29062014

Your lion's heart will protect you under stormy skies.

[letmeoffhere]

[highmami]

💗💗

[bostnmnr]

To my mother,

I wish I could heal you in all the places that you are hurt.

[kochaaanie]

Manchmal ist nicht die Frage , mit wem es dir gut geht , sondern ohne wen es dir besser geht

(via liebesflucht)

[theinturnetexplorer]

When you try to creepshot a celeb but accidentally leave the flash on

[wsabe-deactivated20150709]

You don’t have to accept things you are not okay with.

(via kaltehand)

[heartsnmagic]

[wnq-writers]

Let’s just say that if I were a princess; I’d slay the dragon myself.

Ceres  (via wnq-writers)

[tullipsink]

You have no right to tell me that I’m not trying hard enough. You don’t know what it’s like in my head every day, you don’t know the pain that I go through.

- A.M.// so don’t tell me I’m not trying please (via tullipsink)

[vethox]

Look at your wrist, see the blueish veins? The blood flowing through them contains hemoglobin, a protein that has four iron atoms incorporated into its structure. Iron is only naturally produced in one place, it can only be forged in the core of dying stars.

Every time you look at your veins, remember that you are built from, and kept alive by, pieces of stardust.

[joshpeck]

[kaputtesetwas]

Via kaputtesetwas

[wnq-writers]

We promise forever in a world where even life is temporary.

ohfeelingz (via meifuku)

[grace--upon--grace]

[whereisjackie]

“you support gay rights so you must be gay”

i support animal rights do i look like a fucking alpaca to you

[born--for--this]

[0kaey]

[sunshinegrower]

[writingsforwinter]

The Morning After I Killed Myself

The morning after I killed myself, I woke up.

I made myself breakfast in bed. I added salt and pepper to my eggs and used my toast for a cheese and bacon sandwich. I squeezed a grapefruit into a juice glass. I scraped the ashes from the frying pan and rinsed the butter off the counter. I washed the dishes and folded the towels.

The morning after I killed myself, I fell in love. Not with the boy down the street or the middle school principal. Not with the everyday jogger or the grocer who always left the avocados out of the bag. I fell in love with my mother and the way she sat on the floor of my room holding each rock from my collection in her palms until they grew dark with sweat. I fell in love with my father down at the river as he placed my note into a bottle and sent it into the current. With my brother who once believed in unicorns but who now sat in his desk at school trying desperately to believe I still existed.

The morning after I killed myself, I walked the dog. I watched the way her tail twitched when a bird flew by or how her pace quickened at the sight of a cat. I saw the empty space in her eyes when she reached a stick and turned around to greet me so we could play catch but saw nothing but sky in my place. I stood by as strangers stroked her muzzle and she wilted beneath their touch like she did once for mine.

The morning after I killed myself, I went back to the neighbors’ yard where I left my footprints in concrete as a two year old and examined how they were already fading. I picked a few daylilies and pulled a few weeds and watched the elderly woman through her window as she read the paper with the news of my death. I saw her husband spit tobacco into the kitchen sink and bring her her daily medication.

The morning after I killed myself, I watched the sun come up. Each orange tree opened like a hand and the kid down the street pointed out a single red cloud to his mother.

The morning after I killed myself, I went back to that body in the morgue and tried to talk some sense into her. I told her about the avocados and the stepping stones, the river and her parents. I told her about the sunsets and the dog and the beach.

The morning after I killed myself, I tried to unkill myself, but couldn’t finish what I started.