The Heart Is The Toughest Part Of The Body. Tenderness Is In The Hands.

"Because I'm starting to wonder if this is what being in love is. Being okay with ripping yourself to shreds, so the other person can stay whole"

- Olive, the Love Hypothesis

“Love never dies of a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness, errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds. It dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings, but never of a natural death.”

— Anais Nin

I haven’t been on tumblr for quite as long as a lot of people but over several years I’ve noticed this interesting gradual sorta,, shift in the general culture? that it went from this mostly depressed, nihilistic outlook where people would regularly joke about hating themselves and being hopeless and depressed, to a wave of vehemence of “STOP hating everything actually the world is Good and you deserve love!!!” type posts, to now, where those aggressive ‘PSAs’ have faded away and instead I regularly see people romanticizing simple things like stars and hot tea and rainy mornings, and waxing poetic about their friends, and just trying to put love out there. and I don’t know exactly what that means (someone who knows more than me could probably say something smart about generational expression and trauma or popular perception of mental health and whatnot), but I do know that it makes my heart very full to see people learn to love the world and themselves by extension, and a whole userbase adopting healthier coping mechanisms, and therefore teaching the younger users to do so as well. I might just be following different people, but I really do think we’ve grown. everyone has grown. five years ago it wasn’t unusual for the next post on my dash to be a scathing commentary on why nothing matters or an anon ripping into someone they barely knew or someone complaining about how pathetic their interests are. now I have mutuals who get excited and spam reblog art of cows and friends I see tagging each other in pictures of frogs and strangers writing paragraphs about how much I matter. it makes me happy. idk. just an observation I wanted to make. I think people are good and everyone’s just trying their best at the end of the day

Everything in the rain becomes so much better? Like yes please I want you to take me on a date with the rain. Where there is only one umbrella but ample conversations and it's only there for the sake of holding hands, warm bodies pressed up together; soft breath fanning on my skin. The heady scent of the damp earth enveloping us. The sound of your laughter and the way you throw your head back, your eyes crinkling along with the pitter-patter of the rain and I swear I will fall in love with you if you ask me for a dance near a lone street in the middle of the night and if you press your soft lips to mine, in the cold wet rain. I honestly don't know what I would do.

Tumblr Code.

P.s. - photos belong to me, please don't repost without permission!!

Jung’s architecture of the psyche

Eugene Taylor, The Mystery of Personality

I bet you rue the day you kissed the writer in the dark,

Now she's gonna play and sing and lock you in her heart.

- Writer in the dark, Lorde.

To my future wife,

We're gonna have so much fun together.

Maybe we'll be shoving each other when we're brushing our teeth.

Maybe we'll be chasing each other through the backyard.

And then you trip and fall and we're both laughing together and then you look up and the sun's shining right behind my head.

You kiss me.

Because you're grateful.

And no, I don't look forward to it for the sex and the physicality of it.

I look forward to it so I can brush the hair off your eyes every morning when we wake up.

I look forward to it so I can bring you coffee and burnt toast in bed and you pretending like it's a gourmet meal.

I look forward to it so I can say "I love you" every single night because there's no one else I'd rather share the moon and the stars with.

There is something so comforting about sitting at libraries late at night with a candle, while you gulp the pages of a book with a hungry fervour. You are so lost in a different world, for a while nothing matters except for the pains of your character and you don't even realise it's dawn. You haven't moved an inch, your back aches, your eyelids are drooping, but you feel this contentment in your chest, and god I would give anything to bring that feeling back.