steepedinstudies

Being a writer is lying in bed at two am, waiting for sleep, only to be met with two new characters, clarity for a plotline, and an entire scene concept for a novel that isn’t your current project.

Why don’t you understand?” He looks up at me and his eyes are so full of pain and devastation it actually takes my breath away. My hands are shaking. “Understand what—?” “I love you.” He breaks. His voice. His back. His knees. His face. He breaks. He has to hold on to the side of his desk. He can’t meet my eyes. “I love you,” he says, his words harsh and soft all at once. “I love you and it isn’t enough. I thought it would be enough and I was wrong. I thought I could fight for you and I was wrong. Because I can’t. I can’t even face you anymore—” “Aaron—” “Tell me it isn’t true,” he says. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me I’m blind. Tell me you love me.” My heart won’t stop screaming as it breaks in half.

reading about random things. educating yourself on cultures that died ages ago. excitement in learning new languages. having a cup of hot coffee/tea on a rainy sunday morning. staying up late to finish reading that one book. quoting shakespeare for no specific reason. listening to slow music while doing school work. singing your favorite song off key when no one is watching. smiling at animals. wearing clothes that makes you feel comfortable. laying on bed after a long tiring day. late night drives on empty roads. complimenting strangers. helping an elderly person to cross the road. hugging your best friend. smell of earth after rain. making others laugh. holding hands. 

I don’t reblog much, but this is too well said not to.

This always gets a reblog.

Ok but clichés are clichés for a REASON. People love them.

White people specifically need to reblog this, I don’t CARE if it makes you uncomfortable–that’s the point. Listen to Native voices about Native issues PLEASE