Saudade

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Wed, 22 May 2013 00:26:26 -0400

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Wed, 22 May 2013 00:25:20 -0400

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Wed, 22 May 2013 00:25:07 -0400

marklovejoydotcom: #8598

Wed, 22 May 2013 00:24:33 -0400

marklovejoydotcom:

#8598

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Wed, 22 May 2013 00:21:23 -0400

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Wed, 22 May 2013 00:20:53 -0400

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Wed, 22 May 2013 00:20:36 -0400

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Tue, 14 May 2013 01:54:18 -0400

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Mon, 13 May 2013 23:28:54 -0400

The waves will never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to

Mon, 13 May 2013 20:38:58 -0400

I wish I could say that one can get used to people dying. I don’t want to. It tears a hole through me whenever someone dies. But I don’t want it to “not matter”. I don’t want it to be something that just passes. Each of my scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and be cut, or even gorged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are only ugly to people who can’t see.

As for grief, you’ll find it comes in waves. When the ship first is wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s some physical thing. Maybe it’s a happy memory, a song or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and you don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on that float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come farther apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breath, you can function. You never know what’s going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just anything… and the wave comes crashing. But in between the waves, there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it is different for everybody, you’ll find that the waves are only 80 feet tall,or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they’ll come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas,. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll come out.

The waves will never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn to survive each and every wave. And other waves will come. And you’ll survive them too. If you are lucky enough, you will have lots of scars from lots of loves… and lots of shipwrecks.

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Thu, 09 May 2013 16:52:14 -0400

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Thu, 09 May 2013 16:52:03 -0400

Friends are like seasons

Wed, 01 May 2013 19:56:26 -0400

Friends are like seasons, always changing, always coming then leaving They come into your life simply because they are curious. They are sojourning, stopping by temporarily. They get to know you for a while, then they are gone. Eventually those long conversations will run out of things to say, like you are staring at a blank page. You drift apart because misunderstandings happen, changes happen, or you simply get bored with each other. Perhaps you will see each other once in a while, but things will never be the same. They visit for a while and then they bid you a farewell. You have been replaced, and the cycle continues. Then a new season will comes around, but just remember the seasons always change.

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Wed, 01 May 2013 19:55:26 -0400

leilockheart: http://noeeeee.tumblr.com

Tue, 30 Apr 2013 13:56:35 -0400

leilockheart:

http://noeeeee.tumblr.com

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Thu, 25 Apr 2013 22:40:07 -0400

The Perfection of the Lost

Thu, 18 Apr 2013 00:19:44 -0400

Yet you still value the things you’ve lost the most. Because the things you’ve lost are still perfect in your head. They never rusted. They never broke. They are made of the memories you once had, Which only grow rosier and brighter, day by day. They are made of the dreams of how wonderful things could have been and must never suffer the indignity of actually still existing. Of being real. Of having flaws. Of breaking and deteriorating.

Only the thing you no longer have will always be perfect

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Mon, 15 Apr 2013 23:15:02 -0400

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Mon, 15 Apr 2013 23:13:56 -0400

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Mon, 15 Apr 2013 23:12:44 -0400