A Beautiful Struggle
Eliza. 20. Uses this blog to share interests. Thinks words are beautiful. Currently in the process of reinventing self. Hates being trapped by personality and old defective patterns of living. Wants to become the person she always wanted to be. She tries.
Life is a struggle. Albeit, a beautiful one.
tell me the story
about how the sun
loved the moon so much
he died every night
to let her breathe
(via beautifulfuckups)
“Lonely?”
“Restless. As if you haven’t really met yourself yet. As is you’d passed yourself once in the fog, and your heart leapt - ‘Ah! There I Am! I’ve been missing that piece!’ But it happens too fast, and then that part of you disappears into the fog again. And you spend the rest of your days looking for it."
(via beautifulfuckups)
(Source: twistymaven, via beautifulfuckups)
You’ve learned by now
to wait without waiting;
as if it were dusk
look into light falling:
in deep relief
things even out. Be
careless of nothing. See
what you see.
(Source: , via explore-blog)
than each other, but you sound a whole lot like coffee on a
Sunday morning and the rain is falling bitter against the windowpane
and your elbows are making holes in the countertops, and
I only want to tell you that I wish I was as close as the threads of your
t-shirt, and if I can’t be that, then I’ll be content with
drinking my drink beside you, with the rain sloppy open mouth kissing
the roof, trying to dismantle the etymology of a conversation
that falls out of the realm of words."
(Source: commovente)
(Source: larmoyante, via creatingaquietmind)
(Source: alibis-not-needed-anymore, via fuckyeahslampoems)
