🈯K!$$💲 💲L@nd🈯
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Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won’t either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself you tasted as many as you could.
Louise Erdrich, The Painted Drum LP (via kushandwizdom)
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I look down at my hands. I see smears of blood
From the years of pain I caused and pain from others
My doing
They didn’t help me
Not one bit
Only themselves

I look down at my body, scars from the words pelted at me.

I’m scared to see my arms
Covered by long sleeves
In the sweltering heat of summer
Never seen
A mess of bracelets
And neat dark red marks
Some lighter than others
Some barely there
Some as noticeable as a train speeding towards you

Why didn’t you notice sooner?
Why?
You could’ve stopped this
The marks
The tears
The razors
The knife nearly into my chest

You had the power to stop it
With words
But you just made it worse
With silence

A (not quite) poem for my sorrows (via samni-says-hi)
the-personal-quotes:

teen quotes, following everyone back

old-school-shit:

When you still defending people you don’t fuck with no more. That’s true fuckin emotion n heart.

screwthisimrecovering:

WAKE. THE. FUCK. UP.

  • DEPRESSION IS NOT SPECIAL
  • ANXIETY IS NOT CUTE
  • SELF HARM SCARS ARE NOT BEAUTIFUL
  • SUICIDE IS NOT POETIC
  • EATING DISORDERS ARE NOT GLAMOROUS
  • MENTAL ILLNESSES ARE NOT ROMANTIC SO STOP TREATING THEM THAT WAY
e-m-pi-r-e:

Instagram: gustofernandes

e-m-pi-r-e:

Instagram: gustofernandes

To him she seemed so beautiful, so seductive, so different from ordinary people, that he could not understand why no one was as disturbed as he by the clicking of her heels on the paving stones, why no one else’s heart was wild with the breeze stirred by the sighs of her veils, why everyone did not go mad with the movements of her braid, the flight of her hands, the gold of her laughter. He had not missed a single one of her gestures, not one of the indications of her character, but he did not dare approach her for fear of destroying the spell.
Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez, Love in the Time of Cholera (via hqlines)