How the Signs Evolve From Each Other

♈️Aries says, Behold, for I am alive. I experience. I am becoming.

♉️Taurus says, I experience but I must also savor. I must build.

♊️Gemini says, it’s not enough to work your life away. I have questions. I must wonder.

♋️Cancer says, you are too untethered. I must have security. I must feel safe.

♌️Leo says, you are too timid. We were meant to be seen! I must perform. I must create.

♍️Virgo says, put your pride away. We cannot waste our time on frivolity. I must serve, help and heal.

♎️Libra says, yes, you are refined. But where is your charm. Be hospitable and charming, as well as helpful.

♏️Scorpio says, don’t be so shallow.
Appearance is not all. You must perceive deeper, be deeper.

♐️Sagittarius says, let go of your guardedness. Whatever you have learned you must share. Take it and travel and share.

♑️Capricorn says, but you cannot wander forever. We must store, we must work, we must make our name known.

♒️Aquarius says, you are too rigid. Where is your originality? We are not cogs in a machine.

♓️Pisces says, be not detached. An idea is only as good as who it can help. We are one with all.

audiemcdotie  asked:

Who hurt you? Like what's your damage?

when i was a little child i woke up one otherwise-fine tuesday morning in late august and i went downstairs to eat my sugary breakfast cereal in preparation for my first day of second grade with the tv on in the background playing my favorite toons (i would list them but you probably wouldnt know, because only true 90s kids would remember) and i vividly remember the taste of the sweet cereal pieces and the way they crunched so beautifully in my tiny mouth as i savored every bite and the flavor sensations flooding my tiny baby mind but eventually it had to come to an end as i took the last bite of my sugary breakfast cereal and felt my first truly profound despair coursing through my 7 year old veins on a scale until then unknown to me for any emotion and i sorrowfully got up from my seat at the wooden kitchen table my family has eaten our meals at for years and i solemnly walked to the sink where i would say goodbye to my empty cereal-less milk which was now tinged pink by the sugars and as i tipped the bowl in and the pinkish milk began to pour into the garbage disposal along with my hopes and dreams and childlike wonder for the world i saw a few tiny left behind grains of artificially colored sugar gather on the rim of the bowl like looseleaf tea leaves that stay on the bottom of your cup and bring terrible terrible omens and believe me the sugar did just the same because by some horrible stroke of poor fortune the grains lined up in such a way that bore a remarkable resemblance to a pair of mens’ pants and they caught the light in such a way that they sparkled to a degree that hurt my tender young eyes and damaged them permanently and thats why i wear bifocals already when i should be in my prime but in truth that is getting away from the point because the real damage was not in the physical effect of this sign but in the way it marred my soul for a decade and set me on my journey that i carry out now and will carry out for the ages

it was a painful experience

You struggle because you’re locating all of the magic in your life outside of yourself. When you are loved, then you are lovable. When you are left behind, you are unlovable. When you “arrive” at some point of success and fame as a writer, you will be worthy. Until then, you are worthless.

As long as you imagine that the outside world will one day deliver to you the external rewards you need to feel happy, you will always perceive your survival as exhausting and perceive your life as a long slog to nowhere. Instead, you have to savor the tiny struggles of the day: The cold glass of water after a long run. The hot bath after hours of digging through the dirt. The satisfaction of writing a good sentence, a good paragraph. You MUST feel these things, because these aren’t small rewards on the path to some big reward; these tiny things are everything. Savoring these things requires tuning in to your feelings, and it requires loving yourself instead of shoving your nose into your own question marks hour after hour, day after day.

You are not lost. You are here. Stop abandoning yourself. Stop repeating this myth about love and success that will land in your lap or evade you forever. Build a humble, flawed life from the rubble, and cherish that. There is nothing more glorious on the face of the earth than someone who refuses to give up, who refuses to give in to their most self-hating, discouraged, disillusioned self, and instead learns, slowly and painfully, how to relish the feeling of building a hut in the middle of the suffocating dust.

If you can learn to be where you are, without fear, then sooner than you know it, your life will quite naturally be filled with more love and more wonder than you can possibly handle. When that happens, you’ll look back and see that this was the most romantic time of your whole life. These are those terrible days, those gorgeous days, when you first learned to breathe and stand alone without fear, to believe not in finish lines but in the race itself. Your legs are aching and your heart is pounding and the world is electric. You will have 30 years or 50 years, or maybe you’ll be gone tomorrow. All that matters is this moment, right now. This is the moment you learn to be here, to feel your limbs, to feel your full heart, to realize, for the first time, just how lucky you are.

—  Why Should I Keep Going?, Heather Havrilesky

loveherdekay  asked:

✎ Love Letter - Dish a portion of a love letter your muse would write to Mora XDDDD <3

“…your beautiful hair sprawled all over the sheets. I can imagine it, and I tangled in that sweet web. I would have no choice to kiss those red lips of yours and be but a slave to your whims. It would be more of your pleasure to torment me, but I would silently savor your touch, your caresses, your abuse. To feel those claws of yours down my back would be exhilarating. For you, I would fall to my knees and do as you commanded. For you.” 

He put the pen down and read the letter. What would she do if she received these words? He was curious, but something in the back of his head let him know that it was not something he should do. He would look ridiculous if his words ever escaped the paper. He crumpled it up and held the letter in his hand, the paper suddenly engulfed in arcane flame. 

The Flea sighed and chuckled softly. Who was he kidding? Dahlia would never notice him. Not when she had the Rat King under her belt. The undead man wiped the ashes off his hand and proceeded to do more important things than write ridiculous love letters.


If you’re lucky enough to have a group of close friends that you connect with deeply, who are in your same season of life, all right in your very own town, I hope that you soak it up, that you lie around each other’s backyards every Saturday afternoon or stay up late on each other’s porches three nights a week.
—  Shauna Niequist, Savor