my life was never the same after reading “the only trick of friendship, i think, is to find people who are better than you are. not smarter, not cooler, but kinder and more generous, and more forgiving and then appreciate them for what they can teach you and try to listen to them when they tell you something about yourself no matter how bad or good it might be, and to trust them, which is the hardest thing of all. but the best, as well”
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Jane Austen, from Sense and Sensibility
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Clarice Lispector, Água Viva | Ethel Cain, "A House in Nebraska"
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grwm to forgive myself
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Sharon Olds, from "Something Is Happening", One Secret Thing: Poems
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*violently sobbing* I KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER I KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER
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anyone else just woke up one day and realized that our time on this earth is limited and that they really really really want to live despite every bad thing that happens and proceeded to have a break down or is it just me
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holding my own face in my own hands and screaming “there is no connection without an open heart! you must be brave! you must be honest! you must be true!” in the mirror
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reading by the seaside
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its true that romance amd friendship will not solve everything but. objectively speaking its very hard to get sad when you can say 'lets go get cake tomorrow okay' and someone will go get cake with you. like there is some good at least. you know
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i would be the best unreliable narrator i dont know shit that goes on around me
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The purest form of love is consideration. When someone thinks about how things would make you feel. Pays attention to detail. Holds you in regard when making decisions that could affect you. In any bond, how much they care about you can be found in how much they consider you
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sorry for not answering messages for three thousand years i have. Stew. in place of a brain. you know how it is
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As if a tenderness awoke, a tenderness that did not tire, something healing.
Sylvia Plath, from The Collected Poems; "Three Women" wr. c. March 1962
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