الجمال في انهيار‎

Katie Elizabeth. lover of life. Tiny snowboarder and adventurer who can't sit still or stay in one place for too long.

[shesinthemountains]

9 years feels like a lifetime ago and almost present, at the same time.

Almost 9 years ago (hours from now) he got off a plane in Boston and to my surprise, came to kiss me goodnight in the middle of the night in a hotel lobby for reasons I’ll never truly understand… other than it feeling like living in a poem or a best selling romance novel.

Almost 9 years ago, I went to sleep, knowing I would have to wake up before the sun rose and hurry off to the hospital next door to prep for a brain surgery I was truly ready for.

9 years ago, I remember feeling brave and ready to tackle the unimaginable and unknown with not knowing if I would wake up in the end, yet knowing no matter what- that I would come out on the other side as I inherently knew I would. I just had to. I put my entire heart and soul in prep work that I figured out on my own- prep work that no Doctor or research could give…other than knowing what was best for my self.

9 years ago, my heart, mind, soul, body, brain… all felt in balance and ready to conquer anything.

9 years ago, I did just that.

9 years ago… and slightly, adding time and perhaps, an entire 24 hour cycle, I eventually woke up from my medically induced coma I was put in post brain surgery to remove a tumor in the dead center of my brain, so my body could rest and do nothing else after the surgical trauma was completed.

I was there. I am here, now, 9 years later awake and alive more than I could have ever hoped for.

That poem/romance novel I thought would go down in best sellers came to and end without my choice, but boy… did it give ammo for writing and the realization of the beauty and power love can have over someone and in due time, even brain surgery. I came to know that truly, I was the princess that saved myself and that it’s what matters in the end and always has been. I learned that no Disney movie, romance novel or poem could top my own reality of saving. I am strong,resilient, grateful, and so very proud of that.

9 years today, I am here, with grace, typing up this novel of thoughts and appreciating the world and all the many years I am hopeful to have on this earth.

[macrolit]

“I cannot remember a time when I was not in love with them–with the books themselves, cover and binding and the paper they were printed on, with their smell and their weight and with their possession in my arms, captured and carried off to myself.”

— Eudora Welty (b. 13 April 1909)

[petaltexturedskies]

The feeling of Sunday is the same everywhere, heavy, melancholy, standing still. Like when they say, as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world as end.

Jean Rhys, Voyage in the Dark

[tkkatherineblog]

[materterrae]

[forest-woman]

Beautiful vintage book spines

[bibliophile-at-heart]

What an adorable book mobile! 🤓📚

[lunamonchtuna]

— Rainer Maria Rilke, from Letters To A Young Poet (via lunamonchtuna)

[meanwhilepoetry]

Every woman I have ever loved is still working out how to love herself. Has a closetful of ghosts and has been to a hundred funerals of the women she used to be. Wonders what wounds her mother carries that she will never know about. Hopes that the weight of the world doesn't eventually crush her, that she is strong enough to handle it all. Wishes a day will come when she can put it all down, give her aching shoulders a rest. Wants someone to truly see her and not make a feast of her kindness and dreams. Is forever hiding a secret hunger for what calls to her in the dark. Holds a universe inside her, but has been told to make herself smaller despite the paradox. Praise be that universes are not in the business of listening to anyone but themselves. Every woman I have loved has thought about it. The art of disappearing. To be here one day, and the next, like smoke, simply gone.

- Nikita Gill, Every Woman I Have Ever Loved

[memoryslandscape-deactivated202]

“It’s in your dreams and experiences, all those hopes rolled up into one. It’s the feeling of a line in a song or a book that speaks to you, swallows you. It’s that beaming light behind the door that inspires you and opens things to secret worlds. It’s a tear, that boom-boom-boom of the racing heart, the bruises, scars, or the clinching of a fist, that sigh, those sweats in the middle in the night that remind you’re alive, thriving, and still breathing. It’s everything you are and everything you shall be. It’s you and everything you carry.”

— Angela Carlton, “The Light You Carry,” A Jigsaw Life (Austin Macauley, 2022)

[systlin]

“A daffodil bulb will divide and redivide endlessly. That’s why, like the peony, it is one of the few flowers you can find around abandoned farmhouses, still blooming and increasing in numbers fifty years after the farmer and his wife have moved to heaven, or the other place, Boca Raton. If you dig up a clump when no one is nearby and there is no danger of being shot, you’ll find that there are scores of little bulbs in each clump, the progeny of a dozen or so planted by the farmer’s wife in 1942. If you take these home, separate them, and plant them in your own yard, within a couple of years, you’ll have a hundred daffodils for the mere price of a trespassing fine or imprisonment or both. I had this adventure once, and I consider it one of the great cheap thrills of my gardening career. I am not advocating trespassing, especially on my property, but there is no law against having a shovel in the trunk of your car.” 

― Cassandra Danz, Mrs. Greenthumbs: How I Turned a Boring Yard into a Glorious Garden and How You Can, Too

[z-a-d-i-e]

I clicked the link because I enjoyed this quote and was not disappointed

[shesinthemountains]

[a-wayfaringstranger]

[bookingfangirl]

“They won’t tell you fairytales of how girls can be dangerous and still win. They will only tell you stories where girls are sweet and kind and reject all sin. I guess to them it’s a terrifying thought, a red riding hood who knew exactly what she was doing when she invited the wild in.”

— Nikita Gill (via meanwhilepoetry)

[dark-romantics]

~ Bianca Sparacino, "The Strength In Our Scars"

[wedarkacademia]

“Sometimes when I look at you, I feel I'm gazing at a distant star. It's dazzling, but the light is from tens of thousands of years ago. Maybe the star doesn't even exist anymore. Yet sometimes that light seems more real to me than anything.” ― Haruki Murakami, South of the Border, West of the Sun

[metamorphesque]

— Vincent van Gogh, from a letter to Theo van Gogh

[text ID: So often, in the past too, a visit to a bookshop has cheered me and reminded me that there are good things in the world.]