♡♡

I keep thinking about depression like it’s a pocket watch that’s been passed down for centuries. “Keep it in the family” my mother says, gripping my wrists. I check the time. I check the time, again.

—Monogamy Songs, Gregory Sherl (via neurochemicals)

When he heard music he no longer listened to the notes, but the silences in between. When he read a book he gave himself over entirely to commas and semicolons, to the space after the period and before the capital letter of the next sentence. He discovered the places in a room where silence gathered; the folds of curtain drapes, the deep bowls of the family silver. When people spoke to him, he heard less and less of what they were saying, and more and more of what they were not.

—The History Of Love; Nicole Krauss (via eileenssummerreadinglist)

One day I just woke up and realized that I can’t touch yesterday. So why the heck was I letting it touch me?

—Steve Maraboli (via psych-facts)

(via shutupmerlin)

I am trying to see things in perspective. My dog wants a bite of my peanut butter chocolate chip bagel. I know she cannot have this, because chocolate makes dogs very sick. My dog does not understand this. She pouts and wraps herself around my leg like a scarf and purrs and tries to convince me to give her just a tiny bit. When I do not give in, she eventually gives up and lays in the corner, under the piano, drooping and sad. I hope the universe has my best interest in mind like I have my dog’s. When I want something with my whole being, and the universe withholds it from me, I hope the universe thinks to herself: "Silly girl. She thinks this is what she wants, but she does not understand how it will hurt.

—THEORIES ABOUT THE UNIVERSE by Blythe Baird (via coffeekaling)

(Source: blythebrooklyn, via songbirdsweresinging)

There’s a dream where we break all the dishes in my kitchen and then
eat the pieces.
I know it’s a dream because we are still alive after we swallow.
It sounds more like a nightmare,
and it would be, except that we are together,
so even the fractured ceramic is tender as we chew it.

There’s a dream where we want our own world,
so we cut it out of blue and green paper like a science project,
except your silhouette is every piece of land
and my spine is every mountain range laying across you.

Here are the broken plates
mending inside of us, healing soft and pliant, bending like the necks of swans,
forgetting that they are glass.
Maybe we can forget, too.
I can kiss you where it’s sharp
until you can’t remember how the pain
made you someone to be afraid of.

There’s a dream where nothing bleeds, but everything is alive,
where broken things can be made
unbroken just by wishing it.

Let me tell you about the earth
and what it looked like before we
got our hands on it.
Let me tell you about the earth and
how it broke apart like a plate on
the tile floor.
We all know what it is to be unmade.
In a dream, we tried to forget.

Caitlyn Siehl, "Drift" (via alonesomes)

(via haffalump)