"Because I'm Starting To Wonder If This Is What Being In Love Is. Being Okay With Ripping Yourself To

“Love never dies of a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness, errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds. It dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings, but never of a natural death.”

— Anais Nin

Not knowing names of songs I liked in a public place will forever come to haunt me in my dreams.

A little thought I picked up from a conversation with a friend.

Do demons really deserve our hate? Every-time, I talk about things that make my soul bleed, I label them as demons. But aren’t those very demons the most beautiful creation in my head?

They are unapologetic, the most vulnerable part of my personality, the part that I want to conceal because the people around me are not ready to deal with the rawness of it all. So why label them and weigh them down with so much hatred, they do trouble you, but only because you don’t let them speak to you.

A little kid constantly crying, constantly interrupting your conversations, clinging on to your arm, just so you look at them for a second, crouch down to their eye level and offer a them consoling smile.

Don't be shy, gift me a book and press a flower between the pages ;)

Imagine lending books to someone and they sent you flowers pressed in between the pages.

Moonlight

“Follow the wandering, the distraction, find out why the mind has wandered; pursue it, go into it fully. When the distraction is completely understood, then that particular distraction is gone. When another comes, pursue it also.”

— Jiddu Krishnamurti 

oh, i am finally old enough to know why my parents took so long to grab their coats. why they would ask us to get ready to go only to sit down for another round of coffee. what would i tell myself, at 10 years old? it’s okay. sit down with them too. take in the extra hour with your friend and her family. when you get home, write down every moment in your diary. one day you will be older and you will be waving goodbye to your best friend, and you will turn the key to start your beat up little car engine, and you will look back over your shoulder. her hair will be blowing in the wind and she will be beautiful and you will be, for a moment, struck by all of it. what you will feel is so wide and nameless that it will engulf you. and you will think of being 14 and kicking her under the table in math every time you wanted to whisper something behind the teacher’s back. you will think about how long the days felt, and how you could hold her hand whenever you wished, but you didn’t. and you will think about all of the people you could have lingered with. and you will wish, more than you have ever felt a wish, that the universe just gave you that - more time to linger. more time to say - i love you. i know i need to leave, but i don’t want to leave you. and when i go, i am leaving a piece of my heart that lingers too. 

one more round of coffee. the days are so short, and you are so lovely.

Simply imagine being a poet's muse.