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"I am going to tell you everything," she said, "because I have too many feelings that are filling up my lungs, and too many words that refuse to be silenced.

"And when I am eighty years old I do not want to look back and wish I had told you how I see galaxies in your eyes. I do not want to write letters that will never be read or poetry that will never be heard.

"So now I will kiss your nose and breathe your air, and I will ask you to hold me a just a little bit closer even if it means you crush my ribs in the process.

"Because when I am eighty years old I would rather have the scars from the stitches left by an eighteen year old boy than to have ribs that never felt a thing.

"And I would rather trace the marks on my skin, saying ‘he knew, he knew, at least he knew,’ than to lie there regretting and wishing and wondering what you thought, and if I still cross your mind."

Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #67 (via blossomfully)
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  • 4 days ago
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The difference between letting go of someone
and moving on
is that you can let go without completely moving on
but you can’t move on without letting go and

I don’t know. I just don’t know.

It’s all about acceptance.
It’s about acceptance and then taking the leap

but I’m still trying to figure out
what to do with your senior picture and those yellow mix CDs
you made me back in high school full of
indie love songs

and I don’t know if that’s okay or not.

I’m still trying to figure out what appropriate keepsakes are.

I’m still trying to figure out what to say to your fiancé
when he calls me up to gloat
that he’s won you like a carnival prize.

The thing is: I have no problem keeping proof
of every bruise I’ve ever had
that blossomed bigger than my fist,
but I’ve deleted every photo of us on my phone.
Even the ones that weren’t of us—
just of me
when we were happy.

And I don’t know if that’s healthy.
I don’t know if that’s okay.

I just know that I’m not angry anymore
and the songs that used to make me cry don’t even make me sad,
but all that leaves me with
is the bare bones, the trash, the mess of everything after
and the only thing I’ve ever been known
to make out of a mess

is a bigger mess.

"December 14th, 2012: You In Your Red Coat, Me Holding Up A Movie Ticket" Trista Mateer (via tristamateer)
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  • 4 days ago
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Out beyond ideas
of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field.
I’ll meet you there.

Rumi (via real-hiphophead)
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  • 4 days ago
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I think learning to say “She’s beautiful and I am also beautiful” is really important. So many times we just compare and contrast ourselves against other people but it doesn’t need to be like that.

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You are not a graveyard.
Stop opening your arms
to those who are only
looking for a place to
rest their tired bones.

Pavana पवन (via maza-dohta)
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#1 rule: never cry over a fuckboy

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  • 1 week ago
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People run from rain but
in bathtubs full of

Charles Bukowski (via cachaemic)
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