try a little tenderness,

But in the hours that were really minutes, he didn’t beg me not to leave. He didn’t say he hadn’t meant it. When I stood, his gaze just followed me up. Then I was a shattered blown-glass blue rose, and every step away from him made my shards clatter and chime.

Jodi Meadows, Asunder (via words-written)

Come back! Even as a shadow,
even as a dream.

Megara, Herakles by Euripides, trans. Anne Carson (via fleurstains)

(Source: differenceetrepetition)

You’ll ache. And you’re going to love it. It will crush you. And you’re still going to love all of it. Doesn’t it sound lovely beyond belief?

Ernest Hemingway, The Garden Of Eden (via captain-swan)

(Source: kitty-en-classe)

Do not look at yourself with disgust, you are a gift to this earth. You are beautiful, you are a light, an energy, an essence. You are nature herself.

Heidi Pickett (via ultragroovy)

(Source: purplebuddhaproject)

The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink.

T.S. Eliot (via dinwos)

(Source: peterthewebslingerparker)

Imperfections are attractive when their owners are happy with them.

Augusten Burroughs, This Is How: Surviving What You Think You Can’t (via quotes-shape-us)

What To Do When Your Boyfriend’s Asshole Best Friend Says, “Hey, Never Trust Anything That Bleeds For Seven Days And Doesn’t Die,
Right?”
OR The Only Poem I’ll Ever Write About Periods.

Don’t excuse him because he’s had
at least three lite beers
and is sweating through his black button down
that his mom or exgirlfriend
probably bought him.
Don’t excuse him because he’s been turned down
by the last six girls he went on dates with
after meeting them on tindr
with a picture that’s seven years old
Don’t excuse him because
he’s usually such a nice guy
because you don’t want to be a bitch
because you don’t want to cause a scene
because when you were seventeen
your sister told you
no one likes an angry feminist

Tell him,
Hey, Asshole:
Let me explain something to you.
Every goddamn motherfucking month since I was eleven,
a part of me
tore itself to shreds
ripped itself apart inside me
and then remade itself.

So yes, I bleed for seven days
and I don’t die
You know what else can do that?
Gods.
Immortal beings.
Things of legend.
Fuck, I can even
create life.

So I say, never trust anything that can’t
bleed for seven days and not die.
You know what that makes it?
Weak
Fallible
Mortal.
So let’s see, hon,
What you’re made of.
If you can bleed for seven days
and not die.

Rip out his jugular with your teeth.
And when he bleeds for seven seconds
and dies,
spit on his corpse and say,
I thought not.

Katherine Tucker (via alchemy)

(Source: determined-in-slc)

The thing I’m most afraid of is me. Of not knowing what I’m going to do. Of not knowing what I’m doing right now.

1Q84, Haruki Murakami, pg 294  (via suchvodka)

(Source: oneqeightyfour)

I just hope that one day—preferably when we’re both blind drunk—we can talk about it.

J.D. Salinger, Franny and Zooey  (via tends)

(Source: orsomethinglikethatreally)