Love to Be

Words endure.




Reblogged from fuckyeahtattoos

(via french-braided)



Maybe if I had fewer possessions, I would do more. I would spend less money on clothes, and more on books and travel.



Waking up next to you is the best feeling in the world. In our morning grogginess we reach out to each other. We’ve spent the night on opposite sides of the bed, but in the morning we need to pressed close like you’re the comforter and it’s freezing. Your arms wrap around me and our skin molds together. Your small kisses on my forehead and shoulders pull me into the best part of awake… With you, in the morning, well rested and lost in each other.



Every time I think about you, I have to remind myself
that if you wanted to talk to me you would.



Reblogged from tigerxxeyes
“ Sometimes I’d rather be a tree frog. I don’t think they fall asleep worried that they’ve been a bad tree frog that afternoon or envying kingfishers or resenting their own diet or habitat. They just seem to spend 100% of their time being magnificent at being a tree frog. We spend most of our time regardless of our religion or lack of it, disappointed in ourselves, ashamed of ourselves, envious of others — always becoming and rarely being.

Stephen Fry

(via tigerxxeyes)


“ Make your choices. Make them for your own reasons. If all we get at the end of this freakshow is a faded clump of letters on a weathered rock, we quite literally have nothing to lose.”
MILA JARONIEC http://thoughtcatalog.com/2011/your-daily-reminder-of-death/


The Certainty of Numbers (Bruce Snider)

If there was ever a poem that described exactly how I feel about math or quantitative subjects in general, this is it:


It’s not the numbers you dislike—

the 3s or 5s or 7s—but the way
the answers leave no room for you,
the way 4 plus 2 is always 6
never 9 or 10 or Florida,
the way 3 divided by 1
is never an essay about spelunking
or poached salmon, which is why
you never seemed to get the answer right
when the Algebra teacher asked,
If a man floating down a river in a canoe
has traveled three miles of a twelve mile canyon
in five minutes, how long will it take him
to complete the race? Which of course depends
on if the wind resistance is 13 miles an hour
and he’s traveling upstream
against a 2 mile an hour current
and his arms are tired and he’s thinking
about the first time he ever saw Florida,
which was in seventh grade
right after his parents’ divorce
and he felt overshadowed
by the palm trees, neon sun visors,
and cheap postcards swimming
with alligators. Nothing is ever simple,
except for the way the 3 looks like two shells
washed up on last night’s shore,
but then sometimes it looks like a bird
gently crushed on its side.
And the 1—once so certain
you could lean up against it
like a gray fence post—has grown weary,
fascinated by the perpetual
itch of its own body.
Even the Algebra teacher
waving his formulas like baseball bats,
pauses occasionally when he tells you
that a 9 and a 2 are traveling in a canoe
on a river in a canyon. How long
will it take them to complete their journey?
That is if they don’t lose their oars
and panic and strike the rocks,
shattering the canoe. Nothing is ever certain.
We had no plan, the numbers would tell us,
at the moment of our deaths.

(Source: http)



Just Do It

Nike Ad:

74-year-old swimmers.

89-year-old weightlifters.

99-year-old marathoners.

The back of SI is full of them.

People who forgot to retire.

And never got old.

People who realized:

It’s easier to keep going

If you never stop.

JUST DO IT.

Get up. Get out.

Build up the muscle.

Get rid of the flab.

Go back to school.

Sell the TV.

JUST DO IT.

Master the curveball.

Pound the bag.

Rebuild an engine.

Jump-start a career.

JUST DO IT.

Bench press four big plates.

Dig for fossils.

Bicycle across Canada.

Save an endangered species - yourself.

JUST DO IT.

The only one who can tell you you can’t, is you.

And you don’t have to listen.

(Source: katiekleinman.com)



Love letters

Love letters

Human After All

Remember we said we were gonna live forever
And we would paint the writing on the wall
We chase that sunset til we’re blind  
Then wake up to find
We’re only human after all 

-Michael Logen