Theme by philalethe

Send me messages please I love you

Wednesday with 0 notes

"I put my heart and soul into my work, and I have lost my mind in the process." 
— Vincent van Gogh

What a great time to get sad right in the middle of exams. why am I sad I don’t understand I don’t know sad sad sad sad sad

Tuesday with 0 notes

If I’m going to be happy about one thing in life, it’s the fact that my hair is long enough to do the whole mermaid hair boob coverage thing

Tuesday with 0 notes

My mother told me “Be careful with that boy. He’s unpredictable. Don’t let your heart run away with him.” In other words, Don’t let anyone touch it. Set it up on a shelf where people must leap stories of buildings just to reach it. Protect it. Lock it up in a safe. Don’t love.

Essentially, I don’t think that is what we as humans are meant to be like. Maybe this context is not the best example, but ultimately, i think it conveys the right message. I think to love is to be vulnerable. To be raw. Sure, loving anything may result in the shattering of your heart. Wrapping your heart in little luxuries that don’t include emotional involvement and entanglements is synonymous to lying it down in a silk lockbox of your own selfishness and snapping it shut. Yes, it may be intact and in its perfect form, but it has forfeited the capability to love. Without the exposure of the brilliant, explosive, magnificent wonders that human vulnerability presents, it becomes unable to be saved. Loving others is vulnerability. You can’t chain yourself to fears of exposure or pain. In the end, your being as a whole will become unrecognizable. 

That is the human condition. We are prone to hurt. Pain is inevitable. Think of it like this, the human body may encounter a certain type of disease or virus that brings sorrow and devastation to the inner membranes and organs encased inside the skin. However, once the antibodies inside the blood are able to recognize this catalyst for destruction, they are furthermore able to fight back with resilience the next time it wanders around the atmosphere. Yes, we might experience pain and suffering; but ultimately, it gives room for growth. It catalyses a strength we never knew we had.

To love is to be vulnerable. Because vulnerability causes growth.

Tuesday with 1 note

This is my lily white wooden house
Built eighteen years ago in innocence.
painting daisies freely across the acres of green

This is my heavy padlocked door
Creaking slowly and lurking with rust in the joints
marking every stranger to enter through the threshold
among dust and creeping spiders.

These are my splintered coat hangers
dangling the the ghosts of naked bodies
from years past; their wailing now grows silent.

This is my stair case
projecting shards of wooden knives into the feet of dragging bodies.
carving tattoos of long journeys into the calloused skin.

These are my rusty bed springs
pointing their fingers at every tear, blood, and sweat stain
ever to wriggle its way off my throbbing back.
Designating the shadow of the delicate curves of my body
from nights when the sun never stole the morning from his neighbor.

These are my fading china dishes
fantasizing of an elegant evening to be let out to play
ignoring the reality of indisputable love affair with the kitchen tile.

This is the house you don’t see.
This is the interior creaking and bleeding.
These are the parts of me you don’t know.

Welcome home

Would You Like A Tour Of The House? - Elizabeth Hsieh

Monday with 2 notes
Carlsbad is one of my favorite places

If the sun had hands, he’d reach out
to touch the curve of the moon’s spine, tracing
his fingers along each crater as she lit up
for him like a paper lantern
in the sky. His flamed limbs enveloping
her, his Luna. The arch of her back
against the backdrop of night, her fullness
intoxicating. After all this time, still burning for her.



When the sun was given hands, he cursed them
as he watched the moon crumble
into ash in the blaze. His hands were Rome
and he couldn’t stop the collapse, the ruins of her
scattered across his cupped palms. He prayed
to Moirai for revival, but all three gods
were silent. Choking back flames of fury, he tossed
his beloved into the black expanse, each flake still lit
with a passion to rebel the stars
that continue to burn with foolish hope. Kayla Hollatz, If the sun had hands (via thetalltwig)

(via featherumbrellas)



Saturday with 379 notes