Submit your own story"/>

This Is Why I'm Single

“This is a story of a girl who turned out wrong, because she only loved things that couldn’t love her back.” —Sophia, Skins

Submit your own story

The Sun Hides Behind Clouds and Memory  →

(via basseyworld)

Go. Read this. Now. 

I will be looking through old photographs, going over the everything again in my mind, not calling him, listening to Greg Laswell searching for a bottle of whisky.

The goal is to be unafraid when you love.
To turn your shoulder towards the winds and push on.
To be relentless in your pursuit of it. 
To be fearless and unafraid.

We are so bold in anger and confrontation and so scared and meek in love. Quick to tell someone off or to give them a piece of your mind. Slow to place your heart in their hands and say, “Take care of this.” Fear is a trigger. I wish love was a trigger. I wish it was what made me tremble and took my breath and made me dizzy. I want to live in the cliché. I want to exist in the love song. Let me be mountain high and river deep. Not tabletop and puddle afraid. 

This has to change.

Something has to be done differently. The goal is to be fearless in pursuit of all things you love. To be loud and unapologetic. No more apologies for who you love and how you choose to love them. Fuck that. Love them until you don’t. If they don’t love you back, then cool. Let them live in fear of you and all your neon-colored love. Find someone who will love you just as neon and flashing lights. Leave these beige and understated folks to each other. Let them have this neutral. This safe. This without risks. This comfortable. Let them have these ankles barely wet with it. Give me a drowning. Give me up to my neck in it. Give me a boat and an oar. Let me love an ocean’s worth. Fuck this playing it safe. This afraid to be hurt. We hurt. and we live through it. Fuck fear. Love anyway. Meditate on that.

Read More

…I feel sorry for anyone who can look at you and not see beauty and kindness and joy and life. Even if that person is you. So pity the man or woman who can stare you in the face and watch you hold your heart in your hand and still turn away. Pity them. They must blame the sunshine for pollen instead of thanking it for warmth. What a horrible way to live. I’ve been there. It is miserable. I will fight until there is blood and silence for my right to happiness and joy and laughter and enough tension to keep me motivated. And I have no problem, closing the gate and the door and the windows and the heart to anyone who keeps me from it. True fact.

— Bassey Ikpi (via andeventhis) (via shefixesherlips)

When you love someone, you have to give them the space to be who they are. Even when that person isn’t who you want them to be. Especially then.

— Bassey Ikpi

It’s both liberating and lonely when you realize that the person you once loved was never the person you thought he was. And this isn’t about falling in love with an “image” so stop typing. It’s about loving the whole person and assuming that person is real. Accepting that they were merely a figment of your imagination is an honesty and truth that stabs you in the chest. Necessary, necessary, necessary but wow, how am I going to clean up all this blood? But it feels good to release the ache and the anger and the tension. Fuck that. I’m good. Better even. It’s not me, it’s you.

— Bassey Ikpi

Fiona Apple was right: this world is bullshit

And that old saying ‘if you love something let it go. If it comes back and has a new girlfriend that’s gross that’s no reflection on you.’ Or something.

— Bassey Ikpi

Don’t play down who you are because the people you gifted with you couldn’t appreciate it. That’s their fault not yours. If you showed up at a birthday party with a brand new car and someone said, “Oh…I don’t really need this. I have a bus pass.” You would look at THEM like they were crazy! Even if they don’t ‘want’ it…”Bitch, I gave you a new car! You want a bus pass?” You would take your brand new car and you would drive away laughing at them. Same thing. That’s not your problem. It’s theirs.

— Bassey Ikpi