Love is a room.
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Laying in bed, in my sage green bedroom for one of the last times. The last few months have been trying, at best. Even this morning, I’m struggling to come out from under the covers, to face what lays before me today and next week and the rest of the year. I feel weary sometimes and I feel tired always. I am not good at change, at resilience, at moving past a season gracefully, at knowing better things lie ahead. But if the last few weeks have taught me anything, it is that I have been insanely lucky for far too long. Though my income is insufficient, it is steady. Though my family makes me crazy, they are healthy. Though I go weeks without seeing friends, they are here and I am loved. Though being in a relationship can be challenging, my partner makes it easy and I am lucky for his kindness. I get lost inside of my weariness too frequently than I care to admit, and often it is hard to breathe under the weight of such worry. I am thankful for the clarity of this morning, of knowing that the love that surrounds me will sustain me through each difficult season, and carry me into some place better.

Warsan Shire (via girlinwhitecotton)

I have my mother’s mouth and my father’s eyes; on my face they are
still together.
Date A Girl Who →


Date a girl who breathes. Date a girl who takes in oxygen the same way you take in bullshit tropes, in and out and constantly. Date a girl who will set you on fire because she is a dragon, a warrior, a brutal reminder that she’s not a girl who triumphs herself “not like other girls” because she…

This it the best thing ever in life of all time forever. 

George Carlin (via taoismchan)

(Source: poetic-injustices, via dirtyknife-deactivated20140702)

A person of good intelligence and sensitivity cannot exist in this society very long without having some anger about the inequality - and it’s not just a bleeding-heart, knee-jerk, liberal kind of a thing - it is just a normal human reaction to a nonsensical set of values where we have cinnamon flavored dental floss and there are people sleeping in the street.

Hunter S. Thompson (via likeafieldmouse)

Maybe it meant something. Maybe not, in the long run, but no explanation, no mix of words or music or memories can touch that sense of knowing that you were there and alive in that corner of time and the world. Whatever it meant.

“The Glass Essay” by Anne Carson (via paperscars)

(Source: seabois, via paperscars-deactivated20140315)

'You remember too much,'
my mother said to me recently.
‘Why hold on to all that?’
And I said,
‘Where can I put it down?’
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