May Sarton, from Recovering: A Journal
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Peter Solarz

blake kathryn
trying on a metaphor
tumblr dot com
d e v o n

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
h
we're not kids anymore.

No title available
No title available
taylor price
almost home
will byers stan first human second

Origami Around
No title available

if i look back, i am lost
Sade Olutola
wallacepolsom

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Finland

seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia

seen from Hong Kong SAR China
seen from India
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Albania
seen from United States

seen from Türkiye
seen from Pakistan
seen from United States
@rowanimated
May Sarton, from Recovering: A Journal
You were everything I ever wanted only but one; to feel the same way again.
Every single thing I touch becomes sick with sadness..
But then life's too short don't you think? to waste another minute trying to prove yourself for people who don't deserve it.
By the end of the day you'll finally realize that your mind is your worst enemy.
It plays tricks on you and twists your manners in the most subtle way possible.
It's not about them anymore. it's about you.
You cannot even love yourself how do you expect them to do it for you?
I've been low, but dammit I bet it don't show
It was heaven a moment ago
I had it almost..
Repeat Until Death by Novo Amor
“The only constant in life is change”
-Heraclitus
After all, the ending of a story is just the beginning of another.
No one loses anyone, because no one owns anyone. That is the true experience of freedom: having the most important thing in the world without owning it.
Paulo Coelho, Eleven Minutes
“I am a collection of dismantled almosts.”
— Anne Sexton, “Anne Sexton: A Self-Portrait in Letters”
I feel, as always, the same closeness to you which your silence makes into a kind of speech of its own.
Anne Sexton, from ‘A Self-Portrait in Letters’ — Brother Dennis Farrell, 2nd August 1963
You could learn every single language there is to exist and still find none to describe your feelings
so you keep them in and let your eyes do the talk instead.
-Row-
'Cause sometimes we get too infatuated with the idea of being blind to the truth
Even the thought of forgetting you makes me remember you
-Row-
For I am starting my Sufjan Stevens summer at last, letting vida recede beneath my sorrowful puddle of solitude
I get caught in your eyes every time I intend to say goodbye
-Row-