Winterblue
I'm taking a ride, off to one side. It's a personal thing..
That moment when you finish a book, look around, and realize that everyone is just carrying on with their lives as though you didn’t just experience emotional trauma at the hands of a paperback.
(via rainboots123)
Beautifulness... Thankyou Florence
And the heart is hard to translate it has a language of its own it talks in tongues and quiet sighs and prayers and proclamations in the grandest of great men in the smallest of gestures in short shallow gasps but with all my education I can't seem to command it and the words are all escaping coming back all damaged and I would put them back in poetry if I only knew how I can't seem to understand it I would give all this and heaven too I would give it all if only for a moment that I could just understand the meaning of the word you see cause I've been scrawling it forever but it never make sense to me at all And it talks to me, it tiptoes and it sings to me inside it cries out in the darkest night it breaks in the morning light but with all my education I can't seem to command it and the words are all escaping coming back all damaged and I would put them back in poetry if I only knew how I can't seem to understand it and I would give all this and heaven too I would give it all if only for a moment that I could just understand the meaning of the word you see cause I've been scrawling it forever but it never make sense to me at all poor language it doesn't deserve such treatment and all my stumbling phrases never amounted to anything worth this feeling oh this heaven, never could describe such a feeling as I knew it words were never so useful so I was screaming out a language that I never knew existed before...
She says she’s tired of life.
She must be tired of something..
It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain. I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it, or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithlessand therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see beauty even when it’s not pretty, every day, and if you can source your own life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes!”
It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments…
