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@virramiinosa
holding anger is poison. it eats you from inside. we think that hating is a weapon that attacks the person who harmed us. but hatred is a curved blade. and the harm we do, we do to ourselves
do u even know what a curved blade is? have u ever even seen a sword? stop posting
hatred is a curved blade ie: useful for slashing at your enemies from horseback
Your inability to use your words has been a dagger in your heel for as long as you can remember.
It costs you security, and friendship, and any sort of opportunity, relevance, or respect you might wish for.
You don’t know if it’s a disease or the end product of a thousand accumulated missteps stretching back in memory. You don’t even know if you can overcome it. It seems like every conversation hides another little glimpse of failure. Every stutter, every pause, every lack you seem to possess.
You have always been this way. You know it, your parents know it, your friends know it. Every stranger you meet knows it.
You are drowning in air.
I think I am beginning to understand why grief feels like suspense. It comes from the frustration of so many impulses that had become habitual. Thought after thought, feeling after feeling, action after action, had H for their object. Now their target is gone. I keep on, through habit, fitting an arrow to the setting; then I remember and I have to lay the bow down. So many roads lead to H. I set out on one of them. But now there’s an impassable frontier-post across it. So many roads once; now so many culs-de-sac.
from the diary of C.S. Lewis on mourning for his wife, Helen (via misandromache)
I’m thankful that I’m not having constant dreams like I did in the spring.
I’m glad that my mental health is at pretty much an all-time high.
But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I wish I could still repair this rotten bridge that connected me with an old friend.
literally all i want is to fall asleep on someone
that’s it
that’s all
i’m very tired and i want to lay my head on someone’s stomach and have them run their fingers through my hair and sleep
What a strange dream.
I walked through a canyon of ice and dreamt I found a friend I like, and told them as such. Their response was very hesitant and told me to find them further in the canyon before I would know what they felt.
Couldn’t find them in all that ice and snow.
Something else in this night, something involving wreckage, or some kind of junkyard for cars, built around a place that looked like every school I’ve ever known. There were people there, but I don’t remember who.
you deserve to be in a relationship with a person who doesnt make you compete for their affection and never has you guessing where you stand with them
I crave touch, yet I flinch every time someone is close enough.
I have become rather fearful I suppose. (via needled)
The first time he calls you holy, you laugh it back so hard your sides hurt. The second time, you moan gospel around his fingers between your teeth. He has always surprised you into surprising yourself. Because he’s an angel hiding his halo behind his back and nothing has ever felt so filthy as plucking the wings from his shoulders— undressing his softness one feather at a time. God, if you’re out there, if you’re listening, he fucks like a seraphim, and there’s no part of scripture that ever prepared you for his hands. Hands that map a communion in the cradle of your hips. Hands that kiss hymns up your sides. He confesses how long he’s looked for a place to worship and,oh, you put him on his knees. When he sinks to the floor and moans like he can’t help himself, you wonder if the other angels fell so sweet. He says his prayers between your thighs and you dig your heels into the base of his spine until he blushes the color of your filthy tongue. You will ruin him and he will thank you; he will say please. No damnation ever looked as cozy as this, but you fit over his hips like they were made for you.You fit, you fit, you fit. On top of him, you are an ancient god that only he remembers and he offers up his skin. And you take it. Who knew sacrifice was so profane? And once you’ve taught him how to hold your throat in one hand and your heart in the other, you will have forgotten every other word, except his name.
Ashe Vernon, “PROFANE” (via 5000letters)
I like clingy. I like when someone purposely grabs my hand to show other people I’m theirs. I like that when something exciting happens during the day, I’m the first person you want to tell. I like coming back to an “I miss you” text message when I’m in class or taking a nap. I like that random call at one in the morning just because you wanted to hear my voice. I little gestures that show I’m important, and you enjoy having me in your life.
EY (via latelycravingmore)
Go to sleep. Let darkness lap at your sides. Give darkness an inch. You aren’t alone. All of the continents used to be one body. You aren’t alone. Go to sleep.
Albert Goldbarth, from “The Sciences Sing A Lullaby” (via violentwavesofemotion)
holding anger is poison. it eats you from inside. we think that hating is a weapon that attacks the person who harmed us. but hatred is a curved blade. and the harm we do, we do to ourselves
do u even know what a curved blade is? have u ever even seen a sword? stop posting
hatred is a curved blade ie: useful for slashing at your enemies from horseback
Tenth Summer has truly begun
I betrayed your trust.
I don't deserve what I've been given. I'm sorry.
Nothing will happen if I don't say a word.
You can't love me, but I still want to be around you. Hopefully, you can find it in yourself to want me around to
