What I feel about you is my business and what you feel about me is your business. Pay attention to your own business.
Kathy Acker, 1995 (via internetcrisis)
Everyone knows that breathing is just the silent version of screaming.
Sarah Jean Alexander is a writer from Baltimore (via internetcrisis)
The signal at the crosswalk is taking a long time. The glowing orange hand seems permanent, barring you from moving forward. Eventually, you cross the street anyway, signal be damned. It hasn’t always been an easy road for you, so far, nor will it begin to be, now.
Dalton Day, Weather or Not (via internetcrisis)
At the end of the day, we can endure much more than we think we can.
Frida Kahlo (via internetcrisis)
this is what i have always wanted: coming into the house from the storm, realising that i’m alone now and it is okay
with only a silence rooting itself in the heart, that comes not from held words crawling in the throat dying to let themselves out, but from words that have already been purged, talking that has already been done
the ghost of our love is left standing in the rain outside — lost and far away from us
A long time ago I learned not to explain things to people. It misleads them into thinking they’re entitled to know everything I do.
Lisa Kleypas, Dreaming of You (via internetcrisis)
psa
sometimes life doesn’t care at all what you think, or what you’ve done to deserve anything. it’s one of the cruelest things about life, and it’s possible to feel invisible, or unwanted, or unimportant. but life goes on, and you are a source of joy to others in ways you will never know.
your lips, a gentle dance on my cheek, a ballad across my lips, slowly, hungrily, devouring me. i traced slow circles down your back, planting kisses on your salty neck. a gentle slap, a throaty laugh, a wicked smile. shhhh.
some say they’re lovers, not fighters. but when you love, you’d often end up fighting.
every night there are wild plants growing inside the head/their voices colonise the silence/ and then there are those that wilt faster than they grow/ their deaths are so quiet they mean nothing to you.
Source: internetcrisis