illusion911:

Art by @jamesreads - the universal traveler, changing, folding, becoming something else.
Motion by TheGlitch @illusion911

(via kingdom-of-shamballa)

quotemadness:

“Having a low opinion of yourself is not modesty. It’s self-destruction.”

— Bobby Sommer

But I don’t know how to stop.

(Source: quotemadness.com, via thedevilsburrito)

(Source: whatsdifferentincanada, via lillyhasatumblr)

In this time

I do not know the correct pathway through this land.

Some would say it was the former route. Logical and reasonable. More to my liking, clearly, and for obvious reasons. Full of future.

But most did not see that road at night. How it meandered and became impassible at points. Sharp rocks and vines along the way making travel something terrifying and horrific.

A second pathway emerged. This one a strange way to have gone some may say. To an unknown destination that could be illogical and lovely all at once. An anomaly. And the pathway was silly and full of sunshine. Even as darkness emerged for the night, it was always a night with a full moon and the smoothe white pebbles reflected the calming glow.

Nothing could have been more unexpected than these two paths. Two ends of a spectrum. Onward.

Oh sweet waves in the moonlight

Movement like water.

Like waves undulating against the sand

and gently cascading over the particles.

Shifting in synchrony; in time with one another. All lost to the simple melding that is their forms.

At the wave’s edge the amalgamate of sea and shore and these two beings become one. Lost in the other.

Hushed wind and quietness which shall culminate in waves crashing in some form of eratic beauty.

It’s is like poetry our love. We make love like poetry.

typography-images:

No matter what I do…

I was never enough.

(via the-beauty-of-words-blog)

When I was awake

I woke up sometime in the middle of the night. And without waking up, we had twisted so that I was sideways, my head burried into your chest. Your head nested above mine. I don’t know how we didn’t wake up getting to that point. And I wonder what other secrets our sleep has held.

typography-images:

(via the-beauty-of-words-blog)

In case it’s beauty later

The lights may already have been out. She may have fallen asleep. But she didn’t know.

She knew though, that she had woken up at some point and he was kissing her bare back. She had been next to him naked, curled up small and content.

She must have been asleep then. So completely lost in that middle ground between sleep and wake. And he was kissing her back still telling her it was ok she was talking and didn’t make sense.

She fell back asleep, all at once and while struggling to stay present.

And so was the scene of endlessness. So was the scene of knowing one thing and hoping for another. So ends the scene.

Not long there after

After she had left a note under the desk-like in high school-she went back to those old days like it had always been. And who knows who got more out of that. Who lost something along the way they won’t be able to retrieve.

It’s hard to know which of them made more of a choice. Which would struggle with it longer.

And weeks they passed. Until the day of her birth when the earth tilted a different way.

And something became out of nothing. And this new path was one of the most unexpected events to have been. It came with it something beautiful. Beauty like peace and tranquility. And desire and love and simplicity. All in an instant of impulsive decision making.

And when asked why these things were not held true, the response was, well, because there was always a catch. Everything always has a catch doesn’t it?

If they ask

I went to Gates Pass. And that’s what I decided before the end of days. God help me.

Come here stay where you are.

You are a conundrum. And in being so…you are cruel. You are what I was warned of. What I was told to expect.

There’s no clear solution to such madness. The cat smiles and becomes the moon. And I am moving forward and backward at the same time.

Shoreline

I loved you like the monarch loves the milkweed.

My survival was based on you. You gave me life.

Sweetness, I will be yours forever for I know not how to be anything but yours.

We are but strings to break. Like love just like me. Break me. Make me what you will. I will bend to it. I will break under you. Before you like the sand to waves I will break down. Slowly but a beach will form from your persistence.

And eventually my love, I will be a shell. Left there like so many others. Someone will pick up the empty thing. Hold it up. Wonder at its demise.

I love you, wanderer, like I have loved no other. You are salvation. And you know not any of it. Carry me a way from this despicable place.

Love me. Keep me. I knew not what this was. Till you I knew love. In a different form. Save me. Save me. Save me. And you know not what you are. What you do. I weep in fear that you will drop me back on the shore.

If only if only

How many people do you have to rotate through? How bloody many?

Anger, pain, love, loss…it’s all there. It’s all there. And I still say. Fuck you for making me love you. Fuck you for making me walk away. Fuck this. Fuck this. Fuck this.

“ Time will pass; these moods will pass; and I will, eventually, be myself again. ”

Kay Redfield Jamison, An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness (via books-n-quotes)

I have to believe in this. And what if I don’t quite remember what myself is anymore?

(Source: booksnquotes.com, via books-n-quotes)