.Finding Myself. @andilaurenc - Tumblr Blog

english-idylls

From Little Women by Louisa May Alcott (1869).

old-hopes-and-boots

by ho1gersson

pleuvra-blog

Chapter 26.02 by Lisa Doe on Flickr.

tylerknott

Typewriter Series #2543 by Tyler Knott Gregson

Text for Tired Eyes:

You curl up if you need, fetal like and balled, wrap into a circle between my arms, I am here, steady and still, listen to the sound of my breathing. I am here, feel my fingertips on your chest.

Roll over, if you need, I’ll play with your hair until you remember what it is to sigh, until you find your breath again.

Stay, if you need, I’ve got time, I was built for holding you.

-Tyler Knott Gregson-

pigmenting

something i wish i had realized earlier: you can write poems on the same subject more than once. you can write, paint, draw the same thing over and over if you want to. you can spend your whole life making art about oranges. i think i always felt this pressure to get it right the first time like i couldn’t go back and use that inspiration again. but you can. you can go back and revisit it. you can pick up the conversation again and again if you have more to say.

onlinecounsellingcollege

“Don’t confuse poor decision-making with destiny. Own your mistakes. It’s OK; we all make them. Learn from them so they can empower you.”

— Steve Maraboli

oldfarmhousefallfeatures

“The cup of tea on arrival at a country house is a thing which, as a rule, I particularly enjoy. I like the crackling logs, the shaded lights, the scent of buttered toast, the general atmosphere of leisured coziness.”

— P.G. Wodehouse (via pagewoman)

witanddelight

The entrance of one’s home should be carefully thought out, as it presents the first hello and last goodbye to each visitor. 👋

windandpines-deactivated2020022

andilaurenc

I remember the walls falling, Like Rome’s gladiators, All the salty tears and grimy sweat, The abyss of fear and crimson stains, From hearts breaking open, Breathing, beating, outside their cages, I remember the washing of peace, That collide into our souls, As we lay naked, completely exposed.

A.C ~I Fall~

andilaurenc

Casualty

Her body was the paper, Her knife was the pen, His words were the strokes, That wrote the words in, She was sick of her body, And belittled by her mind, We pretend words cost nothing, Firing them like shots, Bullets carefully landing inside, Our weighted words can create death, And if we could see how much they cost, He’d see he lost a whole damn kingdom, To the words he casually shot.