bold. blunt. blurry

preparing some for dinner. again.

Thu, 06 Jun 2013 11:15:46 -0400

preparing some for dinner. again.

theeuphoricfox: Journals

Mon, 03 Jun 2013 20:02:55 -0400

theeuphoricfox:

Journals

poor little froggie.

Sun, 02 Jun 2013 05:23:44 -0400

poor little froggie.

late lunch.

Sun, 02 Jun 2013 05:20:17 -0400

late lunch.

"Most people think happiness is about gaining something, but it’s not. It’s all about getting rid of..."

Sat, 01 Jun 2013 03:41:31 -0400

“Most people think happiness is about gaining something, but it’s not. It’s all about getting rid of the darkness you accumulate.”

- Carolyn Crane (via imi-loa)

You may not be able to control every situation and its outcome, but you can control your attitude and how you deal with it.

Wed, 29 May 2013 03:51:56 -0400

yanilavigne:

(Quotes here)

Random fact of the day

Wed, 29 May 2013 03:51:38 -0400

“Blood is thicker than water”, when used in the context of family over friends, is in fact a wildly incorrect bastardisation.

The true, full quote is “The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb,” and refers to relationships forged by choice holding deeper meaning than those of mere biology.

Sometimes its better not to say anything, than to say how you truly feel and make things worse.

Wed, 29 May 2013 01:48:34 -0400

yanilavigne:

(Quotes here)

Photo

Mon, 15 Apr 2013 08:06:43 -0400

claim yourself.

Tue, 02 Apr 2013 01:48:18 -0400

claim yourself.

I am, I am, I am.: I am withering, like theflowers pressed between myspine, pressed...

Fri, 29 Mar 2013 20:32:52 -0400

I am, I am, I am.: I am withering, like theflowers pressed between myspine, pressed...:

brayofheart:

I am withering, like the
flowers pressed between my
spine, pressed between pages
of books that hold your favorite
quotes.

-

When we used to sit in
the grass beside the garden,
you remarked, “There is so
much to nature, there are stars
and plants and you and me”
I think if I had to pick I would
be the sea. Vast and moving.

Finding Forever.: Me.

Fri, 29 Mar 2013 20:32:25 -0400

Finding Forever.: Me.:

christianaaa:

No one ever writes me love poems,
or thinks of writing me love poems,
or thinks of me,
or would even know what to say about me
in a love poem.

No one ever writes me love poems.
Or spends moments
crafting extensive analogies to explain:
the texture of my hair,
the blend in my skin,
the slant in…

The Helix Enigma: Please keep in mind: Most flowers that look pretty have no smell. I’ve...

Fri, 29 Mar 2013 20:31:16 -0400

The Helix Enigma: Please keep in mind: Most flowers that look pretty have no smell. I’ve...:

orage:

Please keep in mind:
Most flowers that look pretty have
no smell.

I’ve been walking past midnight
but it’s not quite hot enough
to go numb.
I’m at the park
where my life ended twice.
I suppose I’d find that which I’d
left…
instead there is nothing but calm
Death. Rotting leaves
…

69shadesofgayy: Is that a girl or a boy? And you smile because...

Fri, 29 Mar 2013 04:01:03 -0400

69shadesofgayy:

Is that a girl or a boy? And you smile because today maybe you might just pass. But then you see their eyes register no facial hair, no knot in your throat, no bulge in your pants. They say it again, louder, tauntingly.

Is that a girl or a boy. This time they know the answer and they just want to see you squirm.

And you do.

And they snicker.

“IT” performed by Kavindu “Kavi” Ade.

There are no words for the emotions that this video causes.

Photo

Fri, 29 Mar 2013 03:58:10 -0400

Preparing to Use a Fork, by Laura Musselman

Fri, 29 Mar 2013 03:56:50 -0400

fwrictionreview:

When I dream of my mother, she is hiding in the farthest corners of dimly lit rooms, bewildered and pale-faced and all bold, brown eyes. This is not unlike the real image she inhabits, sitting in her walker or on a paisley-cushioned bench at the end of the hall as she tries to piece together the portions of my face, my hair, my body into something that falls just short of familiar or safe.

My mother looks small sitting there, every day smaller than I have ever seen her. Frail, and barely there. The clothes that used to fit her snugly hang from her shoulders, sleeves like a tent meant to house the loose, wrinkled skin that hangs from her frame. She is my mother, of course, made up of the same cells that webbed into the bits and pieces of her that used to swab my dirty face with saliva and rub my back when I was sick. Conversely, she is not my mother. She is a ghost. And I am her daughter, and I am not her daughter. I am a stranger most every day she sees me.

Each time I see her, there is less to see. When people ask how she is doing, this is what I say. She is disappearing, and one day I am afraid she might fall through the space between the bench cushions. One day, maybe she will. One day, there will be nothing left. I know this, and yet my visits become less regular, less dependable. To see her is to see the formidable truth that soon she will no longer be there. And I am not that brave.

Read More

"You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees..."

Mon, 25 Mar 2013 21:19:06 -0400

““You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintery light. But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person died for no reason.””

- Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast (via ophidiophobic)

i cant find my other books?!

Mon, 25 Mar 2013 21:06:01 -0400

i cant find my other books?!

i will wait.

Fri, 22 Mar 2013 08:16:15 -0400

i will wait.

Photo

Thu, 21 Mar 2013 14:55:48 -0400