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Watch: Michelle Obama’s speech on the Trump tapes should be required viewing for all Americans

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[wnq-writers]

He thought, “This girl is willing to clip her wings to be with me. I have to let her go.”

shelfofmemories (via wnq-writers)

[luvyourbookstack]

[beach-smoothies]

stop thinking so much. there’s no need to make yourself sad.

(via beach-smoothies)

[youre-very-sweet]

If you ever wonder what my favorite sonnet is (why on Earth would you wonder that) it’s this one by Pablo Neruda

Naked, you are simple as one of your hands, Smooth, earthy, small, transparent, round: You have moonlines, applepathways: Naked, you are slender as a naked grain of wheat. Naked, you are blue as the night in Cuba; You have vines and stars in your hair; Naked, you are spacious and yellow As summer in a golden church. Naked, you are tiny as one of your nails, Curved, subtle, rosy, till the day is born And you withdraw to the underground world, as if down a long tunnel of clothing and of chores: Your clear light dims, gets dressed, drops its leaves, And becomes a naked hand again.                        

[oregontopatagonia]

I’m on a panel next week about the way our lives change as we approach and pass age 30. I have all kinds of thoughts on this.

For some reason, a lot of artists die at 27.

For some reason, a lot of life decisions happen at 30.

And the age of enlightenment, age 33, is when so many people produce their quintessential work. It just dawned on me that I will finish and publish my book at 33.

I read that when Tolstoy was young he wrote in his journal “I am 24 years old and I have still done nothing… I am sure it’s not for nothing that I have been struggling with all my doubts and passions for the past eight years. But what am I destined for? Only time will tell.” Reading Tolstoy’s nervous twenty-four-year-old words comforted me in a way, because his lamentations showed a sense of understanding at the alchemy of time and experience, distilling itself toward a manifested purpose. Our teenage years and our twenties are perhaps the part of cooking where all the ingredients are tossed into the bowl. And the whisk of our mind is mixing them up, baking them in doubt and reason and questioning and love and laughter and friendship and misery, sliding them into the oven of time… and what is made is us. With this knowledge, it seems so funny for each ingredient year to be a point of crisis. When we are in the year of chopping the tomatoes and cry ‘I am only a few stupid tomatoes, I am nothing!’ We have no patience for the process in the kitchen.

[socialfoto]

*Itsukushima* by Antuanhp #SocialFoto

[postcardsforhome]

[postcardsforhome]

[everyhtingslove]

[youre-very-sweet]

@lifes

[psych-facts]

“Raise your words, not your voice. It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder”

zahr-a (via psych-facts)

[shallow-feelings]

Find someone that makes you laugh as hard as they make you cum.

Unknown (via merryful)

[youre-very-sweet]

 I guess I don’t really like high school because I think too much about the other things. I’ll be talking with the blond girl who sits next to me in English and she’ll say that she wants to go out this weekend and have a good time but her dad only gave her this much money and she really wants to buy a new dress and so on. Then my mind will just get stuck on that one part of her story:  her and her dad. I’ll wonder whether they have a good relationship, I’ll hope that he’s a good father and that he’s supportive.

I’ll try to imagine them talking and bonding and I just want to tell this girl that I hope she’s really happy in life. But no, I’m in the wrong moment. I should be thinking about going out this weekend too, I should be concerned about how cool I sound or how I can say something funny, but I just don’t care. I try to say something that will give me an important answer but it just gets me away from the moment even more. I say "Where did your dad go to college?" I want her to say, "He went to... and that's why I'm so passionate about...I really want to be more like him someday I admire his..." but all I get is "He went to...I'm tryna get Ritchy to buy up for me right now and he's being such a nark haha". 

I care about all the wrong things and it would be much simpler if my one goal was to be cool, or hot, or even smart. I don’t even know if I could do it, but I know it would save me a lot of thought on all these little things that for some reason are so important to me.

Are him and his girlfriend really happy together?  Will they get married someday? Why does she want to go to the college she wants to go to, does it have something to do with the way her parents raised her?

I wonder what it would be like to be her. The only child. Or the pretty quiet girl. Or the boy who just isn’t as funny as all his friends. I want to be there for all of them, I want to tell them I think about them a lot and that I can’t help but care for them.

I want to be best friends with people before we ever have our first real good conversation, I want to have amazing adventures with people just because I think they would tell the story of whatever we did back in a funny way.  I feel so absolutely close and so desperately, incredibly, miles away from every single person I walk the halls with.

I wish I could believe people when they tell me I’m a good person but if I was then why couldn’t I make good relationships  with people wherever I am, even in high school. And the hardest part is the thing that I'm missing that would make everything so much simpler seems so obvious to everyone else, It's like I'm standing in front of a parade with my back turned and nobody turns me around to look because they're focusing on the parade, of course. Why aren't I?

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