@Mp

I am a Star-Child Resident of Earth In-L♥ve with
All Random Things Considered to be Organic and Inorganic.

This blog is a reflection of my love for words.
Its purpose also is to serve as reminders and to help encourage myself
and anyone else who may need it.

“ I will whisper our story and secrets to the dandelions so that all the pieces of you inside of me will scatter like stars on the breeze. ”

—    Sowing the Seeds of a New Life (via boodacheese)

(via unconditionedconsciousness)

"The one absolutely unselfish friend that man can have in this selfish world, the one that never deserts him, the one that never proves ungrateful or treacherous, is his dog." — George Graham Vest

“ I feel like I’ve swallowed a cloudy sky ”

—    Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart (via infidelium)

victoriousvocabulary:

EXONERATE

[verb]

1. to clear, as of an accusation; free from guilt or blame; exculpate.

2. to relieve, as from an obligation, duty, or task.

Etymology: from late Middle English < Latin exonerātus (past participle of exonerāre, “to unburden, discharge”), equivalent to ex-, prefix for “out of, without” + oner- (stem of onus), “a burden”.

[Jenny Dolfen - Forgiveness]

This is a poem about
how you never get the kiss you want
when you want it;

how time twines around your neck, its thorns
digging into your skin so you can never forget
how clinging to a string of hope, threading it
between your spine, and having it unravel before you
in the span of an hour
is worse than any metaphor about nakedness
that you poets will ever write.

This is my reflection in the mirror. This stanza
is the small gap where my fingers try to touch against
the glass.

You can’t even possess yourself; let alone
the person you see standing before you.

The moon
hasn’t come back from the cleaners yet
and I have nothing to slip into tonight that makes my reflection feel
beautiful.

Time is falling through the hole in my pocket. January
is coming soon, and I have a feeling that he’s never going to fall
out of love with this December.

He’ll still write her love letters. He’ll
send her white orchids on every lonely holiday and pretend
that love is a place you can cross state lines to get back to,

but it’s that time of the year again, and
calendar sales keep reminding us all that we can never get back
to where we once wanted so bad to lose ourselves in
for good.

—    “It Took Time,” Shinji Moon (via commovente)

(via residualrandomtarian)