@crymecolor - Tumblr Blog

“I’m 24 years old and play this game with myself: buy myself something delicious for the weekend, blueberry muffins or flaky croissants, and forget it by Friday. Saturday morning comes and I am lucky to know me. I wasn’t born knowing how to love me, but I’m learning now; catching up for lost time between us. I keep the windows open. I play oldies throughout every corner of my apartment. I tell the dog how good it feels, at least for today, at least for right now, to be alive.”

— Schuyler Peck, Can’t Get Enough Of My Love

metamorphesque

"Don’t court Loneliness", Tathev Simonyan

perfectfeelings

“People have a hard time letting go of their suffering. Out of a fear of the unknown, they prefer suffering that is familiar.”

— Thích Nhất Hạnh

thoughtkick

“We know you’re tired, tired and scared. Happens to everyone, okay? Just don’t let your feet stop.”

— Haruki Murakami

weltenwellen

Natalie Díaz, from "American Arithmetic", Postcolonial Love Poem

umabokil

My heart has sewn itself shut: entries, exits, windows and everything. Sunshine trespasses through dried-up holes. An abandoned warehouse. Only echoes of voices that once took up more place than I should have allowed stick to the corners like stubborn cobwebs. My heart keeps me out, too (especially me, I can’t help hut feel). I’ve tried to be a visitor for years, and sometimes, it’s more patient with me—otherwise I’m just a mute spectator hearing storms whirl on the other side of the doors. I’ve tried to write poems for it, console it with lullabies, but it’s maturing the wrong way, slowly slipping away from me. And I fear that one fine day, my empty heart will leave an equally empty heart-shaped hole in my chest in its departure; or death.