by the streams. @lookingforamadea - Tumblr Blog

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how do we know when to stop? at what point do we realise and accept that we'll never catch a hold the things we think we are chasing, the things we think we want? perhaps it was never there for us to have and hold to begin with. we were enamoured by merely its shadow, a fragrance, a glimpse.

can't really explain why but my heart hurts so bad.

lagoonist

Sometimes it's the pain that makes me lean on my Beloved Sometimes in the suffering we meet But sometimes it's my brokenness that keeps me Kneeling at the foot of the cross

“I remember one morning getting up at dawn, there was such a sense of possibility. You know, that feeling? And I remember thinking to myself: So, this is the beginning of happiness. This is where it starts. And of course there will always be more. It never occurred to me it wasn't the beginning. It was happiness. It was the moment. Right then.”

hey

I saw you the other day. You were with her, and I was with him. We are both happy, and things are good. But I still think about you sometimes. I don't love you. I never did. But I owe you an apology for how I mishandled the situation before you left for New York.

During a time when I was making all the wrong choices, you were right there in front of me, waiting for me to love you back. You were the only good, right choice I could have made back then. But I was too stupid to see it.

And I let you leave without telling you.

You see, the naiveté of my youth led me to think that it was best if I said as little as possible. But I was wrong, and now I know it would have been better if I were honest instead.

I don’t know how much pain I’ve caused you, although I get an idea sometimes when I say your name in front of our mutual friends and they pause or go silent. But I know that I left you confused and waiting for a long time, and nobody deserves that. Definitely not you. So here’s the apology that I’ve owed you for the past 5 years:

I’m sorry. Sorry for letting you leave without being honest about the blurred lines of our friendship. Sorry for saying so little, when there was so much more you deserved to know. Sorry for not praying for you over the phone when you called to talk about your fears before leaving. Sorry for ignoring your Merry Christmas text.

Sorry I missed my chance to tell you this when you came back and we bumped into each other at the hospital. Sorry for turning you down when you asked if I was free for lunch. Sorry for pretending everything before New York never happened.

I wasn’t ready to see you again. I wasn’t ready to tell you how I’ve been or ask how you were. I was still broken from all the wrong choices I had made. And I feared that if I had let you in then, the shards from my brokenness would cut you. You don’t deserve that. Definitely not you.

You are a person who deserves every happiness in the world. You deserve for everyone around you to see how brilliant and kind you are. You deserve the deepest, fullest and truest love that anyone could ever give. And I hope she gives that to you. I think she does.

I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again. But I hope as I send this unsaid apology out into the void, that somehow, somewhere, you’ll hear it.

j'ai du vague à l'âme

birdasaurus

Victoria Zschommler

tylerknott

We’re a rooftop love, a view across the expanse, city lights on fire.

Daily Haiku on Love by Tyler Knott Gregson (via tylerknott)

Ele baby,

Do you have any idea what you have done to our family, little one? I don’t think we have ever been happier.

We gather around your cot and watch in silence as you fall asleep. We take turns each day to talk about how we miss you, how we long to hold you every waking second, how your smile is brighter than the midday sun.

You have made me an aunt. You made my little brother an uncle. My sister, a mother and wee, a father. You have turned my parents into grandparents. You have shaken up this family since the day you came into our lives and we haven’t been the same since.

We are so in love with you, baby. You have arrested our hearts.

You are growing up so fast, baby. My heart is torn in two. Half of my heart wishes you would grow up sooner so that I can tell you stories and teach you how to dance. But the other half wants every moment with you to stretch itself out for eternity so we will always be able to cradle you.

Putting you to sleep is exhausting. But aches in my arm have never felt so fulfilling. You are learning to put yourself to sleep, they say. You are learning to soothe yourself now, and the ache in my heart has never felt this bittersweet. One day falling asleep will be something you can do on your own. But for now I will hold you for as long as you want me to. I will always be here to hold you.

