U Got Through Everything U Didnt Think U Were Strong Enough For

With the way that I am singing these love songs, I bet my mom thinks I must be in love with some boy. The jokes on her I am singing about 2 characters that I believe are in love to get in the mood to write a fluffy fic.

Re-blog if you can write in cursive.

I heard cursive is dying. I want to see who still uses it.

He is not the sun. You are.

Christina Yang (via maybe-you-need-this)

IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT

You see,  this is my issue with parents who don’t give their kids privacy as well. They are the same ones who are like “This is my house, I pay the bills. You can do whatever you want when you start paying your own bills in your own house.” 

sigh

You’re not creating space for you’re child to grow. You’re just restricting and preventing their growth. 

“I had a room to myself as a kid, but my mother was always quick to point out that it wasn’t my room, it was her room and I was merely permitted to occupy it. Her point, of course, was that my parents had earned everything and I was merely borrowing the space, and while this is technically true I cannot help but marvel at the singular damage of this dark idea: That my existence as a child was a kind of debt and nothing, no matter how small, was mine. That no space was truly private; anything of mine could be forfeited at someone else’s whim.”  ― Carmen Maria Machado, In the Dream House

you can’t please everyone with your art/writing and what counts as good art/writing is highly subjective so it’s okay to make the resolution to yourself that if a single person likes your work then that means it’s good, it has worth, and it has value

and it’s okay to make the resolution that the single person in question is allowed to be you

True. 😭

The most dangerous game is resting your eyes after you turned off the alarm clock in the morning

“La Lluvia” ~ Jacqueline Acuña

Este poema está dedicado a mi nana, que descanse en paz. Donde sea que te encuentres, espero que sepas que te amo y te extraño. Espero que te guste este poema. Hay otra versión en Ingles titulado “The Rain”. 

“La Lluvia”:

La lluvia nos saludo en el principio del fin.

Nos dirigió hacia el camino adelante.

Un camino enlodado, lleno de piedras, con saltos y golpes.

Un camino muy bien viajado.

Un camino lleno de dolor.

Un camino que dirige a todos hacía el mismo, desgraciado final.

Y igual como vino, se fue.

Inesperadamente.

Nos dejó empapados en lágrimas de tristeza, de alegría.

Pero la lluvia nos trajo juntos, nos unió.

Y juntos lloramos su partida.

Llorábamos porque sin ella había una sequía en nuestros corazones que nunca va estar resuelto.

Las nubes también se juntaran, por el resto del tiempo y llorarán por su memoria.

La agua goteando desde el cielo no estará llena de su presencia.

La agua no será suficiente para aliviar el dolor de la desaparición de la lluvia.

Y aunque no queramos aprender a vivir con el dolor y la sequía lo tendríamos que hacer.

Solamente tenemos su memoria para satisfacer nuestra sed de querer verla, de querer estar redondeados de su presencia.

Solamente tenemos su memoria de la frialdad recorriendo nuestra piel, llevando con ella nuestras preocupaciones y dolor.

Por ella, nos convertimos en lluvia—llorando gotas tratando de limpiar el dolor de haberla perdido.

Por ella, nos convertimos en lluvia para recordarla.