Above all else guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life.
Romans 4:23

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@emma--hope
Above all else guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life.
Romans 4:23
Reblog if you want a "why are you so..." in your ask.
She asked how could I love her. She insisted she had holes. She insisted she was broken. So I asked her if she thought the Moon was beautiful…and if so, then did she ignore it’s craters? did she ignore it’s scars? The faults in it had no effect, how could she not see I viewed her the same.
Twitter: @Adiosbabz
March book challenge - Day 23: New & old
My love.
(Fc da Fresno)
Paradise Found is a Library by cogdogblog on Flickr.
The Little Boy
Once a little boy went to school. He was quite a little boy And it was quite a big school. But when the little boy Found that he could go to his room By walking right in from the door outside He was happy; And the school did not seem Quite so big anymore. One morning When the little boy had been in school awhile, The teacher said: "Today we are going to make a picture." "Good!" thought the little boy. He liked to make all kinds; Lions and tigers, Chickens and cows, Trains and boats; And he took out his box of crayons And began to draw. But the teacher said, "Wait!" "It is not time to begin!" And she waited until everyone looked ready. "Now," said the teacher, "We are going to make flowers." "Good!" thought the little boy, He liked to make beautiful ones With his pink and orange and blue crayons. But the teacher said "Wait!" "And I will show you how." And it was red, with a green stem. "There," said the teacher, "Now you may begin." The little boy looked at his teacher's flower Then he looked at his own flower. He liked his flower better than the teacher's But he did not say this. He just turned his paper over, And made a flower like the teacher's. It was red, with a green stem. On another day When the little boy had opened The door from the outside all by himself, The teacher said: "Today we are going to make something with clay." "Good!" thought the little boy; He liked clay. He could make all kinds of things with clay: Snakes and snowmen, Elephants and mice, Cars and trucks And he began to pull and pinch His ball of clay. But the teacher said, "Wait!" "It is not time to begin!" And she waited until everyone looked ready. "Now," said the teacher, "We are going to make a dish." "Good!" thought the little boy, He liked to make dishes. And he began to make some That were all shapes and sizes. But the teacher said "Wait!" "And I will show you how." And she showed everyone how to make One deep dish. "There," said the teacher, "Now you may begin." The little boy looked at the teacher's dish; Then he looked at his own. He liked his better than the teacher's But he did not say this. He just rolled his clay into a big ball again And made a dish like the teacher's. It was a deep dish. And pretty soon The little boy learned to wait, And to watch And to make things just like the teacher. And pretty soon He didn't make things of his own anymore. Then it happened That the little boy and his family Moved to another house, In another city, And the little boy Had to go to another school. This school was even bigger Than the other one. And there was no door from the outside Into his room. He had to go up some big steps And walk down a long hall To get to his room. And the very first day He was there, The teacher said: "Today we are going to make a picture." "Good!" thought the little boy. And he waited for the teacher To tell what to do. But the teacher didn't say anything. She just walked around the room. When she came to the little boy She asked, "Don't you want to make a picture?" "Yes," said the lttle boy. "What are we going to make?" "I don't know until you make it," said the teacher. "How shall I make it?" asked the little boy. "Why, anyway you like," said the teacher. "And any color?" asked the little boy. "Any color," said the teacher. "If everyone made the same picture, And used the same colors, How would I know who made what, And which was which?" "I don't know," said the little boy. And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.
The Notebook was about a man who wrote 365 letters to the woman he loved. The Great Gatsby was about a man who built himself up in hopes of obtaining the woman he loved. Both were motivated by the love they had for one special woman; both were persistent. But only one succeeded. My story will be a mixture of both. Like Noah Calhoun, I might end up composing 365 pieces from the bottom of my heart. Like Jay Gatsby, I will build myself up by doing what I should have done back then. But I’m afraid that my story will end up to be more like Gatsby’s. No, I’m afraid that I am Gatsby, the female version. I will be the best ‘me’ that I can possibly be, but I will never get the one I love. This is the love story that I’ve been trying to avoid. This is the love story that I’ve been running away from. This is the love story that is happening.
Remy Raine (via remyraine)
The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick; who can understand it?
Jeremiah 17:9
Storm clouds weep angry against the windowpane These days it seems like it always rains…
I remember looking down at that stone And realizing you wouldn’t be coming home
You were gone, you weren’t coming back And I didn’t know how to deal with that
So I started believing in angels I started...
Once there was a baby girl,
born into a Christian world.
Her parents loved her
and took her to church,
all dressed up in Sunday skirts.
Behaving good,
the little girl always would.
She would run and have fun,
until Sunday lesson had begun.
Soon she was a youth,
the real world was now...
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