much love
Emma. Taurus. Aspiring Gilmore Girl.
Look, you who never
asked for this: it’s the bearing
that hurts. Not the losing. It’s the carrying
on.— Devin Kelly, from “My Mother, the Day She Knows the Ones Who Died in the Shooting,” published in Foundry
(Source: foundryjournal.com, via 7-weeks)
“It is enough for me to be sure that you and I exist at this moment.”— Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude
(via 7-weeks)
(Source: weheartit.com, via perrfectly)
(Source: violentwavesofemotion, via theorydictatespractice)
I love the kind of tired that comes from a lot of fresh air and a little too much sun
(via thatswhenyouloseyourself)
(Source: shatteredribs, via winegogh)
“There is so much I need to tell you—but I only earned one life.”— Ocean Vuong, from Untitled (Blue, Green, And Brown): Oil On Canvas: Mark Rothko: 1952 in “Night Sky With Exit Wounds”
(via adrasteiax)
And how am I here? With my life intact?
I’m painful to the touch only when I don’t light
a candle and praise oblivion, give myself over
to nothingness—and is it every day
or was it long ago,
that I’d slid shut my teenage self’s veranda doors
and stepped
onto the world’s fancy balconies
and was prepared to do something drastic
like live and live and live.— Bianca Stone, from “Ones Who Got Away with It,” The Möbius Strip Club of Grief
(Source: lifeinpoetry)
