He happened to me slow,
like ice melting off the mountains,
dripping down to the rivers and lakes
of my bloodstream.
He happened to be forcefully,
knocking my rotational tilt off
just enough to alter my internal voice
so now in silence, I only hear his exhale of breath as he
laughs at my jokes or the sound of his
feet on the floor as he walks up behind me to tell me that “It’ll be alright.”
He happened to me sad,
heartbroken, not lost, but turned around, huddled over
the crinkled map he pulls from his pocket, hoping for some direction.
I have always had a soft spot for sad things and
he’s someone I want to spend forever
trying to make laugh, because isn’t that what we are all frantically searching our own maps for? Someone who will know your mood by the change in the tone of your voice or see the invisible world sitting on your shoulders as you try to be stronger than you were yesterday?
He happened to me surprised,
shocked that our eyes process the world similarly,
our ears have fallen under the spell of the same music
and our hearts both have bruises that have taken way too long to really heal.
He happened to me honest,
He happened to me trusting,
He happened to me finally.
I am so in love with you that there isn’t anything else.
— Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms (via bookmania)
Perhaps the fact
that I chased a boy
who ripped me to shreds
says a lot more
than it did about him.
— possibly my most favourite quote ever (via hardcore)
Some show love rarely
and mostly in small quiet gestures;
sharing an umbrella in the rain,
leaving you the last slice of their pizza,
throwing their arm around you
when you are afraid.
love does not have to be flamboyant
or loud to be present.
— Beau Taplin || Some show love differently
but that does not necessarily make it less. (via afadthatlastsforever)
I came to a point where I needed solitude and just stop the machine of ‘thinking’ and ‘enjoying’ what they call ‘living’, I just wanted to lie in the grass and look at the clouds.
— Jack Kerouac (via aestheticintrovert)
You still have a lot of time to make yourself be what you want.
— S.E. Hinton, The Outsiders (via midfl1ght)
I can’t leave you. You’re the only person I love on Mondays and I fucking hate everyone on Mondays. I can’t give that up.
I do not forget that my voice is but one voice, my experience a mere drop in the sea, my knowledge no greater than the visual field in a microscope.
— Carl Jung (via likeafieldmouse)
This is real.
We all have the potential to fall in love a thousand times in our lifetime. It’s easy. The first girl I ever loved was someone I knew in sixth grade…The last girl I love will be someone I haven’t even met yet, probably. They all count. But there are certain people you love who do something else; they define how you classify what love is supposed to feel like. These are the most important people in your life, and you’ll meet maybe four or five of these people over the span of 80 years. But there’s still one more tier to all this; there is always one person who you love who becomes that definition. It usually happens retrospectively, but it always happens eventually. This is the person who unknowingly sets the template for what you will always love about other people, even if some of those lovable qualities are self-destructive and unreasonable. You will remember having conversations with this person that never actually happened. You will recall sexual trysts with this person that never technically occurred. This is because the individual who embodies your personal definition of love does not really exist. The person is real, and the feelings are real—but you create the context. And context is everything.
— Chuck Klosterman, Killing Yourself to Live: 85% of a True Story (via wordsnquotes)
Some people say home is where you come from. But I think it’s a place you need to find, like it’s scattered and you pick pieces of it up along the way.
— Katie Kacvinsky (via emotional-algebra)
Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world’s great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.
I am haunted by waters.
— Norman Maclean, A River Runs Through It and Other Stories (via quotes-shape-us)