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Truth hurts, and those lies heal.

@love-without-cause-61610 / love-without-cause-61610.tumblr.com

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maybe-you-need-this
And kid, you’ve got to love yourself. You’ve got wake up at four in the morning, brew black coffee, and stare at the birds drowning in the darkness of the dawn. You’ve got to sit next to the man at the train station who’s reading your favorite book and start a conversation. You’ve got to come home after a bad day and burn your skin from a shower. Then you’ve got to wash all your sheets until they smell of lemon detergent you bought for four dollars at the local grocery store. You’ve got to stop taking everything so goddam personally. You are not the moon kissing the black sky. You’ve got to compliment someones crooked brows at an art fair and tell them that their eyes remind you of green swimming pools in mid July. You’ve got to stop letting yourself get upset about things that won’t matter in two years. Sleep in on Saturday mornings and wake yourself up early on Sunday. You’ve got to stop worrying about what you’re going to tell her when she finds out. You’ve got to stop over thinking why he stopped caring about you over six months ago. You’ve got to stop asking everyone for their opinions. Fuck it. Love yourself, kiddo. You’ve got to love yourself.

Unknown (via maybe-you-need-this)

Source: maybe-you-need-this
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kuuras
✧ ・🕸️ ° 🎃 O c t o b e r : Movies To Watch This H a l l o w e e n 🎃 ° 🕸️ ・✧
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goodquoteco
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. Write, for instance: “The night is full of stars, and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance.” The night wind whirls in the sky and sings. I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. On nights like this, I held her in my arms. I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky. She loved me, sometimes I loved her. How could I not have loved her large, still eyes? I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. To think I don’t have her. To feel that I’ve lost her. To hear the immense night, more immense without her. And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass. What does it matter that my love couldn’t keep her. The night is full of stars and she is not with me. That’s all. Far away, someone sings. Far away. My soul is lost without her. As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her. My heart searches for her and she is not with me. The same night that whitens the same trees. We, we who were, we are the same no longer. I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her. My voice searched the wind to touch her ear. Someone else’s. She will be someone else’s. As she once belonged to my kisses. Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes. I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her. Love is so short and oblivion so long. Because on nights like this I held her in my arms, my soul is lost without her. Although this may be the last pain she causes me, and this may be the last poem I write for her.

Pablo Neruda (via hqlines)

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thelovewhisperer
I’ve accepted that we can’t be but I’ve also accepted that you’re going to be that one person I carry with me for the rest of my life, the one who is always going to make my heart jump a little and my stomach tie up in knots. No matter how happy I am otherwise and no matter how long it’s been. The one I will always wish had secretly asked me to the dance even though I’m happier with the guy that did. Do you realize how incredibly difficult it is to accept both those things at once?

Daily Tumblr Love Quotes (via thelovewhisperer)

Source: thelovewhisperer.me
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spiritualprincess
When he says he doesn’t love you anymore, roll your shoulders back and look him in the eye even when it feels like your ribs are breaking inward; like spider legs. When he digs up old aches that he swore he forgave you for, smile and ask him why he didn’t leave you sooner. Ignore the way the words feel like sandpaper running all the way up your throat to your mouth. When he blames you for mistakes that wear his face, do not scream. Do not cry. Tell him that there are boys who would be proud to say they’d love you. Tell him that in two years you won’t even remember his name and don’t let him see the way you can taste your own lie. When he leaves, ignore the howling in your blood and do not get up after him. Not even to lock the door. Do not, do not, DO NOT. Smell his shirts when you box them up to give them back. Not one. Swear off dating when you realize you’re chasing ghosts that wear his smile. It’s okay to cry over him. It’s even okay to forgive him. But do not go back to him if he did not know how to love you the first time. He won’t know how to do it the next.

How to Pretend It Doesn’t Hurt, by Ashe Vernon (via 1811181)

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did-you-know
didyouknowblog.com

"I actually wanted to start when I was seven. But my mum was like, "you’re too young, calm down. I want to (finish the course) in two years. Then I’m going to do my PhD in financial maths when I’m 13. I want to have my own bank by the time I’m 15 because I like numbers and I like people and banking is a great way to help people."

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Source: didyouknowblog.com
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