J.D. @jilllisa - Tumblr Blog

Smoke and Annie were and look the same age. I know you lot aren't USED to seeing dark skinned Black women as love interests (especially plus sized ones) on screen but seriously, get a fucking grip. There was NOTHING to suggest she was any grown man's mama or sister. That is called bias.

izzy444angel

this is me all day

foreverbaby25

metamorphesque

acknowledgments, danez smith

thehiddenhill

44gemz

greysfog

Books that I plan on buying when I head back to Barnes & Noble. Just making into a post so I can remember. Check them out also.

greysfog

Reblogging this for future reference.

daveybaby

I do the same thing!

jehovahhthickness

All of this

jilllisa

“I love you most when you’re leaving. When you’re gone You’re God. When you’re gone Ghost stories make me cry They all sound like fairytales.”

— Excerpt from “You leave me, I love you” by Kelly m (via broken–poetry)

thelovejournals

“When love isn’t in our lives, it’s on the way; that is the nature of the universe. If you know a guest is coming at five o’clock, do you spend the day messing up the house? Of course not. You prepare. And that is what you should do for love.”

— Marianne Williamson

wordsnquotes

““I am not the first person you loved. You are not the first person I looked at with a mouthful of forevers. We have both known loss like the sharp edges of a knife. We have both lived with lips more scar tissue than skin. Our love came unannounced in the middle of the night. Our love came when we’d given up on asking love to come. I think that has to be part of its miracle. This is how we heal. I will kiss you like forgiveness. You will hold me like I’m hope. Our arms will bandage and we will press promises between us like flowers in a book. I will write sonnets to the salt of sweat on your skin. I will write novels to the scar of your nose. I will write a dictionary of all the words I have used trying to describe the way it feels to have finally, finally found you. And I will not be afraid of your scars. I know sometimes it’s still hard to let me see you in all your cracked perfection, but please know: whether it’s the days you burn more brilliant than the sun or the nights you collapse into my lap your body broken into a thousand questions, you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I will love you when you are a still day. I will love you when you are a hurricane.” — Clementine von Radics”

—

meanwhilepoetry

“If you leave her, make sure she’s not the love of your life. Otherwise you will meet her one day, on an autumn street, yellow leaves blowing about her, her arms full of her child and a happy marriage. And she will as you expectantly, her eyes gleaming, hoping you found happiness too, “What did you trade me for?” And you will not be able to answer. Because all you traded true love in for is empty hands and a half full life.”

— Nikita Gill

soracities

““FRANZ KAFKA IS DEAD He died in a tree from which he wouldn’t come down. “Come down!” they cried to him. “Come down! Come down!” Silence filled the night, and the night filled the silence, while they waited for Kafka to speak. “I can’t,” he finally said, with a note of wistfulness. “Why?” they cried. Stars spilled across the black sky. “Because then you’ll stop asking for me.””

— Nicole Krauss, The History of Love

soracities

“She’s kept her love for him as alive as the summer they first met. In order to do this, she’s turned life away. Sometimes she subsists for days on water and air. Being the only known complex life-form to do this, she should have a species named after her. Once Uncle Julian told me how the sculptor and painter Alberto Giacometti said that sometimes just to paint a head you have to give up the whole figure. To paint a leaf, you have to sacrifice the whole landscape. It might seem like you’re limiting yourself at first, but after a while you realize that having a quarter-of-an-inch of something you have a better chance of holding on to a certain feeling of the universe than if you pretended to be doing the whole sky. My mother did not choose a leaf or a head. She chose my father, and to hold on to a certain feeling, she sacrificed the world.”

— Nicole Krauss, The History of Love