Life as We Know It

The best kind of rain, of course, is a cozy rain. This is the kind the anonymous medieval poet makes me remember, the rain that falls on a day when you’d just as soon stay in bed a little longer, write letters or read a good book by the fire, take early tea with hot scones and jam and look out the streaked window with complacency.

“

—	Susan Allen Toth (via slekes)

Lilys of the Field: Tuesday Night »

lilysofthefield:

It felt like hours,
it felt like I was waiting
for hours.

I could taste the salty
tears that snuck down my cheeks.

I was so angry.

You never showed
for our tuesday night
date. It was suppose
to be a our second.

I drank 5 cups of coffee
and finished my cigarette pack
and the cheap dime store…

slekes:

Ballet dancer in city SEE FULL SET PLEASE ;) (by Stolov)

Woulda coulda shoulda

Deciding whether or not to trust a person is like deciding whether or not to climb a tree because you might get a wonderful view from the highest branch or you might simply get covered in sap and for this reason many people choose to spend their time alone and indoors where it is harder to get a splinter.

“

—	Lemony Snicket (via slekes)

Before you speak, ask yourself: Is it kind, is it necessary, is it true, does it improve upon the silence?

“

—	Shirdi Sai Baba (via thecapitalg)

natural beauty

torment my mind

torment my heart

torment my soul

torment my day

torment my night

torment all but my will

my will pushes me onward

my will continues my existence

when my body breaks

when my heart stops beating

my will keeps me going

right where i wanted to be

death cannot take me

life cannot stop me

my will is everything

immeasurable

all that I am

all that I have

but cannot hold

I will it.

it is so.

or I am not.

and that’s

unacceptable.

Whatever the season

warm, cold

bitter or sweet smells linger in the air

fall is smoky

spring is sweet

but summer smells of decay

and winter of bitter pain

just as the crispy frostbite was creeping into my chest

growing for years from general clumsy neglect

then there was my salvation, my one, my only,

my head was unusually warm and blood rushed to my senses

heated lovely blushing cheeks

hands toasty from the touch

finally a breast warmed to a shiver

heart thaws

fortnights, months, years of beautiful anger

exquisite joy

tears that could be healing rain

all the best, all the worst was still the best

seasons seasons seasons seasons

summer. stop.

betrayal in an elevator

lies.

piled on deception. my savior is my tormentor and it

shatters. shatters. shatters. shatters.

my heart my innocently lost heart.

Now there are licentious pieces for

the dorm-cest douche on the ground floor

the trust fund baby

the funny guy

the cruel self absorbed

the rapist

the korean refugee

the frat boy

the needy

the uncaring

the scared

the awkward

the artist

the dumped

How do you hold a heart together

in your own chest

in your own warmth

When you have already given its meager pathetic pieces to

everyone else?

beautiful succinct thought that goes out with the perfect bang

There are all kinds of love in this world but never the same love twice.

“

—	F. Scott Fitzgerald (via mulderandskully)

#IN LOVE

dvskitten:

“Write to be understood, speak to be heard, read to grow.”

~ Lawrence Clarke Powell

All teenagers knew this was true. The process of growing up was nothing more than figuring out what doors hadn’t yet been slammed in your face. For years, parents tell you that you can be anything, have anything, do anything. That was why she’d been so eager to grow up-until she got to adolescence and hit a big fat wall of reality. As it turned out, she couldn’t have anything she wanted. You didn’t get to be pretty or smart or popular just because you wanted it. You didn’t control your own destiny, you were too busy trying to fit in.

“

—	Jodi Picoult (via slekes)

I really do think that art can save you in some sense. It’s the last meaning, unless you’re religious—and I’m not religious. It’s the only secular vehicle for transcendence we have. It’s an immediate self-validating experience. It lifts you beyond your mortal clay.

“

—	Sam Savage, Poets & Writers Sept/Oct 2011 (via lesmotsjustes)