Sometimes, It is enough To survive the day. Sometimes, It is good To be busy and alive. Sometimes, Life makes living Harder than sleeping. Sometimes, Survival alone Is not enough. Sometimes, There is ice cream To save the day. Sometimes.
will byers stan first human second

Discoholic šŖ©
dirt enthusiast
noise dept.
d e v o n
hello vonnie
RMH
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Aqua Utopiaļ½ęµ·ć®åŗć§čØę¶ćē“”ć
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One Nice Bug Per Day

Andulka
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if i look back, i am lost
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
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Kiana Khansmith
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@serenityroze
Sometimes, It is enough To survive the day. Sometimes, It is good To be busy and alive. Sometimes, Life makes living Harder than sleeping. Sometimes, Survival alone Is not enough. Sometimes, There is ice cream To save the day. Sometimes.
Linger On the threshhold. Door open-- Music calling. Ready or not, Life goes on. Turn the lights off Behind you And don't look back. The first step forward Is the hardest to take. The road ahead May be hard But at the end there is Peace.
World on fire, The sun dips lower. Memories fade And our scars shed with our skins Forgotten promises, Crossed bridges; Do you remember? I remember everything. The pages lost Long ago to time. But the sky burns In memory.
Stuffed acorn squash. I am proud.
And you might think there is something wrong with you, a piece of faulty wiring somewhere, shorting into madness from time to time, some crucial flaw in your design you can barely conceal in the company of better adjusted people, but deep inside you know that nothingās reallyĀ wrong with you, and somehow thatās even worse, isnāt it? Nothing to make you special, darker, more interesting. Youāre human, thatās all, and yes, youāre wonderful, but so is everybody else.
I need to get back to words before I lose myself to my job.
Where has July gone I didnāt have a say in the matters of what matters left me with swollen lips and an ache unmistakable August, be kind
August, be kind.
As July was not, I pray for a better month And matters that matter To be kinder than the precedent. July gave damage, August may heal.
On Autopilot (Half-Life)
Have I ever felt so alone as this? A world of ash surrounds me And all is shrouded in gray. Will the sun never again shine for me? Numb and staggering I go through my days in a haze. Fake smile, fake laugh, dull eyes Mask of red lips to hide the darkness. The world can't see inside me, Too long I've played this part. Is there anything left of me to be seen? This shallow world breathes in and out It chews and swallows It holds on tight. Half life, no life, Bloodless veins, and empty lungs. I am but a shell of me, Nothing left.
You have my permission not to love me; I am a cathedral of deadbolts and Iād rather burn myself down than change the locks.
Rachel McKibbens, āLetter From My Brain To My Heartā (via larmoyante)
I wait for winter The way you wait for summer. I long for freezing wind To steal my breath When I walk outisde. I have no love for the sun, Burning hot and bright. I do not wait for warmer months When the masses flock To sandy beaches. I thrive when the land is sleeping Under white blankets of snow. The quiet of winter sings to me Songs of peace and beauty A lullabye to fall asleep to.
This Game
Together we could change the world so young we yet innocently believed this game would be almost too easy later on to learn weād been deceived I wish it might have turned out better but our ending was written long ago dressing up playing grownup gamesĀ we didnāt even know we didnāt know Sometimes the memories still returnĀ then I smile wondering how you areĀ and ask myself how this game couldĀ have left such a painful lasting scarĀ
Me: I really need to do this thing today.
Me: Yeah okay sure but hold on, hear me out, okay... but what if, okay, what if we do it TOMORROW instead?
Me: Oooh yes.
You are a cup exactly the size of my hands, as full as my thirst.
Annelyse Gelman, Hypothetical No. 2 (via chrstn)
I might be a little drunk.
I would love to be a little lotĀ drunk.
I am drunk.
Hitchhiker's Guide
When they tell you you are made of stars, do not let them forget what stars are made of. Stars are not glitter, not stickers on the ceiling, not there for decoration. Stars are chunks of collapsing galaxy. They are hundred-thousand mile wide nuclear furnaces that consume their surroundings into death. They are not friendly; they do not exist to write poems about. Stars are not made of metaphors. You are not made of other peopleās words. When they tell you you are made of stars. look them in the eye and remind them that so are they, and so is the earth, and so is the gum on the bottom of your shoes, and so is the fist you will hit them with the next time they try to placate you with their condescending bullshit ā When they tell you you are different from other girls, ask them why you should want to be. Do not let them call you dream girl. Do not let them trap you up on a pedestal, surrounded by books that cannot hurt them. Read things that can hurt them. Your mind is a forest richer than folklore; do not let your curiosity be reduced to an accessory. Your intelligence is not a fashion statement. Your existence is not a novelty. You are not a metaphor for someone elseās problems. When they tell you you are made of stars, tell them you have always known this. Tell them you have fire in your bone marrow, that you are burning with the deaths of the entire universe before you. When they tell you you are made of stars, tell them you know. Tell them they should keep their distance.
When They Tell You You Are Made of Stars - Melissa Victoria (via a-case-for-wonder)
This is fucking brilliant.
lunaroze:
I need the moonlight and cold, Wrap me in snow, and let the wind take me.
I want a long weekend with cold winds and open windows and rain clouds in the sky. Crisp scents in my room with candles lit.
Give me sweaters and coffee By a crackling fire A good book and a glass of red wine. Stories of fantasy and long nights.
Howl of the wolf and the full moon light I taste the magick in the treetops And feel something stir beneath my toes.
Mother Earth comes alive beneath me, I sigh, breathe in, Iām home.
She holds me to her breast, saying, "My child, it will be alright." And I cry.
I let it go, give it back to the Earth, And feel at peace.
A collaboration by lunaroze and serenityroze.