work hard, be kind, love people.
words, coffee, music, & travel.
i write at katesbennett.tumblr.com.
tonight. | I’m sad and sleepy and overwhelmed. this is hard. life, I guess. being an almost-adult. any sort of distance- this, especially, is hard. I’ve always told myself I wouldn’t do long distance of any kind, and now I’m remembering why. it’s worth it, true. but still. unbearably hard. sigh.
Anonymous said: And it's scary to me that you name already tastes like poison, well not quite there yet...but it tastes like burning and passion and wrong and right and fucked up. It's scary because your name shouldn't have that many flavorous, not yet. -fallinginlove
just because it tastes like poison doesn’t mean it is.
and the calendar says september, but it feels like fall has already passed. the trees are still holding onto limbs & their fading shades of green. my head is in empty branches, my bones feel rattled, just getting of an airplane in a hurricane. mikey says i need more routine. i say fuck routine,…
and you say you aren’t a writer.
this is all beautiful and exhausting and my lips are always chapped and my hair is always messy.
Hemingway goes up to the counter and orders one espresso. It’s hot. He drinks it in silence. It makes him remember his father’s cabin. He thinks about the woman he loved once. He does not smile. The coffee reminds him of war - short but painful, swallowed down quickly. One could order worse drinks. He leaves Starbucks and walks out into the rain.
you are the same kind of feeling as wet asphalt after heavy rain