…People…believe they’ll be happy if they go and live somewhere else, but…learn it doesn’t work that way. Wherever you go, you take yourself with you. If you see what I mean.
Neil Gaiman, The Graveyard Book (via awelltraveledwoman)

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@somehowandalways
…People…believe they’ll be happy if they go and live somewhere else, but…learn it doesn’t work that way. Wherever you go, you take yourself with you. If you see what I mean.
Neil Gaiman, The Graveyard Book (via awelltraveledwoman)

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It’s a night in Ohio where a man sleeps alone one week and the next, the woman he will eventually marry leans her body into his for the first time, leans a kind of faith, too—filled with white crickets and bouquets of wild carrot. And the months and the honeyed years after that will make all the light and dark squares feel like tiles for a kitchen they can one day build together.
Aimee Nezhukumatathil, from “Chess” (via oofpoetry)
Not everything is supposed to become something beautiful and long-lasting. Sometimes people come into your life to show you what is right and what is wrong, to show you who you can be, to teach you to love yourself, to make you feel better for a little while, or to just be someone to walk with at night and spill your life to. Not everyone is going to stay forever, and we still have to keep on going and thank them for what they’ve given us.
Emery Allen (via modernhepburn)
Some days bleed. Some days are so sensitive, you don’t even want to get out of bed. These are the best days, though. You grab them by their pulse and you keep going, because something is happening in the universe that is making you feel so much. It’s a small glitch, an overflow, and you have been chosen to carry the extra weight. For one, small day, you are the sole bearer of this unnamed pain. You are a spot of light on the map of the world. Anyone or anything from another part of the galaxy will see you and think ‘I didn’t know people could be stars.’
Caitlyn Siehl, For the Days That Hurt (via liquidlightandrunningtrees)
And one more; my favorite.

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IT’S FINALLY HERE.
My pre-ordered CD won’t actually be here for two more days, so until then, thank you Spotify.
Speak every time you stand so you do not forget yourself Do not let one moment go by that doesn’t remind you That your heart beats a hundred thousand times every single day And that there are enough gallons of blood to make every one of you oceans
[Anis Mojgani]
I believe; help my unbelief.
Mark 9:24
49
It's a unit of measurement, what does it even mean? 49 days doesn't specify anything. It says 49 measures of 24-hour periods, and I can't comprehend that. I can't extract it into neat sets of information that tell me precisely how to gauge that time and how I'll feel when those 49 things are passing by. They're passing slowly, agonizingly so, as slowly as 49 units of something can. These calendar days are a hoax, a way to tell me something without telling me anything. I can understand 15 minutes or 2 hours, but I can't understand 49 days.
"I think we like to talk a lot about being brave because the actual doing of it is so freaking terrifying. And tiring. And ordinary. It’s my belief that true fearlessness comes from living loved. When we find our worth and our value in Christ, then, as the Psalmist wrote, what can man do to us? I don’t think we can be a people-pleaser or an approval-addict AND be brave with our lives. Perhaps that’s why fearlessness or bravery starts with our identity first, it’s the deep well from which we draw living water, enough for today. I believe that bravery is born in the quiet and ordinary moments long before it’s seen by anyone else. Sometimes it’s as simple and devastating as the moments no one else will ever see – the moments of daring to be honest with our own self, of laying down our excuses or justifications or disguises, of asking ourselves what we really want, of forgiveness, of honesty, of choosing the hard daily work of restoration, of staying resolutely alive when every one else is just numbing themselves against life. These are why our friends matter so deeply: they are witness to the sacred secrets. Not all secrets are terrifying things, some of them are beautiful and transformative.”
Sarah Bessey (via awelltraveledwoman)

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You work so hard, just to end up at home crying yourself to sleep; remember you’re trying, you are moving mountains that have plagued you since you were young, and you’re trying so hard. Keep fighting, fight until you have won. Fight until you have found your way home, until the sun comes back and your heart learns to love the mornings again.
T.B. LaBerge // Go Now (via awelltraveledwoman)
when you remember something embarrassing you did 6 years ago
I can't stop laughing at this right now
someday in winter
you're out of reach,
over the horizon,
past the curve of the earth,
beneath the dip of the waves.
my body has learned not to expect you,
the messages and calls,
the 1 am conversations that would reverse my nights.
I miss you,
and at the same time,
it's not as bad as I thought it would be.
it's a paradox.
the silence clarifies who we are;
it builds anticipation for your return.
who will you be when you return?
what will we become?
let's stretch out our arms;
we've come this far,
spent this long,
we're ahead.
you can't find the sun, the stars, or the clouds;
I can't see the Pacific,
but then you can't either.
all we have are thoughts,
the memories we made,
the words we etch across thin screens to push to the other side of the world.
oh how I can't wait for winter,
the winter I swore I'd hate;
the winter I told everyone I didn't want,
because the cold digs in and the darkness saddens me.
but this winter:
this winter will be different, darling,
because
this winter,
you're
coming
home.
27
So this is what adulthood looks like, sleepless nights even when you're childless, wondering why at 27 you know yourself even less than you did at 17.
Even if you know what’s coming, you’re never prepared for how it feels.
(via h0lycake)

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Some nights I just lie in bed and blare Guns for Hands. This is one of those nights
in the car, all the stars arrive on my ceiling
cigarettes, you forget, I've known you seven years
and then your blood stop stutters I'm the one who always made you feel it