It is tragic how I believed in your magic.
Unknown. (via imkindofnobodysdream)
trying on a metaphor
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@nknwngrlsstuff
It is tragic how I believed in your magic.
Unknown. (via imkindofnobodysdream)

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These exchanges between a bigot named Brendan Sullivan, and a heroic troll named Robert Graves, will be the best thing you read all day, I promise.
Have an excellent weekend y'all. đ
I am the sadness you feel on a Saturday night. I am the mess on a Sunday morning. I am the pain youâll feel when you try to fix me. I am what will hurt you when you try to pick my broken pieces. I am what youâll be complaining about. I am what youâll not know how to handle, on nights like these, and mornings like those, Where Iâm lost at sea. Iâm lost in words. Iâm lost in souls. I am the calm and all of that chaos. In your head, I am the voice youâll hear. And if you cannot take this, Itâs good that you chose her.
/reg// Itâs good that you chose her. (via regbae)
Come Sit In The Passengerâs Seat
Journey along with me.
Iâm headed to the moon and back again.Â
Feel the wheels of this haunted automobile chewing up the clouds as we take to the sky. Feel the windshield threatening to buckle under so many millions of pounds of pressure as we push through the upper atmosphere, and past it, and on into the eternal night of space and all thatâs beyond.
Weâre hungry, lustful, eager, thirsty, dirty, crying, laughing⌠Weâre a gorgeous mess in motion.Â
I want you to sit right next to me, so I can feel you twitching against my skin. I want you to be my warning system, I want you to be a part of my body, I want you inside my mind, humming my secret songs under your breath.Â
Weâre flying like weâre fucking like weâre falling in between the stars; it never ends because it never truly began. Weâre eternal like all that stuff that existed before you were born thatâll still be here after youâre gone. Everything thatâs unchanged when you die, is eternal, or at least, it might as well be.
Weâre a flickering. Weâre a trick of the light.
Weâre here.
And then one day.
Weâre not.

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From poet toâŚ
@intentosburdos @unknowngrrrl
âPara Emilio en su cielo.â
AquĂ estĂĄn tus recuerdos: este leve polvillo de violetas cayendo inĂştilmente sobre las olvidadas fechas; tu nombre, el persistente nombre que abandonĂł tu mano entre las piedras; el ĂĄrbol familiar, su rumor siempre verde contra el vidrio; mi infancia, tan cercana, en el mismo jardĂn donde la hierba canta todavĂa y donde tantas veces tu cabeza reposaba de pronto junto a mĂ, entre los matorrales de la sombra.
Todo siempre es igual. Cuando otra vez llamamos como ahora enĂł el lejano muro: todo siempre es igual. AquĂ estĂĄn tus dominios, pĂĄlido adolescente: la hĂşmeda llanura para tus pies furtivos, la aspereza del cardo, la recordada escarcha del amanecer, las antiguas leyendas, la tierra en que nacimos con idĂŠntica niebla sobre el llanto.
ÂżRecuerdas la nevada? ÂĄHace ya tanto tiempo! ÂĄCĂłmo han crecido desde entonces tus cabellos! Sin embargo, llevas aĂşn sus efĂmeras flores sobre el pecho y tu frente se inclina bajo ese mismo cielo tan deslumbrante y claro.
ÂżPor quĂŠ habrĂĄs de volver acompaĂąado, como un dios a su mundo, por algĂşn paisaje que he querido? ÂżRecuerdas todavĂa la nevada?
ÂĄQuĂŠ sola estarĂĄ hoy, detrĂĄs de las inĂştiles paredes, tu morada de hierros y de flores!
Abandonada, su juventud que tiene la forma de tu cuerpo, extraĂąarĂĄ ahora tus silencios demasiado obstinados, tu piel, tan desolada como un paĂs al que sĂłlo visitaran cenicientos pĂŠtalos despuĂŠs de haber mirado pasar, ÂĄtanto tiempo!, la paciencia inacabable de la hormiga entre sus solitarias ruinas.
Espera, espera, corazĂłn mĂo: no es el semblante frĂo de la temida nieve ni el del sueĂąo reciente. Otra vez, otra vez, corazĂłn mĂo: el roce inconfundible de la arena en la verja, el grito de la abuela, la misma soledad, la no mentida, y este largo destino de mirarse las manos hasta envejecer.
- Olga Orozco, Poetisa.
ÂĄSĂ! AsĂ es... Tengo un Emilio en mi vida.
Y cuando ya no tengas a nadie, recordarĂĄs que yo siempre estuve para ti y no te importĂł.
Odalis Garcia C. (via entreversoscortosybesoslargos)
Y es triste, porque cuando estuve dispuesta no lo valoraste y ya no estarĂŠ para cuando se te ocurra volver.
Sometimes people who do not want you in their lives will let you down, and it's okay because you will know that they do not deserve the good person you've been with them.
Yoli C.
Iâve been craving you all this time I dreamt of you, you were mine In ways that I hardly can explain.
Yoli C. (via intentosburdos)

