bitter\\sweet

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\Ayse\

\\In our deepest moments we say the most inadequate things.\\


"Some periods of our growth are so confusing that we don’t even recognize that growth is happening. We may feel hostile or angry or weepy and hysterical, or we may feel depressed. It would never occur to us, unless we stumbled on a book or a person who explained to us, that we were in fact in the process of change, of actually becoming larger, spiritually, than we were before. Whenever we grow, we tend to feel it, as a young seed must feel the weight and inertia of the earth as it seeks to break out of its shell on its way to becoming a plant. Often the feeling is anything but pleasant. But what is most unpleasant is the not knowing what is happening. Those long periods when something inside ourselves seems to be waiting, holding its breath, unsure about what the next step should be, eventually become the periods we wait for, for it is in those periods that we realize that we are being prepared for the next phase of our life and that, in all probability, a new level of the personality is about to be revealed."

Alice Walker (Living By The Word)

(via noor3amoor)

"No one ever tells you that people will leave your life, unannounced. Sometimes they leave the earth, sometimes they just leave you. Things continue. Tomorrow you will wake up and the sun will be kissing your eyelids and it will be a new day for you to drink too much coffee and reread an old book. You will be okay. No one ever tells you that, either. Days will melt together like some candle you burned down to scraps, and seasons will change. You will fall in and out of love with yourself more times than you’ll ever be able to count. It is important to take the time to appreciate your own fingerprints, your own skin. There will be days when it is all you have."

never forget to be kind to yourself. (via splitterherzen)

(Source: uglyweirdgirl, via zaman-al-samt)

3:07 A.M.

I don’t know how I feel. I look at a deep purple bruise, a swirling galaxy on my inner knee. I think of you and wonder how nervous you must have been. I think of me and know how nervous I was at first. I think of ripping a screen of a window just so I could curl up in a blanket on a windowstill and smoke a cigarette somewhere between the middle of the night and a new day. 

I think of your sisters and your mother. I don’t imagine your father, for some reason. I think of you as unsure and scared. I know nothing about you it’s not really fair for me to even create this persona for you. 

I don’t think of you in a way that makes me blush or nervous or like I hold a little secret. I think of you in a way that makes me feel like there’s a void in me. I think of you in a way that makes me sad for you in way that does not invoke pity—it just makes me feel like you are so young even though you are older than me.

I wear less makeup these days. I want to cut my hair shorter and shorter until I feel like I can expose myself until I can’t hide behind anything. I don’t want to hide.

It is past three in the morning and I don’t feel anything for you but here I am writing and thinking about a bare room, a sink full of dishes, a bathroom without towels, and basketball shorts without pockets as a viable option on a sunny fall saturday. 



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