Every Chorus of the Song @everychorusofthesong - Tumblr Blog

Run like a race for family When you hear like you're alone The rusted gears of morning To faceless busy phones We gladly run in circles But the shape we meant to make is gone Love is a tired symphony You hum when you're awake Love is a crying baby Mama warned you not to shake Love is the best sensation Hiding in the lion's mane So I'll clear the road, the gravel And the thornbush in your path That burns a scented oil That I'll drip into your bath The water's there to warm you And the earth is warmer When you laugh Love is a scene I render When you catch me wide awake Love's a dream you enter Though I shake and shake and shake you Love is the best endeavor Waiting in the lion's mane - Iron & Wine

beingblog

It’s always seemed to me that being in a relationship is, in large part, about bearing witness. You take a front-row seat to your partner’s daily trials and triumphs and they do the same for you. And then at the end of your life at least one person knows what you went through — how often you struggled, how hard you tried and how much goodness you created.

Ellen McCarthy, “What I Learned about Love During my Years of Reporting on Weddings.” (via beingblog)

beingblog

Today, if we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.

Mother Theresa (via beingblog)

Every part of you's a part of me.

brokenships

A glass horse 1982 - 1997 | Maribor, Slovenia “One day I was tidying up the bedroom. I opened the closet and found a small cash-box. I opened it. At the bottom of it I saw my wedding ring, and next to it a little glass horse. I took it in my hand. It was made in a workshop on the island of Murano, Venice. Old memories… If I remember correctly, my husband and I took a trip to Venice. It was a splendid day, the sun was shining. I was young, I was in love. I had wonderful dreams about our future. Venice is a city of people in love. We walked slowly along the streets, across the squares and stone bridges. The streets were full of people, full of tourists. Young people were walking hand in hand. Everyone seemed happy. We soon arrived at the Grand Canal, a long narrow street full of beautiful palaces. The facades were bathing in the sun. We stopped at the place called Café Gondoliere and went in. Inside there was a group of tourists, older men reading newspapers, and smartly-dressed women eating cakes. We sat down to enjoy the scene. After some time I went to the women’s washroom and when I came back, my husband was paying the bill. We made a quick decision. We went to visit the glass-works of Murano. I was admiring an artist who was making beautiful sculptures in glass. In front of us he was sculpting a beautiful horse. I said: Oh, I would be very happy if I had it. Then we returned to the city. It was a long walk back to our hotel.We didn’t talk a lot, but it was a peaceful time which both of us enjoyed. I was very happy. Just before we reached the hotel my husband kissed me on the cheek and gave me a small package. He said: Darling, I love you. I’ll never stop loving you. You are my life. I answered: Me too, dear. When we entered the room, I opened my gift and saw the little glass horse. 20 years later, I am divorced. His love disappeared like the wind. I put the glass horse into the box beside the wedding ring and shut it. I say to myself: Don’t cry! Tomorrow is a new day.”

I had no time to refuse a feeling.

beingblog

"Possibility is the secret heart of time. On its outer surface time is vulnerable to transience. In its deeper heart, time is transfiguration."

the late poet and philosopher John O’Donohue, in "The Inner Landscape of Beauty." (via beingblog)

newyorker

The killings in Paris were an appalling offense to human life and dignity. The enormity of these crimes will shock us all for a long time. But the suggestion that violence by self-proclaimed Jihadists is the only threat to liberty in Western societies ignores other, often more immediate and intimate, dangers.

Teju Cole on national mourning, freedom of speech, and the tragedies we overlook. (via newyorker)

beingblog

"We say that the hour of death cannot be forecast, but when we say this we imagine that hour as placed in an obscure and distant future. It never occurs to us that it has any connection with the day already begun or that death could arrive this same afternoon, this afternoon which is so certain and which has every hour filled in advance."

—Marcel Proust (via beingblog)

Hello lady

nprfreshair

Saying that I’m obsessed with race and racism in America is like saying that I’m obsessed with swimming while I’m drowning.

Hari Kondabolu

For Comic Hari Kondabolu, Explaining The Joke IS The Joke

(via nprfreshair)

"Meet Me In Montauk"

Leave just as you came (without a sound), Nothing to ruffle your ends. I've been wandering around, Making up movies in my head So we say don't let it go, let me try and pull out pride. I already forget how I used to feel about you Leave as fast you came, no invitation Nowhere to go from here. I've been wandering around, Wondering how I got so, got so, so fucking boring All the sudden, so fucking scared... I'm not scared. You'd mean so much more to me if I remembered.

#circa survive