yumaah - Tumblr blog

[yumaah]

Stop

Inhale

Heavy lungs

Heavy breathing

From flicking tongues

We escape

Into the haze

Melting

Dripping

Slipping

Away

We forget now

How

Beaten we are

Mind hypoxic

Who are you?

I've forgotten

I've forgotten

PC: odd.nature

[yumaah]

[yumaah]

[yumaah]

The tiny velvet clay sculptures of Evgeny Hontor [x]

[yumaah]

本当に大切な もの以外全て捨ててしまえたら いいのにね.

It would be nice If we could put away and throw out everything Except what really mattered.

[yumaah]

[yumaah]

Stairway to the Devil’s Cauldron in Equador

[yumaah]

[yumaah]

I wasn’t your first and we both know this. She had your heart before you knew my name. He had mine before I ever looked twice at you. Most of your stories have her in them and it makes me wince but they’re coming less often and this is something to smile about. When you remember that you met him back when he was the one holding my hand, you try to remember what he looked like but you can’t because it didn’t matter then. They were first and we both know this. They were the first ones to make us say this is what everyone has been talking about. They were here and they were everything and now they’re not and we are something. I want to thank her for leaving you so softly. You want to punch him for leaving me in pieces. You weren’t my first and we both know this but that’s okay because maybe I learned all the hard lessons with him. Maybe you learned how to love with her. I guess what I’m trying to say is there are so many different kinds of love in this world. He was my shot of tequila on an empty stomach and she was your monsoon after the sky forgot how to cry for the entire summer but you’re my bed waiting for me after a long day and I’m your glass of red wine that warms you from the inside. So what if they were first? This doesn’t make me sad anymore. We both promise to do better this time and I finally believe us.

Fortesa Latifi - second (via madgirlf)

[yumaah]

Tonight’s chilly walk through Vitruvian Park. Merry Christmas Eve!

[yumaah]

Baymax Bento

[yumaah]

I regret a lot of things,

but living is not one of them.

[yumaah]

[yumaah]

People have this misconceived notion

that love is this crazy, beautiful thing that springs out of nothing and becomes your everything and suddenly all the bad things don't seem so bad and all the good things seem even better.

Music, poems, paintings, and pictures. Love becomes the quintessential form of art that embodies our entire being and soul and it's lifting and amazing and possibly one of the scariest things to delve into.

I haven't been living particularly long and I haven't had as much experience with love as some, but what I do know, I hold onto very dearly.

Love is not perfect. Love is jealous. Love is selfishness and selflessness. Love is pain as much as it is joy. Love is not about force, but about understanding. This is you and this is me and we'll bring ourselves together to become us and maybe it will work and maybe it won't, but i'll give it and you my all in hopes that you'll take care of me.

But we never know who will.

Love is risk. If you aren't willing to fuck yourself up for love, then you've already doomed your relationship.

That's why, as much as I know i'm going to get hurt...I want to give him my all. I want to give everything to him and he can do with it what he likes, but I want to go in this knowing that I tried my best to keep him.

If things don't work out...at least I can say that I put my entire being into it and at least I can say that I gave this love everything that I possibly could and at least I can say, for once, I didn't give up on something.

Because love is not regretting a thing.

[yumaah]

You're busy in your own head

But darling don't forget There's a whole world That doesn't revolve around you

[yumaah]

Try, Try Again.

I've been thinking a lot about success lately. I've always told myself that I wanted to be successful and that I wanted to make a difference and do something great when I got older, but now that i'm getting older, the kind of success i'm seeking just seems to slip further away.

But what does success really mean? Sometimes I feel successful just getting out of bed in the morning or biting my tongue when my grandma goes on one of her crazy rants or when I restrain myself from eating junk food.

Then I think, maybe it's not about how many successes I have in a lifetime, but the enormity of those successes.

But how big do they have to be for me to feel satisfied? And why do I feel like the success of whoever I end up with is just as important as mine?

I feel like I want to change the world, and I need someone who wants to do it along side me. I always thought that love was just that, love. That just because you loved that person, everything about everything would fall into place around it, as if love were a planet that two people lived on and it brought everything together with it's gravitational pull. But now I see more and more that it's not that...it's an interdependent relationship that isn't the center of everything, but something that heavily affects all aspects of you and your life and where you're going and what you're doing and it takes work to keep two lives together going down the same path when, naturally, we'd like to go down our own.

And that's what makes it so hard for me to say that I can be with someone for the rest of my life. There are so many variables, so much room for errors, too many things, not enough time, and what happens when you run out of reason?

Kapono once told me that I doomed us by focusing on "what if we don't" rather than "let's try" and I guess it's true. I'm not usually a negative person, but something about love makes me put up a wall.

I never want to feel so sad and helpless ever again, so i'll take my time and carefully decide what's worth it.

Cause shit hurts, man.

[yumaah]

She watched as the smoke made slow circles above her head, a light gray cloud forming above and around her, surrounding her with an ethereal mist. Maybe if she took enough hits and went enough rounds, she could disappear behind the haze and live in her own world forever.

Puff, puff, pass. P u f  f   ,    p    u     f      f    ,        p       a        s         s        .

Wasn't that the motto?

She lived an empty life, full of empty people doing meaningless things. Doting on fashion and beauty as if their lives depended on it and filling their souls with the habitual abuse of drugs and alcohol.

But what else is there to do? She wondered. All her life she hoped and prayed to become someone great. She was going to be a doctor and a writer. A teacher and a savior in her own right. She was going to make a difference.

Yet, here she was, doing the exact same thing that she hated the world for.

How does anyone even begin to live?