You are outgrowing your clothes too. You’ve already outgrown the first onesie I bought you. But that’s okay Ele. Yiyi shall buy you more clothes. I will always make sure that you are the handsomest, most stylish baby of your generation.

Today your mummy and daddy bought a new mattress for your cot. You’re outgrowing your sleeping pod, they say.

You’re growing up fast, baby. You’re growing up so fast. But you will never outgrow my heart.

I miss you so much baby 💞

samscertain

An excerpt from Blue Like Jazz

What great gravity is this that drew my soul towards yours? What great force, that though went falsely, went kicking, went disguising myself to earn your love, also disguised, to earn your keeping, your resting, your staying, your will fleshed into mine, rasped by a slowly revealed truth, the barter of my soul, the soul that I fear, the soul that I loathe, the soul that: if you will love, I will love. I will redeem you, if you will redeem me? Is this our purpose, you and I together to pacify each other, to lead each other toward the lie that we are good, that we are noble, that we are not redemption, save the one that you and I invented of our own clay? I am not scared of you my love, I am scared of me. I went looking, I wrote out a list, I drew an image, I bled a poem of you. You were pretty, and my friends believed I was worthy of you. You were cleaver, but I was smarter, perhaps the only one smarter, the only on able to lead you. You see, love, I did not love you, I loved me. And you were only a tool that I used to fix myself, to fool myself, to redeem myself. And though I have taught you to lay your lily hand in mine, I walk alone, for I cannot talk to you, lest you talk it back to me, lest I believe that I am not worthy, not deserving, not redeemed. I want desperately for you to be my friend. But you are not my friend; you have slid up warmly to the man I wanted to be, the man I pretend to be, and I was your Jesus and, you were mine. Should I show you who I am, we may crumble. I am not scared of you, my love, I am scared of me. I want to be known and loved anyway. Can you do this? I trust by your easy breathing that you are human like me, that you are fallen like me, that you are lonely, like me. My love, do I know you? What is this great gravity that pulls us so painfully toward each other? Why do we not connect? Will we be forever in fleshing this out? And how will we with words, narrow words, come to the knowing of each other? Is this God’s way of meriting grace, of teaching us of the labyrinth of His love for us, teaching us, in degrees, that which He is sacrificing to join ourselves to Him? Or better yet, has He formed our being fractional so we might conclude one great hope, plodding and sighing and breathing into one another in such a great push that we might break though into the known and being loved, only to cave into a greater perdition and fall down at His throne still begging for our acceptance? Begging for our completion? We were fools to believe that we would redeem each other. Were I some sleeping Adam, to wake and find you resting at my rib, to share these things that God has done, to walk you through the garden, to counsel your timid steps, your bewildered eye, your heart so slow to love, so careful to love, so sheepish that I stepped up my aim and become a man. Is this what God intended? That though He made you from my rib, it is you who is making me, humbling me, destroying me, and in so doing revealing Him. Will we be in ashes before we are one? What great gravity is this that drew my heart towards yours? What great force collapsed my orbit, my lonesome state? What is this that wants in me the want in you? Don’t we go at each other with yielded eyes, with cumbered hands, and feet, with clunky tongues? This deed is unattainable! We cannot know each other! I am quitting this thing, but not what you think. I am not going away. I will give you this, my love, and I will not bargain or barter any longer. I will love you, as sure as He has loved me. I will discover what I can discover and though you remain a mystery, save God’s own knowledge, what I disclose of you I will keep in the warmest chamber of my heart, the very chambers where God has stowed Himself in me. And I will do this to my death, and to the death it may bring me. I will love you like God, because of God, mighted by the power of God. I will stop expecting your love, demanding your love, trading for your love, gaming for your love. I will simply love. I am giving myself to you, and tomorrow I will do it again. I suppose the clock itself will wear thin its time before I am ended at this altar of dying and dying again. God risked Himself on me. I will risk myself on you. And together, we will learn to love, and perhaps then, and only then, understand this gravity that drew Him, unto us.

Donald Miller

云上太阳它总不改变

虽然小雨洒在你脸上