"You’re outrageously right about everything; it’s almost scary. You sense the truth, you just do that too much. In a way, you’ve always done that I just feel compelled to acknowledge it right now slightly a bit more intensely so as that it finds some improper or proper expression. You know these people who look at you and make you instantly know that it’s not judgement they’re trying to pass through but genuineness of intuition? You’re one of them — I think. You’re one of these very rare ones; You demand of me to be honest with myself and I’m indeed trying…I’m trying to do that because I want to be honest with myself too. I truly want to, I’m sick of fooling myself to the point of disgust or satisfying false needs of mine. And you can’t even believe how grateful I am to you for being you, for expressing your thoughts about my choices, the way I handle things, my overall actions. You go ahead and continue saying it as it is (as how you personally feel it actually is) because I care, because we both are, because I’m convinced we both stand for our convictions strongly enough and this, here, now, is worth it. All of your presentiments and feelings matter to me because you matter to me in every way possible. And I’m just so lucky to have you in my life; you being the judge, you being the jury, you being yourself and at the same time fully allowing me to be me. My love, you are outrageous. Outrageously lovable and sincere.This is very pointless and might feel exaggerated on my part and yet all I want to say tonight is: thank you. This is occasionally too real to function but thank you for that too. We can handle each other’s truth, we can do that. And we can also refuse to see the day flying before we seize it; I hope we’ll always be doing that too. Because it’s us, because we’re here, because we talk language, because all is always now, because we know the "how" and screw the "why"…"

Soaked In Soul:  

Person: How are you feeling today?
Virginia Woolf: Again, my mind vibrates uncomfortably as it always does. Actually, I am overwhelmed with things I ought to have written about and never found the proper words. I do not let myself think. This is a fact. I cannot face much of the meaning. Shut my mind to anything but work and bowls. And I wonder as I let the month run through my fingers: Can I get out of it? Out of it all? Truth is, I feel all shadows of the universe multiplied deep inside my skin. (Isn't it all dust and ashes?) I am impressed by the transitoriness of human life to such an extent that I am often saying a farewell…and my heart currently resembles the ashes of my cigarettes; In fact, I'm in the mood to dissolve into the sky brb
so-personal:

everything personal
"She understood that the hardest times in life to go through were when you were transitioning from one version of yourself to another."

Sarah Addison Allen, Lost Lake  (via realdwntomars)

Ernest Hemingway

themuslimavenger:

“His talent was as natural as the pattern that was made by the dust on a butterfly’s wings.
At one time he understood it no more than the butterfly did and he did not know when it was brushed or marred.

Later he became conscious of his damaged wings and of their construction and he learned to think and could not fly any more because the love of flight was gone and he could only remember when it had been effortless.”

©