Take a hike...

Never stop exploring. •MI•

[sry-m0m]

Hang out for awhile

[viinnttaaggee]

[hiphopatihop]

[sry-m0m]

[sry-m0m]

[sry-m0m]

When I show you my favorite song this week, or where I drink my coffee at 6:30am.

When I ask you to take a walk with me, or feed my favorite birds in the park.

When I talk for hours straight, or don’t want to speak for hours at all.

When I say, “I’m not ready,” but we both know I mean, “I can’t let go.”

When I say the words I need to say, you’ll go away.

Or, I could have you here..

When you’re sleeping next to me, or laughing at our favorite movie scenes.

When I’m cranky and full of sarcasm, or bubbly and made of wit.

When you adore me, there shouldn’t be an “or,”

[sry-m0m]

[sry-m0m]

Second Glance

Does our situation ever change, or is it just our perception of it?

[freelance-philosopher]

The fundamental error of Romanticism is to confuse what we need with what we desire. We all need certain basic things for life’s preservation and continuance; we all desire a more perfect life, complete happiness, the fulfillment of our dreams… It’s human to want what we need, and it’s human to desire what we don’t need but find desirable. Sickness occurs when we desire what we need and what’s desirable with equal intensity, suffering our lack of perfection as if we were suffering for lack of bread. The Romantic malady is to want the moon as if it could actually be obtained.

Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet (via freelance-philosopher)

[sry-m0m]

There’s no way we’re related

[sry-m0m]

[sry-m0m]

Just a mess

[sry-m0m]

stuck in a funk

[sry-m0m]

The sinkhole of the truth can be too honest to face and too deep to ever see the bottom of. Writing can make you feel like you did a perfect forward tuck dive, slipping intrepidly into freedom and suffocation simultaneously.

[aspiritualwarrior]

My mission, should I choose to accept it, is to find peace with exactly who and what I am. To take pride in my thoughts, my appearance, my talents, my flaws and to stop this incessant worrying that I can’t be loved as I am.

Anaïs Nin (via spiritualitbe)

[sry-m0m]

[the-sad-boy]