“I keep poems like secrets then tell them when I’m tired of hiding who I am. I am missing you most, in the silence between songs on my favorite records. Sometimes, it takes so long for the music to start.”—Andrea Gibson, Yarn (via angeliquepricilla)
“Do you remember? Do you remember being solid? Do you remember life before the hole? Before you were empty and needed to be filled? There was a time when everything was enough. There was a time you didn’t try to get out of your own skin. Remember?”—Amy Reed, Clean (via poetrea)
“I’d try to explain that it’s not really negativity or sadness anymore, it’s more just this detached, meaningless fog where you can’t feel anything about anything — even the things you love, even fun things — and you’re horribly bored and lonely.”—Allie Brosh (via fassadenmensch)
“If there is something glorious about the human race altogether, it is the ability to connect. We are most fearfully simply existing until we slowly and steadily develop the need to preserve our innocence and at the same time break some boundaries; Until we responsibly crawl outside of ourselves without losing ourselves and commit to some form of beautiful connection. Intimacy.Talk about intimacy. Talk about wordlessly wonderful communication and the unsurpassable sense of twoness, togetherness. It doesn’t have to revolve around romance; It might be utterly friend-rooted or not rooted at all. No definition might fit it but I still name it intimacy. And it is so strange and spectacularly profound.”—All These Things You Wish You’d Say (via violentwavesofemotion)
i want to move to a small apartment by myself in a new city and i want to decide which furniture i want and what i want for dinner and whether or not i want to stay out all night and i want to travel and meet new people and fall in love and go have my own adventures because i’m sick of this washed-up place filled with annoying people
اقِف امام المَساحه البيضاء الفارغه، انظُر لها بإمعان مُتسائله عن امكانِيه احتوائِها لِهذا القدْر الهائِل من الافكار المُتدافعه بِرأسى. اُحاول التحديد ان كان مدى عبثيّتها وفوضاها هو ما يمنعنى من احكام قبضتى عليها وصيغها فى كلمات وجمل ذات معنى، ام ان سكونها الشديد على الرغم من كثرتِها هو ما يُثير اعصابى ويدفعنى ببُطء للجنون. ككوْمه من الاوراق الجافه على جانِب الطريق فى الخريف، ساكِنه تماما ولكِنَك لا تملُك ألا تلحظها او تتجاهلها فكُلما مررتُ فوقها يرِن بأُذنَيك صَوت تكسُرها تحت وطأه الضغط. وليس اسوأ من ذلك إلا ان تأتىَ زوبعهٌ من الرياح فتطيح بها فى جميعِ الإتِّجاهات لتَدور حولَك فى دوائِر مُثيره للاعصابِ. رُبما ان استطعت التخلص منها ستفسِح مجالا بداخلى لبعض السكينه.
“She deserves better, you say. I say: You’re a goddamn coward. What she deserves is an actual person she can connect with. She deserves you, or me or the entire world; she deserves someone achingly real and honest. She deserves a human being equally raw to pursue her and love her and, perhaps, destroy her emotionally, but she deserves all that as well. She doesn’t deserve anyone’s sugary fairytale. She deserves to float freely, with you, or me, or the world, into the very depths of her own psychosynthesis. She deserves to explore the meaning of the word "intimacy", with someone beside her that will care regardless. She fucking deserves all of it. So, pluck up the courage and be with her or leave her in peace but don’t you dare "sell" her your own "inadequacy" as a lie so that, again, you manage to comfort your conscience and eventually come to feel that you love her exactly because you’re letting her go. Because, darling, that’s bullshit. That’s only you own little self-created lie laying behind a much bigger lie; it’s not even properly concealed within itself, you fucking idiot.”—All These Things You Wish You’d Say (via grillfriend)