I feel guilty for skipping church and I feel guilty for sometimes only brushing my teeth in the morning and not at night and I feel guilty for eating junk food and I feel guilty for not telling my dad I love him and I feel guilty for skipping a workout and I feel guilty for not washing my dishes and I feel guilty for not thanking my mom like I should and I feel guilty for not being a better big sister and I feel guilty for the things I did to my wrist that would drive my parents through the roof with fear and guilt themselves I feel guilty for the fact that my mom is trying so hard but can’t understand what it’s like I feel guilty for shutting her out I feel guilty for not giving my dog enough attention I feel guilty that I can’t trust anyone fully I feel guilty that I still taste your fucking words in my mouth I feel guilty for still fucking thinking about you when I promised myself I wouldn’t anymore
Agreed . But sometimes words are the only thing that make sense to me lol it’s weird
I feel your pain when you write and the rhythm you put with it, I like it a lot. And thank you, my mind is a weird place to be Lol I think it’s more jumbled words and scenes that anything though hah
Really?? I don’t think so, but thank you :))
You’re only given a little spark of madness. You mustn’t lose it.
— Robin Williams (via the-writing-writer-wrote)
In ethics class so many years ago
our teacher asked this question every fall:
If there were a fire in a museum,
which would you save,
a Rembrandt painting or an old woman who hadn’t many
years left anyhow? Restless on hard chairs
caring little for pictures or old age
we’d opt one year for life, the next for art
and always half-heartedly. Sometimes
the woman borrowed my grandmother’s face
leaving her usual kitchen to wander
some drafty, half-imagined museum.
One year, feeling clever, I replied
why not let the woman decide herself?
Linda, the teacher would report, eschews
the burdens of responsibility.
This fall in a real museum I stand
before a real Rembrandt, old woman,
or nearly so, myself. The colors
within this frame are darker than autumn,
darker even than winter — the browns of earth,
though earth’s most radiant elements burn
through the canvas. I know now that woman
and painting and season are almost one
and all beyond the saving of children.
— Linda Pastan, “Ethics” (via feellng)
But who prays for Satan? Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner that needed it most?
- Mark Twain
This is honestly my favorite quote. It’s changed how I look at life and religion
so deeply in love
i became convinced
She speaks to me fondly of passions and talents, guitars and stars, then stops short and apologises for speaking at all. All because somewhere in her life, someone she loved broke her heart by ignoring her beautiful words and telling her to shut up, keep it down, nobody cares.
People aren’t born sad. We make them that way.
— (via untamedunwanted)