❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
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Andulka
ojovivo
shark vs the universe
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
styofa doing anything
Show & Tell
will byers stan first human second
Stranger Things
dirt enthusiast
todays bird
YOU ARE THE REASON
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Peter Solarz
Love Begins
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
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#extradirty
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@thejapanesedream
These Photos of Fireflies Are Straight From a Fairytale
Each year, Tivoli, New York photographer Pete Mauney awaits the arrival of the fireflies, and for about three weeks each summer, the bioluminescent insects settle beneath the moonlight around his house on quiet evenings. He shoots almost every night.
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Did you know that God chose you before the foundations of the earth? Before the worlds were ever formed, He knew you. And, He didn’t create you to be average. He didn’t create you to barely get by. No, He created you to excel! Not only has He chosen you, but He has equipped you with everything you need to live and thrive in this life. He has deposited seeds of greatness inside every person. But in order to tap into those seeds of greatness, you have to believe this and act on it.
Too many people today are going around with low self-esteem, feeling inferior like they don’t have what it takes. But that is living a lie. And as long as we have a poor self-image, we’re not going to experience God’s best. In order to be all that God has called us to be, we have to see ourselves as chosen, valuable and victorious.
Today, meditate on this truth. Let it sink down deep into your heart. Let it build confidence and security in you. As you understand your value in the eyes of God, you’ll be empowered to live the life of victory He has prepared for you!
The less time I spend with you, the less you need to heal.
Troye Sivan | Talk Me Down
Tell me how to not be too much.
Dawid Władysław Cyprian
You are the certainty that feeds my doubts…
A.G. (What you mean to me)
To my sister the universe only made me meet after sixteen years.
(Photoshop CS6, Wacom Bamboo - Pen and Touch, Background used: #21)
2.14.14 - 2.14.16
Love is not just the butterflies you felt in your stomach when his best friend drunk-told you, "Don't ever break up with Sean, Pat. Whenever he talks about you, it's like there is a sunshine coming out of his ass;" sometimes it is the embers that fill your lungs, waiting for the apology and comforting needed to extinguish them. Love is not just the good-morning texts you first read when you wake up nor the I love you's you snuggle in before you go to sleep; sometimes it is the once labeling of wounds and scraping of scars that you chose to remember over the hundred times his words melted like honey in your tongue. Love is not just the fate that designed your same WF-schedule when you were in Freshman year, not just the song you both sang and danced to in a terrace of a school building, not just the necklace he gave you on top of the tallest ferris wheel in the country. It is actually the breaking of cliches, of expectations, and of hearts, only to find that there is no other person you would rather be in love and hurt with other than him.
And you know it will always be him.
I was in love with everything- I wanted to look with love at the angry people so that their eyes would be forced to respond; and I wanted to bring gifts to the envious and tell them that I am worthless.
Egon Schiele
Some days, I am a sailboat and my mood is the wind. And when I aimlessly drift, you anchor me down.
“Tethered”
6/365 • © K.V.
(via kamoetry)
Legarda Station
"It's her," echoes your heart, hoping this is your last restart. But the more you hear it speak, the more you choose not to hear the train's engine that will bring the woman in your worn-out dreams. But as the station's lights go off, and the last train leaves you alone, you realize you can always walk home to another night where your heart can grow.
You Want to Marry a Writer
someone who will write about you; you want him to ink your zits your stretchmarks your insecurities your monsters-- you want him to ink you to make a carnival other people would pay to see.
Sure, he will write about you and even before he can finish you know that the spaces between the words of his poems his stories his metaphors his lies fill up the attention you will never give yourself.
He should have warned that writers owe too much of the world to only write about you.
Why Can’t You Love Me the Way You Love Him?
The way you lock your fingers against his as if the spaces and lies in between are enough to house your fragility, as if the crooked lines on his palm are the only paths to finding yourself, but you did not even hold me nor touch me when my ghost was close to disappearing– when my hands were the ones you needed when you realized his was only an inn.
The way you see his body as a map and your lips, a lone traveler trapped who finds rest on his insecurities who makes landmarks on places he conceals, but you did not even want to look at me when I showed you stretchmarks and blisters I gained from the battle of getting out my skin– even my body is your choice that will never be.
“Why can’t you love me the way you love him?”
I ask the girl in the mirror, one last time; her hair drenched from the shower, her lips from wine. I can tell her eyes are blind from seeing beauty reflected on lakes and glasses because she is beautiful; God, she is the arms that will build the warmest home, the lips that will raise men's ego; and it makes me wonder why she never answers.
The (Final) Dance
The stars tonight dare stare back as if they know how you and I danced our final song; how I gave my last kiss and tasted memories salvaged from our dance.
We were entangled by a lovely hymn, an echo of curse. Each time we replay the hymn to dance the silver lining gets farther. Forlorn for dawn, we became a dusk unwarned of the midnight's rust, as crickets played their fiddles while we burned.
Ashes in hand, I tell the stars the dance is over, but I'll scream I miss you until I learn to kiss goodbye.
Tell me how to be something you miss.
