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Love Dove

I feel like drowning slowly, irretrievably, into a world of green light, your eyes, our love


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love-dovve:

Can I be her




yhippie:

First day at school, Gaza, Palestine.

this is the most important thing right now.

this gave me goose bumps





"

You get over him like this:

at first, you don’t. his name is a note you can’t
unsing

but

eventually your body gets bored
of making tears over the same person
who broke you.
your body says “listen up
it was a long time ago” and for a second
you feel whole but

you catch sight of him in a starbucks and your heart drops
and your hands shake and you want to throw up and
you can’t explain to your friends why this messed you up
because you’ve already talked their ears off so you go home
and have a good old-fashioned sob but

somewhere in that night or the next one or two weeks
down the road
the things that came to the surface start getting old and
you start turning over your relationship in your palms
until you discover the ugly things you’ve been hiding
from yourself and you think
maybe it’s wasn’t always heaven maybe
it was hell

and you write about him or cry about him or
get him out of yourself however you can, you
scrape yourself clean until there’s nothing left
and rebuild from the ground up and
some wicked part of you still wants to talk to him
just to say “look, i’m new now,
i’m different,”
but you don’t because you’ve straightened out
the voices in your head

and you write about him and make a stupid poetry blog about
red blood and black ink and you make playlists of songs
you found way after him and you
make yourself okay again eventually because

the truth is, you were whole before you found him
you have just forgotten how to be who you are
without him - don’t worry, my love
all it takes is a little soul-searching
before you rediscover
you are
better off without him.

"

For my friend who asked me to write about getting over a lover. /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)



exaustis:

"There were so many people I loved and not a single one of them would understand how to pry me open and let me breathe again" 
-inkskinned





"She holds her hair up with only two chopsticks and a bobby pin.
Think Atlas. Think shoulders.
When your sadness starts to feast,
she carries the light down from the
mountain and hands it to you,
tells you to set it on fire.
Think Prometheus. Think savior.
On Sunday, she steps out of the shower and you don’t think you’ve ever seen anything more beautiful than the way she walks towards you with a towel on her head, water clinging to her like there is
nowhere else it would rather be.
Think Aphrodite. Think sea foam.
You love her like mythology.
You love her like the impossible stories of Gods and monsters.
When she sings, think fairies.
Think mermaids. Think hymns.
She is the face of the river that
Narcissus fell in love with,
confusing hers for his own.
She is Medusa’s fury,
Athena’s strength,
Achelois’ healing.
You are kissing her in a crowded
restaurant and it feels like praying.
You are watching her instead of the
meteor shower
and you don’t even notice."

Mythology | Caitlyn Siehl  (via secrethistorys)



invacuumluxestdux:

John William Waterhouse - The Lady of Shalott, 1888.




alonesomes:

esmesloveandsqualor:

by Caitlyn Siehl

Anyone who is interested in purchasing What We Buried, click the link!



humansofnewyork:

“She speaks more languages than anyone in the family. Because she plays with all the children in the street.” (Erbil, Iraq)











entryvvay:

until i forget that i can talk



natgeofound:

A solitary fisherman’s home keeps watch on quiet Placentia Bay in Newfoundland, Canada, 1974.Photograph by Sam Abell, National Geographic Creative





"I’ve found that growing up means being honest. About what I want. What I need. What I feel. Who I am."

(via bitingthehandthatstarvesme)