Typewriter Series #884 by Tyler Knott Gregson
Text for Tired Eyes:
Take care of yourself. It’s up to you to keep your heart
beating and your lungs filling and your legs running long
past when you should have found your way to shuffling off
this mortal coil and starting fresh. Greet Death running
and jumping and dancing with her, throwing kisses like promises
while she waits to carry you away. Don’t make her bend or scoop
or hoist or strain her delicate hands under the weight of your
tired soul. Meet her with a smile that only old age can create.
Love. Promise me that you will love. It will shake your skin
and rattle your bones and the sheer volume of butterflies inside
will threaten to lift your stomach to your throat. Love. Don’t
think of the why or the how of the what if and just love. When you
think, if only for a moment, that you’re loving enough, you aren’t.
Love until your eyes are cried dry and your arms shake from
squeezing so tight. Love because you cannot not love and
because it finishes all of the pieces in you that would otherwise
stay that way. Love because it’s the answer to the question
you’ll start asking one day. It’s the answer to all the questions
you’ll ever ask and the reason you are here, wherever here may be.
Just because you might not have solid abs or quad separation or a giant firm butt or whatever doesn’t mean you’re not working hard. so this post is for people who are busting their asses and their bodies don’t show it 👏
Wake up early. Drink coffee. Work hard. Be ambitious. Keep your priorities straight, your mind right and your head up. Do well, live well and dress really well. Do what you love, love what you do. It is time to start living.
Typewriter Series #882 by Tyler Knott Gregson
Text for Tired Eyes:
Listen, because we never know how much time we have and we
never, not ever, are in control of when the lights will go out
and we’ll be opening our eyes to a new light again. Listen:
Never be afraid to be proud of yourself. You are made of magic
and you share dust and light with the stars that shine above you. Please
promise me that you won’t dim your glow because it hurts
someone elses eyes. Cry. Really cry. They will try to show you
and tell you and convince you that men don’t cry, that they bite
their lip from the inside and swallow the blood with all the tears
they are too timid to let fall. They will say that men are the shoulders
and are the rock that stands in the current. Be the water instead
for one day that rock will be sand and it will have been you
and only you that washed it away. Laugh. Truly laugh. Let
life and all of its folly steal the breath from your body
and replace it with the staccato melody of giggles and guffaws;
the laughter that comes without fair warning and continues without
Never be afraid to follow your heart. Take all you have and risk it
truly risk it for where your crazy heart decides to take you.
Do not ever think you, exactly you, are not capable of chasing your dreams and do not ever think that you, exactly you, are not worth being chased.
It’s going to hurt, more than you think it will, and it’s going to heal
more than you ever imagine it can. You will be cut, scraped
and scarred from these pursuits but scars are stories and one day
someone will come along that will pilot the ship of their fingertips
down the random rivers of your scars. They will absentmindedly
and without knowing why, press their lips to them and feel the
smallest shock of life when skin touches skin.