shes made up of depths even the ocean cant fathom

There is no perfect ending to a relationship. No magic formula. Just a silent scream as they rip your fucking heart out

Mama mama do you think I am worthy of being loved the way the sea holds the shore, or the way the sun carries the moon with its light? Do I deserve that kind of devotion, that kind of permanence, that kind of give and take?

and if I’d known that hug would be our last, I would’ve held onto you tighter, so you may feel the pulse of my heart speed up, as it solemnly broke down.

Book of the day:Forbidden by Tabitha Suzuma

Handwriting Analysis (Graphology)

i’ve seen crazy on a man: the blank,
sheepish grin of instability,
the teeth-clenching stare, the
irrational anger. i’ve seen men
post-fistfight getting hauled away
in handcuffs over bruised egos, hurling insults at women who have the audacity to love their own bodies more than they love men. but when i raise my voice,
i am told to calm down. as women, we are taught at an early age that we are not allowed to get angry. we are told holding our hurt on display like an art museum is synonymous for asking for attention. people are shocked when we roll up our sleeves and show them our scars. they call us crazy and wonder how we could ever take pride in the glass shards poking out of our chests. they think having rough spots somehow makes us less of a woman. but women were always bred warrior. inside of you, you contain the blood from a woman who birthed you like spilled ink. she penned the hymn of survival across the skin of humanity, and you think i will back down when you tell me i am not allowed to stand up and speak. for the record, having feelings doesn’t make you crazy. allowing yourself to feel them makes you brave. you can be made of sunshine and softness and still howl when you deserve to scream.