calm and chasing

WOW wtf tumblr is alive

what do you do with the stories people tell you, and what do people do with your story? singular, a noun, a living breathing thing. your life, story. we tend to remember fragments, bits and pieces when we catch sight of something that seems familiar, something we can barely recall, on the tip of our tongue. it's not our story. what are you going to do with mine?

I guess I mostly miss small gestures of people showing they care and actually respect me, that when it happens I get overwhelmed and that's not the way it should be

surround yourself with people who never let you forget how beautiful you are, and of your worth and never let people undo what others have built up for you

and it's the same feeling I'd always get, that once in a while. it'd rise up inside me, like its own fucking revolution, as if it had the capacity to be one. i'd turn to it and say, shh, not now, but when the time is right. when do you know when the time is right? for all i know, we know nothing about ourselves, ever. but it takes a small spark for things to change, and i kept putting that out. sometimes I wonder if it'll ever learn and stop coming back.