I really like my life right now, I have friends around me all the time. I’ve started painting more. I’ve been working out a lot. I’ve started to really take pride in being strong. I love the album I made. I love that I moved to New York. So in terms of being happy, I’ve never been closer to that.
there’s always a white boy in every class that just talks and talks and talks like timothy stop just write it down!! make a mental note!!! wait till after class and tell ya friends on reddit!!
My favorite part of “Out of the Woods” is the moment right before the final chorus when she suddenly howls oh, I remember! as if she had suddenly woken and found herself in a room surrounded by the evidence that she was once loved and it was excruciating, which is one of the primary reasons why we do destroy the evidence that we were ever loved when we no longer are (he shredded my letters; I deleted his e-mails) but the kind of love worth writing about never leaves entirely and sometimes we wake with its fingerprints on our sleeves and we do remember.
I mean, Red is like, I mean we are talking “lipstick and sex” here in a way that is not exactly pinterest but it’s a person who has a pinterest account because it’s ok to have a pinterest account if you know how to crack jokes at your own expense, or, better, if you know you don’t necessarily even need to. “Lipstick and sex” in a way that’s not even film noir, that’s definitely not neo-noir, that’s definitely definitely not some too-brightly-lit vintage-inspired photoshoot, even though all of those things are also about red lipstick and tiptoeing a precarious line between cultivating a mise-en-scène of your own emotions and understanding that things beneath the polished surface are a lot more tangled and sad in a way that isn’t even pretty, just ordinary and disappointing. It’s red lipstick in a way that’s more like an instagram of a polaroid of you as a kid sitting in an armchair holding your mother’s lipstick, cross-posted to twitter by somebody who’s the kind of person who even has that kind of photo, in a box, probably not even a shoebox, probably a nice paper filing box from a crafting store, someone who still doesn’t drink very often. Red is like, Taylor Swift is working with Max Martin now because like a year and a half ago she got bangs and maybe cried about it but she still wears a lot of flared skirts. But also high-waisted shorts, that’s important to note, not that “flared just-above-knee-length skirts” aren’t kind of the same thing as “fitted navy-blue high-wasted shorts” which are both kind of the same thing as “my mother’s red lipstick” but, you know, I guess it’s all just an escalating process of becoming a new and more complicated version of what you already were.
I mean the other thing that Red, as an album, deals with that I think is not just a really important thing in the Taylor Swift Progression but also an important realization, probably, in general, you know, an essential stone in the path to Growing Up, is the idea that feelings can be finite but that doesn’t necessarily make them worth less.
last kiss is, I mean, last kiss, it’s so much, but it’s also more dialogue between subject v object, losing but also being lost, no longer someone’s something you don’t disappear you become another thing entirely, I was, while at the very same time I still am, I am, “all that I know is I don’t know how to be something you miss,” I was looking at you / you were looking at me / you remember it / I remember
"hate’s a strong word"
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