set of nostalgia drawings by gabriel picolo. i don’t think i have enough space on my tumblr for all his works that i’d like to post.
these are incredible
I’m a girl on fire filled with gasoline tears.
My feelings make everything worse and I need your cold touch to remind me why it’s so much better not to feel. I need your distant stare and empty words to put out the roaring blaze.
The tears don’t stop and I can’t make myself any smaller.
Maybe you would have loved me if I wasn’t such a disaster.
Maybe you would have loved me if I wasn’t a wildfire enveloping everything I ever touch.
This is when I have to stop thinking of you like someone who will ever care enough to save me. This is when I have to remember that you don’t care about me, you have never loved me the way I loved you.
This is who I am.
I am a natural disaster that will leave everything around me devastated and I will not apologize for it.
I won’t apologize for my embers burning holes through your life.
I may be fire, but you are ice.
You are nothing. I am everything.
I feel so much that I cannot contain my flames.
And even on days when I’ve burned everyone I love, I am thankful that my hell has not frozen over.
I am thankful for a heart that roars like a lion and beats like my favorite song.
I am alive. I am so alive.
Happy. How can I be happy when you aren’t here?
Today is the day I’m going to stay off of Facebook. I’m going to pretend like it’s just any other Sunday. I’m going to smile when I see children with their fathers but I will also be reminded of how I was once that oblivious.
The people you love can be taken from you so quickly, so easily. Aggressive cancers and treatments that aren’t strong enough, doctors who say they have no other avenues to explore.
My little brother was five years old when my father died.
I was eight. My birthday was twenty days away. I don’t remember having a birthday that year.
My father was the greatest man I ever knew. I don’t say that with childish naivety. He got annoyed easily, and I asked a lot of questions. He was the disciplinarian, which on only one occasion meant a spanking. He never raised his voice to me, just spoke to me like the adult he knew he was raising me to be. He was constantly working and on business trips.
But he loved me so fiercely that I was never afraid. He cared for me so deeply I thought I was fucking invincible. He worked so hard and tirelessly to provide for us because he never wanted us to worry.
I get my work ethic from him.
I get my twisted sense of humor and sarcastic nature from him.
I get his heart for other people.
I get his quiet temper.
I miss his snoring. I miss getting woken up by his snores from across the hall. I miss the smell of T-Gel shampoo that would fill the hallway after he took a shower. I miss listening to Jackson Browne on the way to school and singing along at the top of my lungs.
I miss his voice.
I miss how tight he used to hug me.
I miss him.
I miss him.
I miss him.
I will always be missing him.