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@mhhhdoss

Sometimes I like pizza with my ranch
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quoted-books
That, paradoxically, narrowing her concerns had made her more capable of love and generosity and empathy and, yes, even peace and justice. It was the difference between loving something out of duty—because the movement required it of you—and loving something you actually loved. Love—real, genuine, unasked-for love—made room for more of itself, it turned out. Love, when freely given, duplicates and multiplies.

Nathan Hill, The Nix (via quoted-books)

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marisatomay
I don’t remember September 11, 2001 To me, it was my sixth day of First Grade at Beaumont Elementary in Berwyn, Pennsylvania I was a 5 year old new kid Mrs Kowalski was still learning our names The School Board decided not to tell us what happened They didn’t want 7000 children panicking They knew we were safer in school then with panicked and distracted parents on highways To me, it was just another Tuesday I don’t remember 9/11 I don’t remember my parents explaining that something very bad had happened That a lot of people got hurt I don’t remember them holding me and my siblings Thanking any higher power that their babies were alive I don’t remember 9/11 I remember the weeks that followed The red eyes of the adults around me The fantastical and horrific stories The tears and denial of friends who had lost family Burned into my psyche I don’t remember 9/11 I remember my parents going to New York a month after the attacks for their anniversary They brought back gifts from the Toys R Us in Times Square And stories of dust covered cars that would never be reclaimed I don’t remember 9/11 I remember hearing that we were going to war I remember the fear for children like me who would get hurt I remember the resigned acceptance “We’re just getting the bad guys” they said “You’re too young to understand” I don’t remember 9/11 I remember my confusion when my father couldn’t walk my mom and I to the gate at Philadelphia International “But the last time we visited Aunt Theresa you waved goodbye” What I would’ve given to go back to 1999 I don’t remember 9/11 I remember the dead Young Americans fighting out of grief and misguided patriotism Iraqis and Afghans slaughtered out of revenge I remember pushing a bully down a slide when he asked my friend if her parents bombed buildings I week later he tripped me going down the stairs, spraining my ankle He called me an Al-Qaeda supporter I don’t remember 9/11 I remember a war I remember being desensitized to images of gore and destruction I remember a norm of hatred and aggression in the name of patriotism I remember learning of the ever-mounting debt that will be saddled on my generation That my grandchildren will still be paying off I don’t remember 9/11 I remember traveling to other countries I remember being reminded to be careful who we tell we’re Americans I remember the shock on people’s faces “But you’re so nice!” “You don’t look like war-mongers!” I don’t remember 9/11 I remember the nausea I felt when I learned in school that we armed and trained Al-Qaeda That we caused the Iranian Revolution All of the innocents we slaughtered That we fund corruption and wars when it fits our needs That we are a nation of terrorists ourselves I don’t remember 9/11 I remember years of history teachers glossing over the early 2000s “You all know this already” I remember finally speaking up Asking Mr Palmetier to please go over 9/11 and all of the events that followed I remember his stunned silence as he looked at his AP US History class “Sir…we were 6…we don’t remember” I don’t remember 9/11 I remember the fear I still feel every time I ride public transport Every time I’m in a crowded area Every time I visit a national site I don’t remember 9/11 I remember visiting the memorial on a frigid day in December The sleet masked the tears on my face So much death and destruction An endless war A generation that grew up on fear A generation that gained social media and used it to learn To empathize To understand I don’t remember 9/11 But I remember everything since

I Don’t Remember 9/11 by Amanda Motel (9.11.2016)

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permeate
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ninasdrafts
And suddenly he couldn’t stand it anymore, not really knowing her, not knowing anything. He wanted to ask her every single question that seeped into his thoughts like a drop of ink spreading in a glass of clear water, he wanted to unravel her secrets like the spider web they were, keeping him glued in place until they eventually ate him up from the inside. He wanted to know why she always wore the same silver necklace and what it meant to her, wanted to know why her favourite colour was blue and why she hated red, and why she’d dyed her hair the shade of a raging fire two years ago when she could’ve turned it the colour of the ocean or the sky. Why she preferred winter to summer, why she was always upset in the middle of August and why she never went to bed early when her eyes were always bloodshot. He wondered how she could stare at people like they were art when so much in this world went wrong and how she could write about friends who had abandoned her and boys who had broken her heart like they were a lesson she gladly accepted. How she could compare that vile boy next door to thunder and coffee and flowers and whole galaxies while she seemed so lost in a dimension only known to her. And most of all he wanted to know why she kept so many secrets and why she didn’t trust him enough to unburden her heart, worry for worry, secret for secret. But he guessed that was just part of her, a part he would never fully comprehend: some mysteries weren’t meant to be understood. They were meant to be seen and examined and admired. She was one of them.

She was a mystery n.j. (via ninasdrafts)

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knockturnallley
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quotemadness
I think everything in life is art. What you do. How you dress. The way you love someone, and how you talk. Your smile and your personality. What you believe in, and all your dreams. The way you drink your tea. How you decorate your home. Or party. Your grocery list. The food you make. How your writing looks. And the way you feel. Life is art.

Helena Bonham Carter (via knockturnallley)

Source: quotemadness.com
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bl-ossomed
Fall in love with someone who’s comfortable with your silence. Find someone who doesn’t need your words to know it’s time to kiss you.

Clairabelle Ann (via missyourlaugh)

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bl-ossomed
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blossomfully
“I hope we last. I hope we do. But if we don’t, this is how I want you to remember me: I want you to remember me curled up, listening to the sound of your heartbeat and tracing maps across your skin. Remember me laughing at your jokes, even the stupid ones. Remember me in hysterics for absolutely no reason and in tears because one time you made me so sad neither of us thought I’d recover. Remember me brave, that time you held my hand and I thought I was going to die; remember me scared and gentle and delicate and breakable - only for you though, only for you. Remember me happy, and all the ridiculous ways I tried to get your attention. Remember the way I was too stubborn to talk to you and how absolutely insane it drove the both of us. Remember all the firsts and how they were so delightful we went back for seconds and thirds and fourths. Remember the songs you couldn’t stop listening to and the childish dreams you allowed yourself about the future. If it’s any consolation I allowed myself to have them too. If it comes to it I don’t want you to remember the ending. Remember the beginning. Remember the first time you knew.

S.Z. // Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #132 (via blossomfully)

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bl-ossomed
do you remember the first time you were called annoying? how your breath stopped short in your chest the way the light drained from your eyes, though you knew your cheeks were ablaze the way your throat tightened as you tried to form an argument that got lost on your tongue. your eyes never left the floor that day. you were 13. you’re 20 now, and i still see the light fade from your eyes when you talk about your interests for “too long,” apologies littering every other sentence, words trailing off a cliff you haven’t jumped from in 7 years. i could listen to you forever, though i know speaking for more than 3 uninterrupted minutes makes you anxious. all i want you to know is that you deserve to be heard for 3 minutes for 10 minutes for 2 hours forever. there will be people who cannot handle your grace, your beauty, your wisdom, your heart; mostly because they can’t handle their own. but you will never be and have never been “too much.”

Tyler Ford (via winterkristall)

Source: tylerthelatteboy
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quoted-books
“I hear his voice shout the first word of our mostly non verbal dialogue… Angered and anxious, his tempers flared faster than a forest fire. What little remained of the world could have collapsed into its empty graves for all I cared as I clung to his back, downed and drowned by the power of those soul penetrating eyes. How foolish was I to forget that even the most fortified prison is made of sticks.”

Jennifer Renson, “Starving” (via quoted-books)