Everything sounds strange inside an empty room.

A whisper sounds like snakes hissing inside your ear

a snake hissing sounds like the wind and the wind

sounds like screaming, but there is no wind and

the only screams here come from your head.

I guess this is what it’s like between you and I

and I’m only just finding out that this room’s not

so empty after all. There’s ash stuck beneath

my sole, and my footprints tell me I’ve come from

somewhere so far away, the mountains have

grown smaller and there’s only love songs in the

air because all the birds have gone to sleep.

They’ve been asleep too long, I’m afraid they’re

all dead. The trees are bare, their arms, such

stringy, little things now. If I were a tree,

a couple of tourists about to get married would

come from foreign lands to watch the sun set

in my homeland, they’d take photographs and

pluck our flowers, they’d eat our food and carve

their names upon my flesh, believing this would

turn them immortal. But trees die, and love dies.

And if I were a tree, I’d wrap my roots around

my chest and squeeze and squeeze because

everything sounds strange inside an empty room.


Photo credit @inksandcoffee

We can keep on chasing the worldly things and find that none of those can satisfy us. Contentment is not found by having more of what the world can offer. Contentment is when our heart is filled with the joy of meeting Jesus.

#littlethingsaboutgod #jesus #christ #god #lord #savior #devotion #proverbs #bible #verse #content #joy #qotd #lettering #world #life #faith

You’re seventeen, and I can see you.
You look at me, and it hurts. I can see
that the butterflies behind your irises
don’t fly like they used to, and how the
wildfire that used to flourish inside of
your heart has been snuffed out like a
Fourth of July sparkler. Somebody did
this to you, babygirl. And I need you to
know that it’s not okay. I see the sad in
your eyes, I see it pulling you down like
ankleweights. You wear the smile of a
girl who’s seen too much, the fractured
sighs of someone drowning in her own
existence. You’re seventeen, and I know
you felt like dying when you woke up on
Christmas morning. You’re crying, and
the loneliness is going to swallow you
one of these times, you swear it. Don’t,
though. You’re seventeen, and I still
believe in you. You’re almost gone, but
the keyword is almost. Almost. Almost.
—  say it with me, j.f. (metaphorsandmadness)
Secret rendezvous

Emma leaned against a tree as she waited for Baelfire, her arms behind her back. 


If Baelfire didn’t hurry up she was going to die of boredom. Where was he anyway? She had sneaked out of the castle for this and he better not leave her high and dry.