❝ i didn’t know he had a brother . ❞
❝ yeah … i get that a lot . ❞
ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟ ᴇxᴄʟᴜsɪᴠᴇ . ʜɪɢʜʟʏ - ᴛʀɪɢɢᴇʀɪɴɢ .
DYLAN MASSETT ғʀᴏᴍ ᴀ&ᴇ’s Bᴀᴛᴇs Mᴏᴛᴇʟ
ᴄʜᴇᴄᴋᴇᴅ ɪɴ ʙʏ NOX . ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʀᴜʟᴇs & ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ғᴏʟʟᴏᴡɪɴɢ .
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Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet
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*// Me: Doesnt want to leave Nick but is gettin antsy for something different
Someone smarter than me: verses are a thing you know
Me:
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‘ I used to look out to the sea and stand in wonder . So vast , so immeasurable . The imagination could run wild with possibility of what lurked within its depths. I pictured monsters and things that could swallow me whole . Childish nightmares . Never thought the monsters were REAL and the ocean would consume me so cruelly , it let me s ᴜ ʀ ᴠ ɪ ᴠ ᴇ its horror. ’
sᴇʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴏʀɪɢɪɴᴀʟ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ʙᴀsᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ BIOSHOCK ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀsᴇ
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when the world divides into two people ﹔
THOSE WHO HAVE FELT PAIN
& those who have yet to
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“It wasn’t nostalgia that made these memories so wrenching. It wasn’t some fear that I’d never experience love or appreciate beauty again. Instead, my distress felt like a kind of preemptive mourning for a lost instinct. Those bits were a stockpile of tiny things, emblematic shards of some bigger, blurrier mosaic, that my mind had extracted and retained, when it was still able to do so. They were proof of some tenderly curatorial sensibility, intuitive and helplessly porous, that I was in the process of losing. My brain was Teflon, and everything in this beautiful place, in this beautiful time, was flowing past me like it belonged to someone else. It felt like I wasn’t making memories anymore, but just slipping through some inconsequential morass of stimuli, down a path that was neither a means nor an end. If could no longer absorb the right things—those tiny precious things, however de-contextualized and random, that signified some larger and nobler truth—how could I make meaning out of anything? How would I know what anything meant? How would I know who and what I was, who or what anyone was? How would I make sense of the world?”
— Suzanne Rivecca, Ugly Bitter and True
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Tony Hoagland, from “Better Than Expected”, Priest Turned Therapist Treats Fear of God
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the gentle countenance of NICHOLAS RIPLEY - AGE SIXTEEN
ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟs ᴄᴀɴ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢ . ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟs ᴅᴏɴᴛ ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜ
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friendly reminder that your relevance is not equal to your presence. you are not expected to be active every single day and those who truly care about you will understand that you have a life outside of your blog. your real friends will never abandon you forever just because you are on less. those who truly matter will embrace you and appreciate you whenever they get to interact with you. don’t forget that ! ♡
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Jeanette Winterson, Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?
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I love when people are genuinely excited about our plots/ships. I love when I’m not the only one who’s like “!!!” I love it. @ my partners you will literally never annoy me by being overly excited about our ships I love it so much.
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When you’re holding hands with someone and they rub your thumb with their thumb is what I live for
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“He was a fighter. He really was. I’ve watched people tear him down, and then ask for his help. And he would help them. He would spend hours helping them. I’ve always admired that part of him.”
— r.k (via renrps)
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