tiny mountains

[emotional-algebra]

We don’t learn to love each other well in the easy moments. Anyone is good company at a cocktail party. But love is born when we misunderstand one another and make it right, when we cry in the kitchen, when we show up uninvited with magazines and granola bars, in an effort to say, I love you.

Shauna Niequist, Bread & Wine: A Love Letter to Life Around the Table, with Recipes  (via kvtes)

[observando]

Let our scars fall in love.

Galway Kinnell (via observando)

[nubbsgalore]

[conflictingheart]

"while sitting on brighton beach back in 2005 with my new girlfriend, verity, i thought the view of our feet pointing out to sea would make a nice photo. ever since then we’ve continued to document our travels in this way, resulting in a collection of over 100 photos. in 2011 the series took a new twist with the arrival of a third set of feet – our daughter matilda. you can already see her little feet getting bigger and bigger."  

text and photos by tom robinson, from 1. machu picchu, peru; 2. nahuel huapi national park, argentina; 3. switzerland 4. blue mountain, australia; 5.  bâlea lake, romania; 6. st. george’s hospital, london 7. cabo de são vicente, portugal. 8. stara fužina, slovenia; 9. london, england  …update: “i’m pleased to announce the arrival of baby beatrice.” 10. stari grad, croatia 

[paintyhands]

[observando]

But the beauty is in the walking — we are betrayed by destinations.

Gwyn Thomas (via observando)

[abcdefg2789-deactivated20201122]

When you love someone you tend to tell them so much about your past because you’re trying to catch up to the present moment. You’re trying to say, my past has been bloody. My past has been as painful and pounding as an ear ache, but I am still here. I survived it. You’re trying to say, here I am before you. I can be brutal. I can be as harsh and unforgiving as sun burn, but this is how I got to this moment. This is who I am. I am not always kind and lovely, I am so often fierce and cutting and unforgiving. I have made some mistakes I’m still trying to forgive myself for. Please accept it. Please try to love me for it. Here is the muscle and bone of me. It’s frightening. It’s a roller coaster. Here is the meat of me, after I’ve shed my skin, after I’ve left the cicada shell behind. It’s manic. It’s a monster, but it will try to love you well. It will try to leave fingerprints all over you.

jessica therese, “Try and Love me for it” (via skeletales)

[52hearts]

I often tell them that the size of their grief corresponds to the depth of their love.

~ Getting Grief Right (via NYTimes)

[uoa]

I have scars on my hands from touching certain people.

J. D. Salinger   (via worn-in-perfection)

[quotethat]

If flowers can teach themselves how to bloom after winter passes, so can you.

Noor Shirazie (via sorakeem)

[starredsoul]

In the beginning, we held the universe in our mouths and stardust dripped bloody from our lips. We were celestial and we were hungry and we were magic. In the beginning, we loved like monsters, splitting our bones wide open, setting our broken bodies on fire, licking poison from our wrists. We were hollow and we were titans and we were terrible. In the beginning, we reveled in our unholiness, in the freedom of our sins. We never asked for forgiveness and the world burned and burned and burned. We were wild and we were wide-eyed and we were forgotten. We will rebuild the kingdom out of teeth.

Emily Palermo, Genesis (via cactuslungs)

[yeshecholwa]

Be kinder to yourself. And then let your kindness flood the world.

~ Pema Chödron (via conflictingheart)

[madmermaiden]

This poem is me alone in the dark of my bedroom, whispering apologies to the air until my heartbeat slows. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I thought I was finally different. I thought I was finally stronger. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I think I’m really hurt this time.

clementine von radics (via glasshauses)

[clementinevonradics]

I buy all your favorite foods so I will be ready when you come home because once I did this and you said “This is how I know you love me.” I go on long walks alone and think about a poem my friend wrote that goes ”This is how you die by distance.” I hum the sound of the dial tone under my breath. I stare at my hands and wonder at their uses. I consider pawning my thighs. I consider auctioning off my hip bones. I put my breasts in a box on the top shelf of the closet. I do not need them now. I think of all the things I have to tell you when I will see you. Stories like:I just found out pumpkins are technically fruits andCary Grant’s first job was in a traveling circus andMost mammals are born able to walk and learn to run within minutes, so we are not crazy for moving so fast. This morning I wrote your name in the steam on my mirror, even though I knew it would fade within minutes In my best notebook I wrote “I miss you” ten thousand times. I wrote “I think I am missing one of my ribs” I wrote “I envy the way leaves know exactly when to fall from the branches and when to come back in the spring” I wrote “Everyone else isn’t you. It turns out that’s a huge problem for me.”

-Things I Do When I Cannot Hold You, Clementine von Radics (via clementinevonradics)

[occult101]

Pursue some path, however narrow and crooked, in which you can walk with love and reverence.

Henry David Thoreau (via awelltraveledwoman)

[observando]

Grief reunites you with what you’ve lost. It’s a merging; you go with the loved thing or person that’s going away. You follow it a far as you can go. But finally,the grief goes away and you phase back into the world. Without him. And you can accept that. What the hell choice is there? You cry, you continue to cry, because you don’t ever completely come back from where you went with him — a fragment broken off your pulsing, pumping heart is there still. A cut that never heals. And if, when it happens to you over and over again in life, too much of your heart does finally go away, then you can’t feel grief any more. And then you yourself are ready to die. You’ll walk up the inclined ladder and someone else will remain behind grieving for you.

Philip K. Dick (via observando)

[mingdliu-deactivated20210422]

Don’t break a writer’s heart and think ink won’t spill.

Ten Word Story #38 - M.D.L (via mingdliu)

[observando]

I cracked my teeth on your collar bones, and split my lips on your neck. I knew you were rough around the edges, but I had no idea you rebuilt yourself made of nothing but glass. Good god, I should have stopped while I was ahead, but sometimes you need a few scratches to remember you’re still alive.

Sydney Lynn, a few scratches never hurt anyone (via observando)