Wild Soul

We often waste an incredible amount of time wanting to be somewhere else, someone else. Our head-space gets clogged with compare, contrast, what if, why can’t, I should. But you’re never getting this time back. You can’t borrow tomorrow. Please don’t save the best for last. The best is all of you, here, where you are, brightly lit and painfully now, in this breath you’re leaving. Each second dies as it is born; every hello must say goodbye; all is fading in the collapsing hallway of a fragile hourglass, a grain at a time. You are here. The best is you, now.

this whole not living in a cottage in the middle of a forest is starting to take a toll on me 

how dull for you to live your life without any hills to die on, you, on your vast flat barren plains of compromise, acceptance, and accommodation, while I reign supreme over the lush, rolling highlands of stupid shit I have irrationally chosen to stake my entire identity on

….as someone who was terrified of having their own opinion, this is truly inspiring

What’s sad to me about this is that I’ve noticed a lot of people saying they “can’t” do art, or dance, or sing. That because it’s turned into a profitable vocation, and thus has some implied heirarchy to it (ie: there are ‘master artists’, and ‘professional singers and dancers’), people feel shame for not “living up to unattainable standards,” when in reality, art for humans is very therapeutic and good for the soul.

LAUGHS LOUDLY

Reblog if you’re an adult in witchcraft. (20+)