yournursetobe

[yournursetobe]

“It’s Monday, and your hair is messy. You haphazardly put on your jeans and shirt as you moan about the day of the week - and I love you. It’s Tuesday, and you’re stumbling your way around the room, trying to sort out the things you have to do. You stop to briefly kiss the freckles on my nose, asking me about my day - and I love you. It’s Wednesday, and you’re quietly sprawled on the couch. You pat the spot next to you and pepper kisses on my hair because it’s my least favorite day of the week (and you know it) - and I love you. It’s Thursday, and you’re wondering what the weekend will bring, but you’re still moaning about how the week is going by too slow for your tastes - and I love you. It’s Friday, and I’m surrounded by DVDs and snacks you’ve prepared when I was gone. You welcome me with blankets and warmth from your arms - and I love you. It’s Saturday, and you’re feeling lazy. You won’t let me leave your arms (or is it the other way around?) So you tuck me under your chin as we both wonder how much time we have left before sleep makes us miss each other’s faces - and I love you. It’s Sunday, and there’s nothing much to say but I love you.”

— Loving you by (NJ.)

[yournursetobe]

“The sky is so tragically beautiful. A graveyard of stars.”

— Unknown

[yournursetobe]

serendipity

(n.) finding someone good and beautiful without looking for it.

There’s a story that starts small. Starts with breadcrumbs and constellations. Our hands, a postage stamp to another city. Our hearts, a spool of thread tied to each other’s. At night, we’ve laid wide awake for a story that starts mid-sentence. Unscripted road maps. Gibbous daydreams brought to life on the front porch. Slack-jawed apparitions of tomorrow’s light. Someone else’s language sits heavy on my tongue. An aftertaste of people’s names. Like I’m supposed to be somewhere else. Like home is carried away in another’s hands. The setting sun splits the sky open until all that’s left are foggy stars tailoring unexpected paths. This is all just sweet happenstance. We can call it hope. We can color it lemon yellow and sapphire blue. After a while, it all just becomes a prismatic moment of seeing and meeting.

[yournursetobe]

“Perhaps we will meet again. Meet each other when we’ve become who we are supposed to be. Learned how to be less reckless with our hearts. Perhaps it will be a third or fourth chance. I’m young enough to believe in love, old enough to know it isn’t always perfect, but human enough to want it anyway still. So perhaps we will be wiser by then. Bolder and steadier. Still imperfect but more accepting.”

— (NJ.)

[yournursetobe]

mary oliver, upstream

[yournursetobe]

“We don’t give other people credit for the same interior complexity we take for granted in ourselves, the same capacity for holding contradictory feelings in balance, for complexly alloyed affections, for bottomless generosity of heart and petty, capricious malice. We can’t believe that anyone could be unkind to us and still be genuinely fond of us, although we do it all the time. Years ago a friend of mine had a dream about a strange invention; a staircase you could descend deep underground, in which you heard recordings of all the things anyone had ever said about you, both good and bad. The catch was, you had to pass through all the worst things people had said before you could get to the highest compliments at the very bottom. There is no way I would ever make it more than two and a half steps down such a staircase, but I understand its terrible logic: if we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.”

— Tim Kreider, I Know What You Think of Me (via kmnml)

[yournursetobe]

a mundane thought on growing up

[yournursetobe]

every august its like. u will feel happy but also unbearably sad

[yournursetobe]

“Breathe. You’re going to be okay. Breathe and remember that you’ve been in this place before. You’ve been this uncomfortable and anxious and scared, and you’ve survived. Breathe and know that you can survive this too. These feelings can’t break you. They’re painful and debilitating, but you can sit with them and eventually, they will pass. Maybe not immediately, but sometime soon, they are going to fade and when they do, you’ll look back at this moment and laugh for having doubted your resilience. I know it feels unbearable right now, but keep breathing, again and again. This will pass. I promise it will pass.”

— Daniell Koepke

[yournursetobe]

[yournursetobe]

[yournursetobe]

Tumblr still feels like my safe place after so many years

[yournursetobe]

There is a certain tone in the things that matter, an architecture of delayed light or slow sounds from long ago. Fragments for the after-silence, the sorting of a garden. Things in their essence. Spiritual forms, an invisible geometry of objects that gives strength to us through music…Whispered petitions to show us the way or to destroy us completely. Every word a last word. Every sound a revenant.

— Herbert Pföstl, On my Sanctuary Place

[yournursetobe]

[yournursetobe]

i think ppl are scared to speak up on where they want their love to go, yes out of rejection, but also in a weird way where no one wants to be the partner who “cares more”. no one wants to be the partner who always has to start the hard conversations, bc it’s easier to allow someone else to do the presentation and you be in your seat than to have you up there with thoughts & a clear plan with your nervousness and being Seen about what you are. It’s easier on the ego to feel like you can reject and walk away from someone instead of being the person who puts themselves out there. but the secret is this. the most special person will always be the one who starts those conversations. the fun of love and the romance of love will always follow that person who speaks first, who has the will to define their wants and needs. now you just get to decide if you want that to be you. 

[yournursetobe]

1. your suffering can’t end until you stop identifying with it. if your sense of self is tied up in your suffering, anyone or anything that attempts to separate you from it will become the enemy because, whether consciously or subconsciously, you will on some level believe they are trying to take away a part of who you are.

2. read the above again.

[yournursetobe]

This day of mine was lost like all the other days, half of it thinking of yesterday, half of it thinking of tomorrow.

— Abbas Kiarostami, A Wolf Lying in Wait: Selected Poems, (tr. by Karim Emami & Michael Beard)