Wednesday, July 23, 2014
You must learn to let go. Release the stress. You were never in control anyway. Steve Maraboli, Life, the Truth, and Being Free (via thatkindofwoman)

(Source: observando)

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh … And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new.

e.e. cummings (via observando)
How beautiful to find a heart that loves you, without asking you for anything, but to be okay. Gibran Khalil Gibran  (via seulray)

(Source: nizariat)

eluciidate:

this is how I would doctor

(Source: sandandglass)

(Source: bdgfthings)

She scares the hell out of me and calms my soul at the same time. Maybe that’s what love is—a total contradiction that somehow balances out. Tammara Webber, Where You Are (via quotethat)

lipsitck:

when i was little i never thought that eyebrows would ever be this important to me

tattoo: loved and to be loved

(Source: yoonti)

What happens when someone texts you as you’re trying to grip your GoPole with your toes 😟💥📷〰👣 HAHAHA ugh

Tuesday, July 22, 2014
There is a kind of crying I hope you have not experienced, and it is not just crying about something terrible that has happened, but a crying for all of the terrible things that have happened, not just to you but to everyone you know and to everyone you don’t know and even the people you don’t want to know, a crying that cannot be diluted by a brave deed or a kind word, but only by someone holding you as your shoulders shake and your tears run down your face. Lemony Snicket, The End (via seabois)
Come lay with me. I wanna talk about nothing with someone that means something. (via trillvcvm)
It’s fascinating how certain places or objects can never again just be a place or an object. How we have the ability to irreversibly lace ideas with memories, with feeling. A time, a place, a number, a smell, a sight, a song, a voice, a texture. A permanent, custom imprint that the universe leaves on us. 
Calvin Klein cologne, veiling the musk of cigarettes: My dad’s awkward but well-meaning annual embrace
Rays of the sun caressing my back: lazy San Diego summers that benchmark the better part of my youth
The 605 Freeway: high school days
The 5 Freeway: college years
The salty dampness of every pillowcase I’ve ever owned: lonely nights, broken hearts, the unending whirlwind of “could’ve been”s
Scribbles in the margins of books: his beautiful mind
Gentle strums of the C chord: his beautiful fingers
Paris, France: the last few times I had him to myself
Cinnamon frosting: my best friend’s comfort
Sweat and alcohol soaked oxygen clawing its way down my throat: being who I think I should be, not who I am
How I Met Your Mother: How We Fell In Love
Sam Smith’s Voice: How We Fell Out
It seems that as time goes on, things that are just, plainly, things, diminish, and we are increasingly blessed with or haunted by traces of our past.
Maybe this is why I want to run away. Maybe this is why I want to start fresh, why “renewal” has been the theme I gravitate toward as of late, why being in a place where everything is familiar seems to suffocate me. Everything means something. 
But deep down I know that leaving wouldn’t change anything. Because I’m trying to get away from you.
And,
My shaky hands: You.
My toothless smile: You.
My aching shoulders: You
My trembling voice: You.
The air in my lungs, the blood in my veins, the ghostsly fingerprints on every square milimeter of my skin..: You.
I’m reminded of you constantly, continually, not because of my surroundings. But because you are in me.
So how do I get away from myself?

It’s fascinating how certain places or objects can never again just be a place or an object. How we have the ability to irreversibly lace ideas with memories, with feeling. A time, a place, a number, a smell, a sight, a song, a voice, a texture. A permanent, custom imprint that the universe leaves on us.

Calvin Klein cologne, veiling the musk of cigarettes: My dad’s awkward but well-meaning annual embrace

Rays of the sun caressing my back: lazy San Diego summers that benchmark the better part of my youth

The 605 Freeway: high school days

The 5 Freeway: college years

The salty dampness of every pillowcase I’ve ever owned: lonely nights, broken hearts, the unending whirlwind of “could’ve been”s

Scribbles in the margins of books: his beautiful mind

Gentle strums of the C chord: his beautiful fingers

Paris, France: the last few times I had him to myself

Cinnamon frosting: my best friend’s comfort

Sweat and alcohol soaked oxygen clawing its way down my throat: being who I think I should be, not who I am

How I Met Your Mother: How We Fell In Love

Sam Smith’s Voice: How We Fell Out

It seems that as time goes on, things that are just, plainly, things, diminish, and we are increasingly blessed with or haunted by traces of our past.

Maybe this is why I want to run away. Maybe this is why I want to start fresh, why “renewal” has been the theme I gravitate toward as of late, why being in a place where everything is familiar seems to suffocate me. Everything means something.

But deep down I know that leaving wouldn’t change anything. Because I’m trying to get away from you.

And,

My shaky hands: You.

My toothless smile: You.

My aching shoulders: You

My trembling voice: You.

The air in my lungs, the blood in my veins, the ghostsly fingerprints on every square milimeter of my skin..: You.

I’m reminded of you constantly, continually, not because of my surroundings. But because you are in me.

So how do I get away from myself?