Sometimes you can’t even tell when you broke
I will reblog this every single time
This is so fucking awesome
Today my therapist saw me
Cry for the
She looked at me and said
‘You know, so many people come in here, so many sad people come in here. They cry and cry, always apologising for shedding a tear because we are taught to not cry. ‘Dont cry’, ‘don’t cry it will be okay’ but they never taught us how to be okay, did they?
But you. You never cry. That must be exhausting for you.’
|—||Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre (via julesmckenzie)|
I found this in a sociology textbook. I want to carry copies around for every time I run into a homophobic asshole.
|—||Heraclitus (via psych-facts)|
Find a hiding place for the afternoons he made you laugh until you cried; the mornings you slept in his bed with his hand tucked under your waist. Your conversations about the house you want and the kind of dog you’ll adopt; the nights he sinks his teeth into your shoulder and the the way the dawn exposes those tender red marks on your skin, keep them in your pocket, they will be the only thing that will get you through the night.
Remember the way his fingers touched your scalp, like he was pulling away all the hurt, all the bad thoughts. Remember how soft his voice was against your ear as he rinsed all the soap away, remember how he said that you’re clean now; and how he didn’t even know how much those words meant. Remember this when you feel trapped inside yourself, remember it when you’re having trouble turning off the water; when you want to drown.
Take the night he washed your hair, and turn it into poetry.
|—||because sometimes, you have to let another set of hands dust you off. (via looking-for-jillian)|
|—||inkskinned, “My father’s recipe for the man I should marry” (via partygirlmeltdown)|
|—||Marvin King (via wondurs)|