When we were young we used to play “pen pen de sarapen” under the 9 o’clock sun.
(Source: simplymakata)
(Source: simplymakata)
Basking in the late afternoon light
My heart is filled with delight.
This is the part of the day I feel most at ease,
savoring that inner peace.
As I revel on the scenery,
I know I could talk to Him freely.
It is amazing how He understands
Even when I don’t utter a word or make a sound.
Whether I’m utterly happy
or weeping in bed,
He is always there and ready;
even when things are left undone and unsaid.
I may not be there for Him often,
but to Him, I am never forgotten.
He is a dear friend,
He is more than that.
He never breaks my heart or a single pact.
I think of Him as the day begins.
I think of Him most as the sun is about to set.
That moment belongs to Him.
And every other moment in between…
- s.s.g.
(via thereismoretolife)
Fuck.
I fell in love with a rose,
amidst the thorns
on its spine grows.
I fell in love with a tree,
I fell in love with the
ocean and the sea.
I fell in love with the sun,
I fell in love with the moon
when the sun was gone.
I fell in love with a super nova
bursting,
I fell in love…
“Butterflies can’t see their wings. They can’t see how truly beautiful they are, but everyone else can. People are like that as well.”
(Source: v-ersteckt, via jetblackheart)
“…You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.”
i wrote “i love you”
in the fog on the bathroom mirror
after washing you off my skin
and stood there staring
as the words disappeared slowly
running like tears down your cheeks
running like we were running
out of love
out of time
ending up dripping down the drain
of the sink
under the bathroom mirror
you slid off me
as easily as fog slides off a mirror
Christopher Hitchens (via kateoplis)
The Emigrants by W.G. Sebald (via absurdlyawkward)
Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov (via riversforstreets)
I planted you roses once
and tended to them every day,
watering diligently,
weeding and pruning
the bushes until new buds
sprouted into branches.But you didn’t return,
the day you said you would,
and many seasons after had passed.
The shears I used finally gathered rust,
and didn’t…
(via inasentimentalmoood)