knock knock

Ksenia Mostly tired, all the time

[nothingtochance]

Laia Gutiérrez  / Images of Iceland

[assshhhllleyyy-deactivated20160]

By 30, you should have: •One old boyfriend you can imagine going back to and one who reminds you of how far you’ve come. •A decent piece of furniture not previously owned by anyone else in your family. •Something perfect to wear if the employer or man of your dreams wants to see you in an hour. •A purse, a suitcase and an umbrella you’re not ashamed to be seen carrying. •A youth you’re content to move beyond. •A past juicy enough that you’re looking forward to retelling it in your old age. •The realization that you are actually going to have an old age—and some money set aside to help fund it. •An e-mail address, a voice mailbox and a bank account—all of which nobody has access to but you. •A résumé that is not even the slightest bit padded. •One friend who always makes you laugh and one who lets you cry. •A set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill and a black lace bra. •Something ridiculously expensive that you bought for yourself, just because you deserve it. •The belief that you deserve it. •A skin-care regimen, an exercise routine and a plan for dealing with those few other facets of life that don’t get better after 30. •A solid start on a satisfying career, a satisfying relationship and all those other facets of life that do get better. By 30, you should know: •How to fall in love without losing yourself. •How you feel about having kids. •How to quit a job, break up with a man and confront a friend without ruining the friendship. •When to try harder and when to walk away. •How to kiss in a way that communicates perfectly what you would and wouldn’t like to happen next. •The names of: the secretary of state, your great-grandmother and the best tailor in town. •How to live alone, even if you don’t like to. •How to take control of your own birthday. •That you can’t change the length of your calves, the width of your hips or the nature of your parents. •That your childhood may not have been perfect, but it’s over. •What you would and wouldn’t do for money or love. •That nobody gets away with smoking, drinking, doing drugs or not flossing for very long. •Who you can trust, who you can’t and why you shouldn’t take it personally. •Not to apologize for something that isn’t your fault. Why they say life begins at 30.

Maya Angelou

[1995june]

there’s something enchanting about this beach that I cannot bring myself to stay away

[theorydictatespractice-deactiva]

what i’ve learned is that if you’re gonna engage in a romantic relationship during your young adult years, it damn well better be with someone who makes your insides explode with nothing but positive emotion. someone who takes the time to be kind, patient and understanding, more often than not, and who is as warm with their words as they are with their touch. life is too short to be focused on people who do not have your growth and best interest in mind. the right person will love you in a way that makes you feel completely free and accepted within your own skin. they won’t attempt to hinder your development out of fear or insecurity that your new experiences might lead you into the arms of someone else. good lovers will desire to see your personal success just as much as you do, and they will support and respect your decisions. stay away from people who make you feel guilty about desiring the best for yourself. they don’t love you for you, they love you for what you can provide for them. and that is not love.

[guavasite]

this goes for friends as well

[marctanphoto]

[biryannie-deactivated20160401]

i want inner peace and lots of mangoes

[theartidote]

“Addiction is tricky. For example: a man who quit smoking for 11 years spent 15 seconds in an elevator with a man smoking a cigarette. He gave in.

What I’m trying to say is I think I love you again.” —Unknown ‪

sculpture by David Altmejd

[2wentysixletters]

and even when i’m not writing about you i’m writing to you like a beggar on his knees like icarus towards the sun pleading: love me love me love me.

A.Y. // RUIN ME THE BEST YOU CAN  (via featherumbrellas)

[mesogeios]

The unique thing about writers is that they write. Therefore they are pickier about words, at least on paper. But everyone “writes” in a way; that is, each person has a “story”—a personal narrative—which is constantly being replayed, revised, taken apart, and put together again. The significant points in this narrative change as a person ages—what may have been tragedy at twenty is seen as comedy or nostalgia at forty. All children “write.” (And paint, and sing.) I suppose the real question is why so many people give it up.

Margaret Atwood, excerpt from The Art of Fiction No. 121, The Paris Review (via weirdfishes)

[pleoros]

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

It is like an illness: the desire to see someone, the strong, deep yearning. No, I have not explained it. I was working today, writing. My head was busy: my mind was filled with the work. Yet all the while I was conscious of a physical pain–a gnawing–as if a piece of me had been cut off. And the mind could do nothing about it. It was physical: it was in the veins, in the blood, in the skin. That is why human relationships are dangerous–because the mind has no power over them.

Anaïs Nin, from a diary entry featured in Linotte: The Early Diary Of   Anaïs Nin (1914-1920)

[narcissiste]

Hair accessories by Lelet NY

[lifeinpoetry]

You haven’t kissed anyone for a while now. To you, everything tastes like blood.

Warsan Shire, from “Souvenir,” Our Men Do Not Belong to Us (via mythaelogy)

[thusreluctant]

Jealousy II by Edvard Munch 

[wordsthat-speak]

The female doesn’t want a rich man or a handsome man or even a poet, she wants a man who understands her eyes if she gets sad, and points to his chest and say : “Here is your home country.

Nizar Qabbani

[revesrealisables]

Pierre Auguste Renoir, Conversation in a rose garden (1876) // Laurits Tuxen, Rhododendron in Tuxen’s garden (1917)

[natalieweepoetry]

It always ends the same way, with you pinned under someone’s body like a butterfly crushed by a wheel. How you chose your name knowing there was no writing your own ending.

NATALIE WEE, EXCERPT OF “EPISODIC”, PUBLISHED IN APT MAGAZINE (via wondersmithinc)