the first word that comes to your mind can tell you a lot about where you are in life
Sigur Rós — “Andvari”
isn’t it nice when you find the perfect song for the exact mood you’re in
— Jeffrey Harrison, “Enough (via oofpoetry)
I am finding some semblance of peace in the knowledge that right now the sun is emitting a ray of light, and approximately eight minutes from now I will receive it. If there is a reason to be alive then this is it - that every second of every day, I am given a gift that has traveled millions of miles just to reach my grateful eyes.
and who knows, maybe a million years ago some far-off star gave light that won’t get here until tomorrow, or the day after, or next month, or next year. but I want to be here to welcome it, when it comes.
— Hunter Reve. (via wakeness)
Once again I have added not eating to the list of ways I deal
with the burden of being alive. I feel too old for this.
I have this strange solidarity with my seventh grade self.
The way she lived on green apples and coffee for six months
and her mother never noticed.
The friends I live with now say nothing when I do not eat.
When I carefully measure out my 600 calories a day
and half of them are wine. It is not their responsibility
to take care of me. It is my own. But lately,
I’m doing a terrible job.
Lately I’ve been looking at my body like it belongs
to someone else. Watching it slowly shrink like the crowd
at a party that that has gone too late. My stomach
has been an enemy my entire life. I miss her now that she’s gone.
She is a conquered enemy. A vanquished foe.
I did not want to win. Not like this.
— nayyirah waheed (via nayyirahwaheed)
Being loved is not the same thing as loving.
When you fall in love, it is discovering the ocean after years of puddle-jumping.
It is realizing you have hands.
It is reaching for the tightrope when the crowds have all gone home.
Do not spend time wondering if you are the type of woman men will hurt.
If he leaves you with a car alarm heart, you learn to sing along.
It is hard to stop loving the ocean, even after it has left you gasping, salty.
So forgive yourself for the decisions you’ve made, the ones you still call mistakes when you tuck them in at night,
And know this: know you are the type of woman who is searching for a place to call yours.
Let the statues crumble. You have always been the place.
You are a woman who can build it herself.
You were born to build.
— Sarah Kay, “The Type” (via larmoyante)
— Matt Berninger (via nothing-places)
This is to say that
There will be days when your heart crumbles into ashes and dissolves in the condensation of your lungs
hardens into cement, turns your blood blue and drowns you in sorrow
There will be nights when you’re sitting in a restaurant and a song starts playing
when your gaze falls and something inside of you implodes and you don’t know what to do with your hands
There will be mornings when you wait for the tea to brew in the mug his mother gave you on the coaster he wrote on sitting on the desk his glasses laid on in the room where you first noticed the freckles on his nose
There will be seconds when his name comes up in conversation and eyes nervously shift in your direction and you say “it’s ok” which really means “even the sound of his name from a stranger’s lips makes my blood pump faster and if I could still call him mine I would use this oxygen just to hold his left pinky finger with my right”
What I know about heartbreak is this:
Love does not walk away; it does not disappear in the tire marks of a speeding car
It lingers, drifts
tucks itself in the unreached crook of your bed that your toes occasionally graze in the middle of the night
reigns in the farthest corners of your memory
and you bow to it, a brokenhearted slave to a tyrant king
waiting for the white horse of courage to carry you back to the place where home is your own heart and not his
— B.C. (via fleurlungs)