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s-t-y-l-e-t-s

danielodowd-deactivated20170124

hitrecord

mistymountianss

All this time I thought Home was a lock I had the key for; made up of rooms I had my shit in. The place I go out of obligation, when I can’t hide anywhere else. But Home is not a building. Home is not cemented in the ground. Home does not have windows or a door. You can’t rent Home month to month. No, Home is a hundred miles away, and I’m afraid to travel. Home is the last night of the year, so cold I could barely move my hands- Home kept them warm. Home is sleeping together for the first time under white sheets in a hotel room. Home is walking through forests hand and hand. Home never lets me fall and home always leads the way. Home is frozen waterfalls and dried up riverbeds. Home is clouds of heavy breath between kisses in the cold. Home is the two minutes between the front door and the bedroom. Home is “I missed you” and “I’m so glad you’re here.” Home is unbuttoned shirts and lace. Home is skin against skin, tangled limbs, tangled hair. Home has callused hands and Home doesn’t eat meat. Home sings folk music and loves the color gold. Home runs. Home comes and Home goes. But Home is always where I can find it. Home always lets me in. Home lets me stay.

Home is where the heart is (via intoxicatingtouches)

davykesey

We grabbed the bags and went on a picnic.

baddiemode

mjandersen

I have been here, multiple times! By referring to the order as a “Little Rosa”, you don’t have to make as big a deal out of the fact that you’re seeking help.

And believe it or not, it gets better. Rosa’s also gives out sweatshirts to the homeless (or sells them to the general public) that has information on local soup kitchens and even computer training in the area, on an insert sewn inside the sweatshirt.

(Details)