Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I’m not living.
Jonathan Safran Foer (via nonexistenti)
(Reblogged from whimsical-nostalgia)
Leaving is not enough. You must stay gone. Train your heart like a dog. Change the locks even on the house he’s never visited. You lucky, lucky girl. You have an apartment just your size. A bathtub full of tea. A heart the size of Arizona, but not nearly so arid. Don’t wish away your cracked past, your crooked toes, your problems are papier mache puppets you made or bought because the vendor at the market was so compelling you just had to have them. You had to have him. And you did. And now you pull down the bridge between your houses, you make him call before he visits, you take a lover for granted, you take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic. Make the first bottle you consume in this place a relic. Place it on whatever altar you fashion with a knife and five cranberries. Don’t lose too much weight. Stupid girls are always trying to disappear as revenge. And you are not stupid. You loved a man with more hands than a parade of beggars, and here you stand. Heart like a four-poster bed. Heart like a canvas. Heart leaking something so strong they can smell it in the street.
Frida Kahlo to Marty McConnell by Marty McConnell (via seabois)
(Reblogged from angryasianfeminist)
(Reblogged from miles-of-words)
Persons with any weight of character carry, like planets, their atmospheres along with them in their orbits.
Thomas Hardy, The Return of the Native (via likeafieldmouse)
(Reblogged from likeafieldmouse)
(Reblogged from mpdrolet)
(Reblogged from mpdrolet)
People come and go. Some are cigarette breaks, others are forest fires.
(Reblogged from miles-of-words)

(Source: creatingy0urself)

(Reblogged from zapoyy)
(Reblogged from samueljamesobrien)