— Shared 16 hours ago - 232 notes - via / Source - reblog
I used to be the happiest.
— (via pogingpakyu)



— Shared 16 hours ago - 55,555 notes - via / Source - reblog

relaapse:

darkened-insidee:

dannyqhantom:

where did that come from

every night

fucking hell, every night


— Shared 16 hours ago - 649,395 notes - via / Source - reblog

imawalkingtravestyy:

i wanna lie on the floor and not think for a month or two.




— Shared 16 hours ago - 2,866 notes - via / Source - reblog
I am the rain that falls upon myself
I am the thunder that destroys my mind
— Peter Russell from Manuela’s Poems (via poetry-and-insomnia)


— Shared 23 hours ago - 2,554 notes - via / Source - reblog
Consider that you radiate. At all times. Consider that what you’re feeling right now is rippling outward into a field of is-ness that anyone can dip their oar into. You are felt. You are heard. You are seen. If you were not here, the world would be different. Because of your presence, the universe is expanding.
— Danielle LaPorte (via wethinkwedream)

— Shared 4 days ago - 644 notes - via / Source - reblog
The extent to which I cling to you, dearest, frightens me; I keep telling myself it is wicked — may you never say so, dearest — and yet I cannot refrain. If I were with you I’m afraid I should never leave you alone — and yet my craving to be alone is continuous — we would both suffer, though of course it would mean a happiness well worth any amount of suffering.
Franz Kafka, from Letters To Felice (via easymomentsandobsession)

— Shared 4 days ago - 3 notes - reblog

I want to feel something.

I haven’t felt anything for so long
that I start questioning my decisions,
reviewing my acts that led to this-
numbness.

I don’t know,
I mean, I stopped hurting but
it seems like I’ve stopped loving as well.

In my efforts to stop being fragile,
soft and vulnerable,
I grew a thick skin that nothing
can penetrate in…

but nothing can also get out.

— (k.d.), i write what i feel and this the first thing i’ve written for so long

— Shared 4 days ago - 110 notes - via / Source - reblog
There is a place where the sidewalk ends
and before the street begins,
and there the grass grows soft and white,
and there the sun burns crimson bright,
and there the moon-bird rests from his flight
to cool in the peppermint wind.
— Shel Silverstein, Where The Sidewalk Ends (via introspectivepoet)

— Shared 4 days ago - 2,810 notes - via / Source - reblog
And now you are and I am and we’re a mystery which will never happen again.
— e.e. cummings (via observando)

— Shared 4 days ago - 2 notes - reblog
Come what may it can’t.
There are a number of.
But there is only one.
That’s why I want to.
— Bob Perelman, Chronic Meanings (from the book Virtual Reality for Lee Hickman)