Leaving is not enough. You must stay gone. Train your heart like a dog. Change the locks even on the house he’s never visited. You lucky, lucky girl. You have an apartment just your size. A bathtub full of tea. A heart the size of Arizona, but not nearly so arid. Don’t wish away your cracked past, your crooked toes, your problems are papier mache puppets you made or bought because the vendor at the market was so compelling you just had to have them. You had to have him. And you did. And now you pull down the bridge between your houses, you make him call before he visits, you take a lover for granted, you take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic. Make the first bottle you consume in this place a relic. Place it on whatever altar you fashion with a knife and five cranberries. Don’t lose too much weight. Stupid girls are always trying to disappear as revenge. And you are not stupid. You loved a man with more hands than a parade of beggars, and here you stand. Heart like a four-poster bed. Heart like a canvas. Heart leaking something so strong they can smell it in the street.
Frida Kahlo to Marty McConnell (via fawnes)
I hope you live a life you’re proud of. If you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again.
F. Scott Fitzgerald (via muskei)

(Source: murmurrs)

It isn’t a matter of forgetting. What one has to learn is how to remember and yet be free of the past.
Aldous HuxleyIsland (via 13neighbors)
monachopsis

dictionaryofobscuresorrows:

n. the subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place, as maladapted to your society as a seal on a beach—lumbering, clumsy, easily distracted, huddled in the company of other misfits, unable to recognize the ambient roar of your intended habitat, in which you’d be fluidly, brilliantly, effortlessly at home.

My alone feels so good, I’ll only have you if you’re sweeter than my solitude.
Warsan Shire (via nobunnyluvsyou)

(Source: ikenbot)