(Source: hotpixelshow, via evnglka)

(Source: ed-free-maggie, via otherearthly)

the-streetstyle: Philadelphia Street Style: Myke, Walnut Stvia urbanfieldnotes

the-streetstyle:

Philadelphia Street Style: Myke, Walnut St
via urbanfieldnotes

(via dontwanttoliveinadreamonemoreday)

I want you to tell me about every person you’ve ever been in love with. Tell me why you loved them, then tell me why they loved you. Tell me about a day in your life you didn’t think you’d live through. Tell me what the word “home” means to you and tell me in a way that I’ll know your mother’s name just by the way you describe your bed room when you were 8. See, I wanna know the first time you felt the weight of hate and if that day still trembles beneath your bones. Do you prefer to play in puddles of rain or bounce in the bellies of snow? And if you were to build a snowman, would you rip two branches from a tree to build your snowman arms? Or would you leave the snowman armless for the sake of being harmless to the tree? And if you would, would you notice how that tree weeps for you because your snowman has no arms to hug you every time you kiss him on the cheek? Do you kiss your friends on the cheek? Do you sleep beside them when they’re sad, even if it makes your lover mad? Do you think that anger is a sincere emotion or just the timid motion of a fragile heart trying to beat away its pain? See, I wanna know what you think of your first name. And if you often lie awake at night and imagine your mother’s joy when she spoke it for the very first time. I want you tell me all the ways you’ve been unkind. Tell me all the ways you’ve been cruel. See, I wanna know more than what you do for a living. I wanna know how much of your life you spend just giving. And if you love yourself enough to also receive sometimes. I wanna know if you bleed sometimes through other people’s wounds.
Andrea Gibson (via meowymeowy)

(Source: pression, via otherearthly)

(via themessesofmen)

I want so to live that I work with my hands and my feeling and my brain. I want a garden, a small house, grass, animals, books, pictures, music. And out of this, the expression of this, I want to be writing (Though I may write about cab-men. That’s no matter.) But warm, eager, living life — to be rooted in life — to learn, to desire, to feel, to think, to act. This is what I want. And nothing less. That is what I must try for.
Katherine Mansfield, The Journal Of Katherine Mansfield  (via tilthe)

(via greenlikebathwater)

ediblegardensla: In a garden house in Bel Air growing golden raspberries, blackberries, broccoli, romanesco, peas, endive, spinach, kale, carrots and more. Photograph by Brian Ferry

ediblegardensla:

In a garden house in Bel Air growing golden raspberries, blackberries, broccoli, romanesco, peas, endive, spinach, kale, carrots and more.

Photograph by Brian Ferry

Vicky Cristina Barcelona (Woody Allen, 2008)

Vicky Cristina Barcelona (Woody Allen, 2008)

(via greenlikebathwater)

you are the place you cannot move | ralph angel

loveyourcrookedneighbor:

you wake up healthy
but you don’t feel right. now everything’s
backwards and you’re thinking of someone to blame.

and you do, you’re lucky,
drinking coffee was easy, the traffic’s
moving along, you’re like
everyone else just trying to get through the day
and the place you’re dreaming of seems possible—
somewhere to get to.

all you really know
is that it hurts here, the way feelings
are bigger than we are, and a woman’s face
in a third-story window, her limp hair
and the pots of red geraniums luring you
into her suffering until you’re walking on roads
inscribed in your own body. the maps
you never speak of. intersections, train stations,
roadside benches, the names of places and
people you’ve known all bearing the weight
of cashing a check or your having to eat something,
of glimpsing the newspaper’s ghoulish headlines.

like everyone else, you think,
the struggle is toward a better time, though
no pressure surrounds the house you were born in.
cool, quieter, a vast primitive light
where nothing happens but the sound
of your sole self breathing.
and you’ve decisions to make. isn’t that why
you’ve come? with a bald-headed man at the bar
and your friends all over the place, anxious,
tired, a little less sturdy than you’d hoped for
and needing someone to kick around, someone to love.

(Source: exceptindreams.livejournal.com)

My grandma just died. I can’t believe I won’t be able to see her again. She went through so much suffering, but somehow always maintained her sense of humour (as seen in the first photo!) and belief that life is good. She has had a huge influence in shaping who I am and I am in a strange way happy that she is no longer suffering. I just wish I could have said good bye. I love you Grandma D!

The meaning of life is just to be alive. It is so plain and so obvious and so simple. And yet, everybody rushes around in a great panic as if it were necessary to achieve something beyond themselves.

Alan Watts (via motherchief)

I am so conflicted. Sometimes I think I MUST go on some crazy adventure/ achieve great things by taking risks because if I don’t, I will have wasted my youth and will forever regret it. BUT, then other times, I want to have a simple life and enjoy the little things, and that would be my own mini (introvert) adventure. I think it’s important for me to read this quote once in a while.

(Source: teenagezoo, via motherchief)

this-is-the-thyme: turquoise washed wood

this-is-the-thyme:

turquoise washed wood

(via featherstonemoonandivorybone)

valscrapbook: benjaminhole: Frosty Oak

valscrapbook:

benjaminhole: Frosty Oak

everlytrue: Beautiful Mother-To-Be [by Rylee Hitchner]

everlytrue:

Beautiful Mother-To-Be

[by Rylee Hitchner]

(via thelittlestmoon)