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I am ruled by the curves of your lips and the force of your smile.
Ofendas are an essential part of the Day of the Dead celebrations. The word ofrenda means offering in Spanish. They are also called altares or altars, but they are not for worshiping. Â Some people mistakenly think that Mexicans that set up altars for their defunct relatives are actually worshiping them. Â Nothing further from the truth. The vast majority of Mexicans are Christian Catholics, so they only worship God.
Ofrendas are set up to remember and honor the memory of their ancestors. Before setting an altar, they thoroughly clean their house. We must remember they are going to have very important âvisitorsâ.
The ofrenda is set on a table, covered with a fine tablecloth, preferably white. Then the papel picado, cut tissue paper, is set over the cloth.
Several levels can be set on the ofrendas. Generally on the top level the images of Saints and the Crucifix are set.
For each deceased relative a candle is set. Their light is thought to guide them on their way back.  The light of the candles, also called ceras -waxes- symbolize  Jesus Christ Reborn and faith.
Flowers, specially  Cempasuchitl , adorn the ofrenda. Flowers represent the fugacity of life.
Salt and water are also essential; they are set to quench the thirst of the souls, tired from their long trip. Water also purifies and cleanses.
Food is specially prepared for the souls. Their preferred dishes are cooked for them and placed on the altar: mole, tamales, fruits, arroz rojo -red rice-, hot chocolate and dried fruit. Some times cigarettes or liquor if the dead relative enjoyed them when alive. And of course Pan de Muerto.
It is important to mention that they will not eat the food, they only enjoy the aroma.
Sometimes a cross is made with petals of the cempasuchitl flower. Also with the petals, paths are set to guide the souls to the ofrenda
In many towns, there are contests of ofrendas. Judges go house by house and elect the three most beautiful altars. Ofrendas are works of art, ephemeral art that is!
Mexican Culture.
you have been visited by the seven magic dragon balls your biggest wish will be granted but only if you reblog
Couldnât risk it.
didnât realize they change colors. now I know o gotta wish.
THIS SHIT IS REAL I GOT THE JOB I WAS NUTS ABOUT BC I REBLOGGED THIS YESTERDAY maybe itâs a coinkidink but it okay just take the necessary steps to achieve what youâre wishing for and YOU CAN DO IT
You taste like heaven, but God knows youâre built for sin.
Framing Hanley, Built for Sin (via vollenden)
Dare with me to be other, Dare to be with me, Dare to find yourself, Dare to be my lover.
Unknown. (via unknowngrrrl)

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When you feel you are far away from your goal you are closer than you think.
Unknown. (via unknowngrrrl)
Two souls donât find each other by simple accident
(via imjustawhisper)
Could we call it⌠Destiny? I mean there are things that make me think destiny does not exist, butâŚ
(via unknowngrrrl)
We were meant to be together... *Were*