Tabula Rasa
What is the sign of a friend? Is it that he tells you his secret sorrows? No, it is that he tells you his secret joys. Many people will confide their secret sorrows to you, but the final mark of intimacy is when they share their secret joys with you.
Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest (via sincerely-elenaa)

I am not the first person you loved.
You are not the first person I looked at
with a mouthful of forevers. We
have both known loss like the sharp edges
of a knife. We have both lived with lips
more scar tissue than skin. Our love came
unannounced in the middle of the night.
Our love came when we’d given up
on asking love to come. I think
that has to be part
of its miracle.

This is how we heal.
I will kiss you like forgiveness. You
will hold me like I’m hope. Our arms
will bandage and we will press promises
between us like flowers in a book.
I will write sonnets to the salt of sweat
on your skin. I will write novels to the scar
of your nose. I will write a dictionary
of all the words I have used trying
to describe the way it feels to have finally,
finally found you.

And I will not be afraid
of your scars.

I know sometimes
it’s still hard to let me see you
in all your cracked perfection,
but please know:
whether it’s the days you burn
more brilliant than the sun
or the nights you collapse into my lap
your body broken into a thousand questions,
you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I will love you when you are a still day.
I will love you when you are a hurricane.

Clementine von Radics, Mouthful of Forevers (via saintofsass)
We look for these things to fill an inner emptiness. They may bring a brief satisfaction, but it never lasts, and it is never enough. And so we crave more. This paradox has a word in Sanskrit: upadana, which refers to the cycle of craving and grasping.
NYTimes Sunday Review.  (via saintofsass)
This is how it happens:
you will find her in the beginning, when we are happy and free.
When we are nothing but laughs and moans and sighs and grabbing at one another trying to find the fresh air and the sun and the sea.
But the secret is this, we were never nothing - we have always been something. Something more than we expected and something more than I could explain.
She will slip in then, at the beginning when we are being careless and hapless, when you think you can fuck a girl and it won’t mean a thing.
You say you’re dead inside but nobody really believes you. Nobody believes you’re past the point of no return. You’re just confused.
You’re just preserving yourself.
You’re just creating a wall so that you don’t let them down again. So that you don’t let yourself down again.
She will creep in your memory, because once you’ve felt her - you won’t forget her.
You think she will be just another fuck, but you don’t know a goddamn thing.
Because the thing is?
She is a lot like me. You will tell me this, as though it is supposed to make me sting less.
But that will be a deeper cut than any of the rest, and it will bleed for days on end. I will be too hurt to stitch up the wound. I will be too drunk to sanitize it and move on.
I will tell myself to survive.
That survival should be easier because I saw this coming.
But being cut from the inside out is never easy, even when you know it’s inevitable.
And it might be weeks, or months later, but one night, you will roll over and tell me:
“I want to be somewhere else.”
And I will know that it’s her. I will know that I am no longer the best, that I no longer hold the keys to the darkest parts of you, the parts you were afraid to share with other people - the parts you gave me before telling me to run.
But I didn’t run.
And goddamn, I should have.
Run, baby, run, MKK (via thewordsmithe)




There are two people you’ll meet in your life. One will run a finger down the index of who you are and jump straight to the parts of you that peak their interest. The other will take his or her time reading through every one of your chapters and maybe fold corners of you that inspired them most. You will meet these two people; it is a given. It is the third that you’ll never see coming. That one person who not only finishes your sentences, but keeps the book.
(via thedapperproject)