You are like a book I want to read forever.
Love & Other Train Wrecks by Leah Konen (This quote is from an unfinished copy and may be subject to change–but isn’t it adorable?)
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Real
He’s perfect
and that’s the
problem.
Because perfection
isn’t real,
it doesn’t
exist.
Which means he
doesn’t exist,
that he isn’t
real.
It’s frustrating.
Irritating.
Annoying.
You know it’s all for
show. You even
think you know
why he does it.
But then
one day he turns
his head and you
see his face and it’s
not the façade
you’ve come to know.
Not exactly.
It’s broken.
Cracked.
Contains a permanent
chip he cannot
hide.
And you find yourself
feeling badly for seeing it,
as the change in
visage is through
no will or action
of his own.
And you can sense how it
bothers him. And you wish
he could see it
for what it is. See that it
adorns. Not mars.
You wish he could
see it the way
you do.
See that it makes him
real.
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Follow
As a boy,
I followed my mother.
But I did not always
listen, leading to
regret.
As a soldier,
I followed my commands,
until the day I abandoned
post, for better or worse
I still do not know.
As a dead man,
I followed a sheep
in wolf’s clothing.
No thought. No care.
No regret.
Now my mother
dead, the sheep
skinned, and my city
burns at the hands of those
I abandoned.
Now,
now a woman
stands before me.
A woman who tried
to kill me. A woman who destroyed
what was left of my mother.
A woman who exposed
the sheep. A woman whom
my love calls friend.
What I would give to follow her.
Follow her, and
maybe, just maybe,
be following
for the right reasons.
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Vincent Van Gogh
“Long Grass with Butterflies“
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Come and take my hand. Let us fall in love again. With the beauty of the world. With each other. With ourselves.
Lukas W. // Fall with me (via somepiecesofmyheartandsoul)
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Earth at it’s finest
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Flowering Azaleas by the Window c. 1895. Marie Egner
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Be humble for you are made of earth. Be noble for you are made of stars.
Serbian Proverbs
(via laynemorgan)
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- Akin Olokun
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The head of Monte Sorrento via Pierre-Auguste Renoir
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Peace
So many emotions.
Terror.
Frustration.
Worry.
Determination.
Relief.
And all in one day,
leaving us in
a state of
fatigue.
When I saw you
lying in the street,
I couldn’t much blame you.
"The sky is so pretty," you said,
and I was filled with warmth
as I laid down beside you.
You asked our sibling to join us,
and they agreed readily, excitedly,
joining our little circle
of exhausted reprieve.
We watched in silence as
the sky turned
from blue
to orange
to pink and purple,
as the stars began
to shine through.
And as with each speck of
light, so too did our loved
ones trickle through,
coming out into the dark
to complete our little circle.
It was quiet.
It was peaceful.
Though we knew the coming days
would be just as long,
just as hard,
just as daunting,
for a moment,
there was peace.
Then we started yelling.
Started fighting.
Started arguing.
And through it all,
I felt so much
love, I thought for sure
my chest would burst,
causing the night
to go from black
to purple to pink to orange
to blue.
This is my family,
I thought with a smile.
All near.
All safe.
All within arm’s reach.
Truly, never had I known
such peace.
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Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.
Leonardo da Vinci (via leonardodavinci-art)
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The Three Trees, Autumn via Claude Monet
Size: 73x92.3 cm
Medium: oil on canvas
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