my-dear-life - Tumblr blog

[my-dear-life]

Ritual Is Journey, Chris Abani

[my-dear-life]

“‘This will only hurt a bit,’ you reassured me with a voice like lip balm. The next thing I knew, I was on all fours, crumpled upon the cold ceramic of a bleak future without you. You need to know that I awoke to see the sunrise. You need to know that I breathed air that never passed through your lungs. Sorry to disappoint you, but I am slowly taking back control of a life you thought you greedily claimed.”

— Noor Shirazie, Into the Wildfire: Battle Scars

[my-dear-life]

“the house was not haunted. rather, it was hauntingly mysterious. several generations had come and gone, each with its own web of relationships and stories, some more interconnected than others. i remember the staircase, under which the children played. the toy abacus, the stuffed bear, the tattered box filled with other toys that had been passed down from my great-grandparents to my grandparents to the numerous aunts, uncles, and parents who had drifted through that solid home. in the summers, one could see streams of light shining through the windows upstairs, glittering with dust in the air. the laughter of children would fill each room, despite the defiant karachi heat and humidity. it would rain at night, and soon after, one could hear the bugs buzzing excitedly outside, as if they were trying to keep in tune with the crickets in the wet grass. the dinner table would be a clutter of chattering adults, the clinking of cutlery, and wailing toddlers. that table has held some of the most vibrant conversations i have ever heard. once the meal was over, the adults would continue to sit at the overcrowded table, reminiscing their youth and catching up on each others’ lives. i would end my day with ripe mangoes, blood-red pomegranate, and the extended family, soon to go their own separate ways. the summer gatherings eventually came to an end. my grandparents’ house is nothing more than rubble, a collection of bricks and stones that sheltered so many lives, each one scattered across the globe. i am comforted by the fact that the memories of my summers in pakistan cannot crumble as easily as that house did.”

— Noor Shirazie, on pakistan.

[my-dear-life]

“a graveyard of memories is always kept alive by its many visitors.”

— Noor Shirazie

[my-dear-life]

I’m tired ... So damn tired of my life. It used to be a passionate journey, I wanted to moved forward, achieve my goals, live a life; Now I’m frustrated by the fact of waking up the very next day. I’ve been hurt too much and now it just feels like the wall is finally closing in. I want out. It feels too much, like I’ve been on this path for too long and it just keeps getting worse, I keep getting worse, there’s a moment of clarity and then there isn’t and I’m down this dark tunnel once again.

I’m not that kid anymore and maybe that’s the problem, I’m an adult, a dysfunctional teen who feels sorry for that kid because I couldn’t help her then and it still feels impossible to help her now. Every little thing is eating me alive because it doesn’t feel little anymore, the weight of these memories is far too heavy to bear ... Can’t the world just take a breather and let me fix my problems in time and peace? No it can, it doesn’t stop for anyone, no matter how much you’re breaking, it’s not going to stop, it’s still going to smash your skull open and rip your heart out. And the funny part is that you’re still going to survive, still going to live even when you’re wishing so profoundly that you were dead.

It amazes me as to how I am still alive and kicking when every second of my existence feels hurt and lost, the pain is so fucking huge that it’s hard to breath sometimes, yet the heart doesn’t stop. If only feelings could actually kill, I’d be dead a million times and over but I don’t die, not today, not tomorrow.

[my-dear-life]

http://iglovequotes.net/

[my-dear-life]

“Above all else, it is about leaving a mark that I existed: I was here. I was hungry. I was defeated. I was happy. I was sad. I was in love. I was afraid. I was hopeful. I had an idea and I had a good purpose and that’s why I made works of art.” - Felix Gonzalez-Torres

via @quotemadness

[my-dear-life]

via @extramadness

[my-dear-life]

draco malfoy appreciation 1/?

[my-dear-life]

“I’ll read my books and I’ll drink coffee and I’ll listen to music, and I’ll bolt the door.” - J.D. Salinger, A Boy in France (via the-book-diaries)

[my-dear-life]

ALIVE OR DEAD?

Do you think it’s poetic... Or maybe just sad that when a person dies, well that he’s not really lost, sure he’s gone but he lives on. Like a part of him always lives on with somebody.

If he leaves behind happy memories with a person, he leaves resentment with another. One remembers the warmth and love he shed around and one recalls the betrayal of leaving too soon. 

When a person dies, he’s not really dead. He always lives on in someone else’s memory, may that be blessing or haunting one’s mind.

[my-dear-life]

all jackets should have inside pockets its the best feature and everyone else needs to get on board. whats better than reaching inside ur jacket to retrieve Secret Objects from your Secret Pocket? nothing. nothing. youre gonna store your wallet and weapons and cool rocks you find in your outside pocket? where they can fall out?? where someone can swipe them? like an idiot? get inside pockets

[my-dear-life]

LEAVE THE CITY

I’m tired of tending to these fires. I’ve used up all I’ve collected, I have singed my hands. It’s glowing, embers barely showing. Proof of life in the shadows, dancing on my plans.

The burning is so low it’s concerning, cause they know when it goes out, it’s a glorious gone. It’s only time before they show me, why no one ever comes back with details from the beyond.

Last year I needed change of pace, couldn’t take the pace of change. Moving hastily. But this year, though I’m far from home, In trench I’m not alone. These faces facing me. they know what I  mean.

- twenty one pilots

[my-dear-life]

Full Of Thought

So what do you do when your mind is full of words and your heart full of sorrow?

Do you grief or take action ... A rash decision?

 What ails the soul? 

How do you find peace without really destroying what’s left.

Neutralizing what’s left and building a new self.

And how do you know that this new version of yourself is better than the last one? How do you know that this time, this upgrade will survive and not freeze like the last one?

There is no real, easy way of knowing what will happen to us. Will we survive the night? Or give in to the temptations of our own toxic self - brain. So do we live in fear of the night, counting the hours until daylight or be brave enough to face ourselves, because let’s face it ... The thing that keeps us awake at night, makes us afraid of the dark and scares the living shit out of us is nothing but the discomfort of being truly vulnerable to ourselves.

[my-dear-life]

“we stay up late because, for those couple of hours, you’re left with nothing and no one but yourself. while it may hurt to reflect upon thoughts that you are distracted from during the day, the act of doing so is basically you at your truest form, your rawest form. those few hours allow you to be honest with yourself.”

— Noor Shirazie

[my-dear-life]

if i think about your impact on me too frequently, i find myself at the starting line of impending destruction. get out of a mind that screams for closure.

Noor Shirazie, Into the Wildfire: Mourning Departures (via noorshirazie)

[my-dear-life]

promises flow from your empty mouth like a waterfall, yet i am still dying of thirst.

Noor Shirazie, Into the Wildfire: Battle Scars (via noorshirazie)