like going back to the ex because it’s familiar, and easy, and it’s possible that the sex is bangin. But we cannot get swayed by these cheap ideals because they are ultimately unfulfilling, and if it didn’t work the first ten times, it’s not working now.

3. Facebook.

I’m sure we’ve all had a moment where we found a friend of a friend — perhaps from popping up on our “recommended” sidebar, perhaps just from thorough creeping — and we briefly fell in love. We may have met them once or twice (not sure, though), and can see enough of their profile to ascertain that they are beautiful and don’t seem like a serial killer. But there is no way to open this conversation. There is no way to go from “basically strangers” to “date night” via Facebook. At some point, you’re going to have to look like an insane person and initiate conversation at random. It’s just not worth it.

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(Source: thelovewhisperer)

There are some things about myself I can’t explain to anyone. There are some things I don’t understand at all. I can’t tell what I think about things or what I’m after. I don’t know what my strengths are or what I’m supposed to do about them. But if I start thinking about these things in too much detail the whole thing gets scary. And if I get scared I can only think about myself. I become really self-centered, and without meaning to, I hurt people. So I’m not such a wonderful human being.

Haruki Murakami, A Slow Boat to China (via jaimelannister)

(Source: seabois, via pennyforasong)