“There are 7 billion people on this planet who I have not met,
and 195 countries I have not visited.
Yet I am stuck in this insignificant town,
Being pressured into making decisions about my future,
When I barely even know who I am.”— Unknown (via vehxt)
Find what you love and let it kill you.
Let it drain you of your all. Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness.
Let it kill you and let it devour your remains.
For all things will kill you, both slowly and fastly, but it’s much better to be killed by a lover.”—Falsely yours, Henry Charles Bukowski (via lovely—delight)
“A deeper love for God is inseparable from being wounded over time. Only by a divine wound does our love for God intensify. This is in part a wound of inner discontent within our soul, the powerlessness of never giving ourselves adequately to love. Over a lifetime we may find that it is not healed with more love. Every increase of love only magnifies a demand to love more.”—Father Donald Haggerty
“Do you know what I think? You have to decide what you want, ask for it, and either get it or if he doesn’t want the same thing as you, you have to accept it. Life is for the brave.”—Georgia Nicolson, Then He Ate My Boy Entrancers (via cthornhill)
“Get scared. It will do you good. Smoke a bit, stare blankly at some ceilings, beat your head against some walls, refuse to see some people, paint and write. Get scared some more. Allow your little mind to do nothing but function. Stay inside, go out - I don’t care what you’ll do; but stay scared as hell. You will never be able to experience everything. So, please, do poetical justice to your soul and simply experience yourself.”—Albert Camus, Notebooks, 1951-1959 (via mofobian)
“You are the chandelier
swinging in the next room.
The broken time machine
that prayers couldn’t fix.
All those songs I swear I buried
but still manage to sit heavy like a hornet’s nest in my ears.
If you thought all that screaming was about someone else,
then you were only mostly wrong.
My hands have been so busy since you decided
to be brave for somebody new,
and I still haven’t felt a single thing.
There was a point to this body
before all it did was wait for you to hold it,
and I must be more than what you were too tired to love,
but some days I still look for you in all the cracking ceilings.
I tried looking for myself once,
but it just didn’t feel right.
I’d wait around here for what might happen,
but I am so tired of turning myself
into a graveyard
just so you can feel sorry enough to bring me flowers.
Save your shaking hands, and save your amens.
This isn’t about mourning anymore,
it’s about moving on.
I am spelling my alone differently
until it stops meaning ‘without you’
and starts meaning ‘with myself.’
There are a thousand ways to write about you leaving
and even more to say that I don’t want to anymore.
If I can’t forget the bodies that left,
then I am going to remember the ones that stayed,
and mine will always be the one I thank first.”—Y.Z, what I learned while writing this (via rustyvoices)