She said, ‘I’m so afraid.’ And I said, ‘why?,’ and she said, ‘Because I’m so profoundly happy. Happiness like this is frightening.’ I asked her why and she said, ‘They only let you be this happy if they’re preparing to take something from you.’
Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner (via fusels)

(via ibecamethesun)



My mom warned me of boys who look like you
That you’re no good
That you’ll break my heart
And won’t even blink twice
That all you are is trouble
And she didn’t want me to end up like you
That you came from a broken home
That turned you cold
But what she didn’t tell me was that
You’re a broken soul with the sweetest heart
That you protect me
And cherish me
She never told me that looking in your eyes
Can make me feel so at home
She never realized that she raised me a home just as broken as yours
And that we complete each other
She hasn’t realized that being with you
Is being myself
That you would never let anything happen to me
And if anyone hurt me
That would be the last thing they did do
She has no idea that the coldness in your heart is just the outer wall to keep people out
But once you get passed that
You’re the most wonderful warm
Sweet guy
And I think I might love you

The planet does not need more successful people. The planet desperately needs more peacemakers, healers, restorers, storytellers and lovers of all kinds
Dalai Lama  (via wild-moon-child)

(via forest-of-wanderlust)


Be confident. Be compassionate. Be intelligent. Be humble. Be generous. The universe returns to you what you put out.
Lauren Jauregui (via erraticintrovert)

(via forest-of-wanderlust)


Raise your words, not voice. It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder.

No matter how many times I’ve been done wrong, I’ll continue to be faithful, honest, & loving. Sooner or later someone will appreciate it.


When I say be creative, I don’t mean that you should all go and become great painters and great poets. I simply mean let your life be a painting, let your life be a poem.

It’s your flaws
I want to taste.
Your crooked mouth.
The way you smell after
being out all day.
The lump in your throat.
Your shaky hands.
Your morning breath.
Your prickly legs.
Your pimpled politeness.
Your tangled hair.

I don’t want to be able to
run my fingers through you
easily. It’s no fun writing
about perfections.

I want to talk about you-
flawed,
crooked,
endless
you.

For Whom? | Lora Mathis (via lora-mathis)

(via lora-mathis)