"i myself am made entirely of flaws, stitched together with good intentions."
Install Theme
do not tell me
that you and i are
meant to be.
tell me there is every chance
that all the forces in the universe
could try to tear us
apart
and tell me that you
want to stay anyway.

fate is the easy way out, by J. L. Black (via jacobintransit)

(via cervicks)

marinashutup:

love essentially

marinashutup:

love essentially

(via thecellofellow)

What if, in another universe, I deserve you?

Hear me out. There’s this philosopher from the 1890s named William James, and he coined this theory about “the multiverse” which suggests that a hypothetical set of multiple universes comprises everything that can possibly exist simultaneously.

Are you following? The entirety of space, time, matter and energy is all happening at once in different timelines: It’s the idea of parallel universes. Right? So okay, let’s presume the multiverse is real.

Well then, maybe somewhere in those infinite universes is one, or several, where I deserve you.

Maybe there’s a universe out there — happening now — where we end up together and when I close my eyes at night, I’m not dreaming the way a normal person would. Instead I’m seeing flashes of our lives in the multiverse. They’re not simple dreams because I miss you, right? They’re scientific, anachronistic visions.

For instance:

In this universe, I don’t want a family, but maybe in another, I’m more of the type to settle down. Maybe there’s a universe where you hold my hand while I give birth to our daughter in a white hospital room with pink flowers and fuzzy teddy bears on the window sill. Where we take family vacations and pose for dorky pictures in our neon bathing suits on the sands of a Florida beach. Where we curl up to watch a cheesy movie at the end of a long day in our big, green, suburban house once the kids have fallen asleep.

Maybe there’s a universe where we are middle-aged and taking our child to college and bickering over where to put her dresser or what posters she should hang up. Where you kiss her on the forehead ‘goodbye’ and we drive home in contented, proud silence, your fingers grazing my knuckles, our wedding rings glistening. Where we both have gray hair and we laugh and smile and hug and drink lemonade on the porch.

Maybe there’s a universe where that’s the life I want. Where I don’t second guess everything and I’m not afraid of commitment and of the future and of love. Maybe there’s a universe without all the noise in my head and the pride that makes me so fiercely independent and the coldness in my heart that I can turn on and off like a security fence.

Maybe there’s a universe where I’m the right person for you. Where I adore every nice thing you did for me without starting to resent you. A universe where you actually end up with someone who appreciates you. Where no one becomes a doormat. Where both of us can shed our baggage and curiosity and issues. A universe where we’re happy — without wondering if that happiness is some messed-up Jenga game ready to topple at the slightest quiver. A universe where we’re comfortable and sure, and we have cats.

Maybe there’s a universe where we fall asleep next to each other every night like spoons, like two innocent bunnies — my face buried in your neck, hugging your warmth — and we both don’t want anything or anybody else. Where we don’t want more, we just want each other.

Maybe there’s a universe where I don’t covet so much all the time and where I’m content and where I don’t wonder about picking up and moving to Japan without saying anything to anyone and where at this very juncture, I can just know I’ll always want to come home and cook dinner with you.

If you think of it all this way, then it’s like neither of us did anything wrong.

You just found me in the wrong universe. That’s all. This is, as they say, the darkest timeline. Everywhere else, nay, “everywhen” else — us in the Civil War, us in Ancient Egypt, us in the swinging ’60s — we are happy.

If this theory holds, well, by the law of averages, there had to be one universe — just this one — where we don’t end up together. Here and now just happens to be it. If you think of it this way, nothing is our fault.

So see, that explains everything. We’re not together anymore because of the multiverse.

Well, isn’t that comforting?

If you’re sad, do like I do and just think of the other ‘verses. The ones where I believe in love and where I don’t hate myself and where I never feel the need to kamikaze relationships. A universe where we can have nice things. It’s helpful, right?

Because you could have loved me forever. And maybe in another universe, I let you.

meloetta:

"text me when you get home so i know you’re safe" kinda people are the people i wanna be around

(via anditslove)

I know you move your fingers when you sleep because I have felt them move and I know I must do the same.

And I must wonder how many times we have unconsciously, in dreams or nightmares, reached for each other’s hands and never even known.
It was such a breath of fresh air; to get to know somebody that I hadn’t spent my entire childhood trying to tolerate. And it was also nice, because, it felt good to know that I was loved by somebody, once we were comfortable with each other and we could spill our hearts out more. It felt good to finally realise I wouldn’t live my life in solitude anymore.

— Extract from Eikasia (via cascadingletters)

But most hearts say, I want, I want, I want, I want. My heart is more duplicitous, though no twin as I once thought. It says, I want, I don’t want, I want, and then a pause.

Margaret Atwood, “The Woman Who Could Not Live With Her Faulty Heart,” from Two-Headed Poems (via lifeinpoetry)

(via anditslove)

mild-tranquility:

bleu:

waftage:

diaaaamond:

toxiccunts:

wukristina:

alexander-oppa:

ryannxp:

markerdemon:

skinny-depression:

fucking powerful. and unfortunately true

Tall people are assholes.

Tall people are assholes.

I don’t think it meant that tall people are assholes. I think it means that as you get older and older the more pain and suffering you’re put through, the more you learn to trust people less and less and you begin to grow into a selfish human being. You stop letting people in to your life and stop loving. You forget what love is since you’ve gone through life being ignored and taken advantage of. 

Tall people are assholes.

Yeah tall people are assholes


EXCUSE YOU I AM TALL AND I AM NOT AN ASSHOLE I THINK SO YOU CAN KINDLY SHUT YOUR FACES OK

what an asshole thing to say.

mild-tranquility:

bleu:

waftage:

diaaaamond:

toxiccunts:

wukristina:

alexander-oppa:

ryannxp:

markerdemon:

skinny-depression:

fucking powerful. and unfortunately true

Tall people are assholes.

Tall people are assholes.

I don’t think it meant that tall people are assholes. I think it means that as you get older and older the more pain and suffering you’re put through, the more you learn to trust people less and less and you begin to grow into a selfish human being. You stop letting people in to your life and stop loving. You forget what love is since you’ve gone through life being ignored and taken advantage of. 

Tall people are assholes.

Yeah tall people are assholes

EXCUSE YOU I AM TALL AND I AM NOT AN ASSHOLE I THINK SO YOU CAN KINDLY SHUT YOUR FACES OK

what an asshole thing to say.

(Source: ancien-t, via waakeme-up)

aseaofquotes:

Paulo Coelho, By The River Piedra I Sat Down And Wept

aseaofquotes:

Paulo Coelho, By The River Piedra I Sat Down And Wept

aseaofquotes:

Sherman Alexie, “On Airplanes”