part-broken, part-whole
Putting a sieve to my heart.
part-broken, part-whole

Translation: You’re on Earth, there’s no cure for that.

— This is it, Joel. It’s going to be gone soon.— I know.— What do we do?— Enjoy it.

Typewriter Series #750 by Tyler Knott Gregson
"It is a lonely feeling when someone you care about becomes a stranger."
Lemony Snicket, When Did You See Her Last? (via splitterherzen)
A mandala offering to the blood moon tonight.
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"Everyone keeps asking me
what I’m doing with myself,
how I’m passing the time,
what I’m doing with my legs now
that they’re not swinging on the
train to your place.
I am waiting for you to come back to me, that’s what I’m doing.
I am waiting for you to pick up the phone
and call me.
I am pulling teeth.
I am plucking them one by one
and trying to forget what they looked
like pressed into your shoulder
or clinging to your neck.
The truth was an ugly thing
that I kicked out of our bed,
only to watch it climb back in
and take you from me.
I think you’re a coward
for letting it.
I think I could have loved you
better than anybody,
and I can’t stop making lists
of all the times I almost told you that.
That’s what I’m doing.
I’m twisting our story until
it stops remembering you
just so I can sleep at night.
But I’ll always be here,
hands like a broken record that skips
at the sleepless night before you
crawled back into yourself for good.
Just know that I’ve been waiting.
Know that you’re the first time I ever
swallowed my pride and then spit
it back up.
I hope you remember what your
bed felt like with me laying
honest in it.
That is what brave looked like."
Caitlyn Siehl, Waiting (via alonesomes)

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You are one of those people, it is clear, who needs help. I think you should stop speaking in a low attractive voice whenever you call. Stop making me think of velvet and fragrant tobacco and that first sip of bourbon. Stop inciting stirrings, movements between us…little rebellions, causing chaos in all of my darker places. The top half of my body is at gross political warfare with the lower. One part of me is roaring and the other wholly disapproves. You are a beautiful danger. Do not force me to open up. Some books are bound tightly for years for reasons. Some books are burned for their own good, Love. Stop wearing clothes the way that you do. Don’t allow them to cling to your body like that. Do not follow these effortless fashions where everything looks just so, because, really who could resist such a thing? The Lord knows you are beautiful, and unfair. I think perhaps you should spare a thought, dear, for those who are sick over you, burning up with you, damp for you.You know what you do. You’re a slow fever. Don’t be so very engaging, amusing or witty, or bright. You are causing confusion and jams in tight spaces. You are an accident in waiting. The type of accident with casualties spanning from me to you and here to there, a potential tragedy, a stunning unborn disaster. Should I touch you, I will suffer and you will suffer and she will suffer. You are a danger zone. I must not enter, I should not enter, but I might.”

(c) Yrsa Daley-Ward

Yrsa Daley-Ward: emergency warning  (via thiswillnotlast)
"Be grateful for the wound that pushes you towards God."
Yasmin Mogahed (via sayeda313)

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Until we never meet again.
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