Always Awake @kissesfromcali - Tumblr Blog

لن يفهموا ما يحدُث بداخلك؛ حتى وإن تحدثت مئات المرات. They’ll never understand what’s going on inside you; even if you talked hundred times.

That’s why God exists. (via bird–y)

scintillarious

this commercial changed me as a person

fatandfabulousmermaid

IM SCREAMING

lucidnee

this the commercial that made me not wanna be a hoe no mores

trufflebootybuttercream-deactiv

I’m no mo a ho

lilasscrybaby-deactivated201607

:’)

guncharge

i havent stop thinkin about this commercial since i reblog it man

goldnpoc

Awwwww

fenu-deactivated20241011

MI CORAZON

saranasser1412

kylizzle-me

My therapist: Look at nature. Look at flowers. We never walk into our garden and say "Oh wouldn't that flower be so much more pretty if it were taller? Or red instead of pink?" No, we don't. Because nature was created perfect just as it is. And so are we. We are part of nature, we are how we're meant to be, we are perfect just as we are.

fireable-deactivated20180203

the best days are the days when u feel really soft and full of love and u want to make sure everyone you care about feels that way too

liposucction-deactivated2017102

biancha-j

I would’ve left too lmao

wnq-writers

What if we were meant to be but one of us is afraid to be with the other person. Who are we going to end up with?

caffeinatedsushi (via wordsnquotes)

violentwavesofemotion-deactivat

Sometimes I think you don’t like me very much, she said. Like? he said. Is that all you want to be? Liked? Wouldn’t you rather be passionately and voraciously desired? Yes, she said, but not every night.

Margaret Atwood, from Bodily Harm (via mythofdevotion)

oliviacirce

After learning my flight was detained 4 hours, I heard the announcement: If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic, Please come to the gate immediately. Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there. An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress, Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly. Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she Did this. I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly. Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick, Sho bit se-wee? The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used— She stopped crying. She thought our flight had been canceled entirely. She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late, Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him. We called her son and I spoke with him in English. I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and Would ride next to her—Southwest. She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it. Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and Found out of course they had ten shared friends. Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours. She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering Questions. She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag— And was offering them to all the women at the gate. To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California, The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same Powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies. And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers— Non-alcoholic—and the two little girls for our flight, one African American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too. And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands— Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing, With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere. And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought, This is the world I want to live in. The shared world. Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped —has seemed apprehensive about any other person. They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too. This can still happen anywhere. Not everything is lost.

Naomi Shihab Nye (b. 1952), “Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal.” I think this poem may be making the rounds, this week, but that’s as it should be. (via oliviacirce)

ahead

From WeHeartIt

velcroheartstrings

“We said our final goodbyes and my heart broke in two. I would have waited for you for the rest of my life if all you needed was time but sadly, you showed me time and time again that I was always the one who cared more. You always fought me about that- claiming you care just as much but I think you forget actions speak louder than words and if you truly did care as much as me, we’d be together regardless of our circumstances. I’m sorry you couldn’t love me the way that I loved you because I would have given you the world.”

— Farewell, my dear. I will always wish you well.