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The quieter you become, the more you can hear.

-Ram Dass

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Safia Elhillo, from "Summer," Girls That Never Die.

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⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

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oh uh. scuse me. just a lil snail crossing your dash

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Polly Nor

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baby girl your speech patterns make no sense. im in love with you

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The legacies people leave behind in you.

My handwriting is the same style as the teacher’s who I had when I was nine. I’m now twenty one and he’s been dead eight years but my i’s still curve the same way as his.

I watched the last season of a TV show recently but I started it with my friend in high school. We haven’t spoken in four years.

I make lentil soup through the recipe my gran gave me.

I curl my hair the way my best friend showed me.

I learned to love books because my father loved them first.

How terrifying, how excruciatingly painful to acknowledge this. That I am a jigsaw puzzle of everyone I have briefly known and loved. I carry them on with me even if I don’t know it. How beautiful.

~Edit~

Yikes guys I didn’t expect this post to blow up.

I’m grateful it did though. Looking at all the comments and tags really takes a stab at my heart because it just shows how wired we are for connection. If life has any meaning, then it’s that.

This concept really sunk its teeth into me as it reassures the notion that no one is ever truly gone. Parts of them just change into you.

That teacher I talked about inspired me to become a teacher myself. This was my first year teaching. Here’s to a new generation of curved i’s.

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Don't sabotage your identity trying to name it. Let it be undefined, permeable, mixed, peculiar, unapologetically authentic. Be in peace with being unprecedented, with not fitting anywhere, with being adrift. Before flight, there's a free fall.

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asking about my mood means a lot

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screaming at the top of my lungs

no body ever heard me

but now I whisper my words

and you answer, always so clearly

- a.s

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waking up is so tiresome , I would like to sleep for a little while longer . If only .

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opening tumblr is like stepping into the woods at night and listening to the chaotic screams of wandering spirits