owlmylove:

maybe if you take a hot shower. cook something. eat a little soup. feel a little sunshine. make something with your hands—it doesn’t have to be big. maybe if you stretch your body and draw a silly little picture and get some rest, the world will feel like something your hands can still hold

Maybe. I hope.

(via schrodingersvibecheck)

yvesolade:

“Sometimes I really believe it, that I am going to save my life a little.”

— Mary Oliver, from section 4 of “The Return,” What Do We Know: Poems and Prose Poems (Da Capo Press, 2002)

(via julierthanyou)

Man, tumblr used to be the place to fucking be, huh? I miss 2012 tumblr.

mashamorevna:

“I am afraid to touch / anyone who might stay / long enough to make leaving / an echo”

— A Fortune for Your Disaster, “FOR THE DOGS WHO BARKED AT ME ON THE SIDEWALKS IN CONNECTICUT” by Hanif Abdurraqib (via decreation)

Long enough to make leaving an echo.

And just like that I’m crushing HARD on another unavailable coworker because he’s smart and likes mad men and has great hair and it’s always SOMETHING. I had a list like this for Ryan, too. It’s always something.

I had a dream about him last night and I woke up this morning certain that he’s going to propose to his girlfriend over valentine’s day weekend and now I’ve hurt my own goddamn feelings and created a bunch of anxiety around things that have literally n o t h i n g to do with me.

For lunch I had a tiny deep dish pizza cut into four uneven quadrants.

The dog watched me, unblinking, while I ate.

She looked so serious. Her head tracked my hand as it went from plate to mouth and back again.

And when I’d swallowed the last of it and licked my fingers clean,

she sighed, put her head down, and went right to sleep.

If only we could all observe the things we want so intently
with such plain, open longing.

And forget them so easily when they’re gone.