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we're not kids anymore.

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@sheercoffee-blog
Good Vibes HERE
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 people’s 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 – 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 else’s 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)
One of my biggest regrets is not keeping a record of all the books I read when I was younger because I’ll never know the true number of books I’ve read and I’ll never remember the books that shaped my into the person I am today
Stay in one place your whole life. Always order vanilla even though the menu is four pages long. Become the type of person who sends back lattes. Save up your money for a plasma TV instead of a plane ticket. Talk a lot about things you know nothing about. Have an affair with someone you don’t even find attractive.
Refuse to forget your ex. Make it impossible for yourself to do anything without remembering that you used to do it with them. Hug your knees under the sheets and think about how safe you felt when they held you at night. Remind yourself daily of how empty you feel. Find new ways to make yourself sad.
Get drunk all the time. Consider no Saturday night, national holiday or extended happy hour complete without a vodka-induced breakdown. Graduate college but keep drinking like you’re still in it. Notice that cheap beer tastes watery and stale when you drink it alone but drink it anyway. Look at old Facebook photos wasted and wonder where everyone went.
Never drink. Never do anything that could potentially be “bad” for you. Treat your body like the temple it is and say no to carbs, yes to wheatgrass, go to bed at ten sharp and turn down cake on your birthday. Take fifteen different dietary supplements. Monitor carefully. Succumb to nothing. Miss out on everything.
Compare yourself constantly, to everyone. Allow the standards of image-obsessed, age-obsessed culture to make you feel decrepit at 25. Scroll through skinny girls on Tumblr feeling wistful and inadequate. Pull at the skin on your hipbones, stomach, and underarms in the mirror. Sigh a lot. Sigh all the time.
Don’t fall in love with anyone or anything. Put an impenetrable wall between yourself and other people. Add a fire-breathing dragon and eight yards of barbed wire. Be suspicious of everyone’s motives. Hold grudges long after you’ve forgotten what for.
Fall in love with everyone and everything. Run after the next best thing like it’s a bus you’re perpetually late for. Throw your heart into every other stranger’s hands and be genuinely surprised to be hurt. Refuse to learn. Refuse to ever learn.
at 19, i read a sentence that re-terraformed my head: the level of matter in the universe has been constant since the big bang. in all the aeons we have lost nothing, we have gained nothing - not a speck, not a grain, not a breath. the universe is simply a sealed, twisting kaleidoscope that has reordered itself a trillion trillion trillion times over. each baby, then, is a unique collision - a cocktail, a remix - of all that has come before: made from molecules of napoleon and stardust and comets and whale tooth; colloidal mercury and cleopatra’s breath: and with the same darkness that is between the stars between, and inside, our own atoms. when you know this, you suddenly see the crowded top deck of the bus, in the rain, as a miracle: this collection of people is by way of a starburst constellation. families are bright, irregular-shaped nebulae. finding a person you love is like galaxies colliding. we are all peculiar, unrepeatable, perambulating micro-universes - we have never been before and we will never be again. oh god, the sheer exuberant, unlikely fact of our existences. the honour of being alive. they will never be able to make you again. don’t you dare waste a second of it thinking something better will happen when it ends. don’t you dare.
caitlin moran (via ha-lay-na)
Two-Minute Personality Test By Jonathan Safran Foer
What’s the kindest thing you almost did? Is your fear of insomnia stronger than your fear of what awoke you? Are bonsai cruel? Do you love what you love, or just the feeling? Your earliest memories: do you look though your young eyes, or look at your young self? Which feels worse: to know that there are people who do more with less talent, or that there are people with more talent? Do you walk on moving walkways? Should it make any difference that you knew it was wrong as you were doing it? Would you trade actual intelligence for the perception of being smarter? Why does it bother you when someone at the next table is having a conversation on a cell phone? How many years of your life would you trade for the greatest month of your life? What would you tell your father, if it were possible? Which is changing faster, your body, or your mind? Is it cruel to tell an old person his prognosis? Are you in any way angry at your phone? When you pass a storefront, do you look at what’s inside, look at your reflection, or neither? Is there anything you would die for if no one could ever know you died for it? If you could be assured that money wouldn’t make you any small bit happier, would you still want more money? What has been irrevocably spoiled for you? If your deepest secret became public, would you be forgiven? Is your best friend your kindest friend? Is it any way cruel to give a dog a name? Is there anything you feel a need to confess? You know it’s a “murder of crows” and a “wake of buzzards” but it’s a what of ravens, again? What is it about death that you’re afraid of? How does it make you feel to know that it’s an “unkindness of ravens”?
It’s beautiful when you find someone that is in love with your mind. Someone that wants to undress your conscience and make love to your thoughts. Someone that wants to watch you slowly take down all the walls you’ve built up around your mind and let them inside.
"Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back. That’s part of what it means to be alive. But inside our heads - at least that’s where I imagine it - there’s a little room where we store those memories. A room like the stacks in this library. And to understand the workings of our own heart we have to keep on making new reference cards. We have to dust things off every once in awhile, let in fresh air, change the water in the flower vases. In other words, you’ll live forever in your own private library."
— Haruki Murakami (via realizes)
Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights
They Called Her “The World’s Ugliest Girl” & Her Response is Unbelievably Beautiful.