African Lion by Tony [flickr]

[h/t: vurtual]


So when people leave, I’ve learned the secret: let them. Because, most of the time, they have to.

Let them walk away and go places. Let them have adventures in the wild without you. Let them travel the world and explore life beyond a horizon that you exist in. And know, deep down, that heroes aren’t qualified by their capacity to stay but by their decision to return.


— The Staying Philosophy (Everyday Isa)

(Source:, via wordsthat-speak)



If you’re making a cup of tea, make one for me too?
Then maybe we could sit and talk. I’d like that.

I miss that strong connection.
You know the one, the one wherein you
never leave a conversation, not even once,
not even to make a cup of tea;
You already made a dozen, and you’re keeping them warm
as best you can to avoid even a sip of silence.

Background Noise


I think it’s quite depressing in itself simply to be awake and think to yourself ‘I don’t want to be conscious right now.’ Even though I’m not terribly low it’s disconcerting having this aching thought of ‘I want to sleep. I want to sleep. I want to sleep’ on repeat. I try to put a stop to it but it’s always there, lurking in the background like the noise in a coffee shop.

She yearns to escape the mundane.

(Source: wibblywobblymindstuff)

Last Moments


I stare at your eyes
Just like stars in the skies,
And I hear noise of crying
From me as you’re dying
In front of me,
Why are you leaving me, dear,
So soon after we first met?

I hold your heart close
As your hand rests in mine,
We’ve not long left together
Wish I could say that I’m fine 
But I’m not, you forget,
I will miss you, my friend,

Please don’t go, must you leave?
I shed many tears
As they take you from here
Leaving me on my own
Where we once lay together
I’m shattered,
You’re all that mattered
Now I’m here all alone.


It’s 15:08 and I don’t want to go to work.
I don’t want to stand behind a counter that separates me from them,
Passing a false smile and I pretend to like it there.
Asking the same questions, customer after customer:
Would you like a bag? When it’s obvious.
Is that everything? When it is.
Would you like any cashback? When they don’t.

It’s not so much the job, or the people, it’s what they remind me of.
They remind me of what I have and what I don’t.

I have a job, but I don’t have a career; my career is lost somewhere.
I have more acquaintances than friends and that is lonely.

I have a friend, but I don’t have a best friend.
There is not a single soul that I confide in with every single last ounce of thought, no matter how much I want that.
No matter how generous a person is, I cannot tell them everything.

And I do. I want to tell them everything. I want them to know me and let me know that I am not all that strange; I am not wrong.

What does it feel like to feel right?
I’d like to know what that feels like most of all.

So as I place products on shelves for the consumers to consume, as I serve them with a smile and show them where the coffee is, as I watch the hours pass just wishing to be asleep again I always wonder:

What does it feel like to be loved?



As I glance briefly up at the stars
I often wonder why they exist.
I often wonder if they, like people, feel pressured too.
When I’m feeling under pressure, sometimes I disappear.

I wonder why stars disappear.
Some would say it’s merely the clouds getting in the way,
But I don’t know if I believe that.

I like to think the stars get scared too.
It makes me feel less silly for hiding away
When I look up at the sky and see that they’re hiding too.

When they’re up there, shining in force,
It makes my insides shine too.

I think sometimes it’s okay to hide yourself away from the world;
From the glaring of eyes, and the thoughts,
and the questions that govern our minds. 

I looked up at the sky two nights ago and the sky was vividly bursting at the seams,
With stars lining up, as though to say ‘Look at me, I’m a star.’

I looked up at the sky tonight, half extinguished, and watched as it wept.

reblogging, so i can delete this tumblr. i don’t write any more, and i never really did. i don’t know what these are, i just know i don’t want to lose them.



I found a lonely wing, and I wondered where it’s flown
All the places it has seen, all the flowers it has known.
Now all but one wing has disappeared
Leaving behind a dozen stories,
I wonder, tell me, where did they all go?

(Source: lmnpnch)