“How Beautiful To Find A Heart That Loves You, Without Asking You For Anything, But To Be Okay.”

I’ve become at odds with how mechanical life and it’s expectations may be. There is beauty in the tiny little things that make us human. I hate how prone to irritation we are. Why do we come from such a climate of high temperament. Life is not robotic. People are not machines. Mistakes are made. And really, that’s beautiful. Why would you want a fellow human being to be anything but a human being? We value each other’s emotions and one another’s nuances. We value realness. So why is that so easily compromised in the face of an honest error that an emotional being is capable of. I absolutely hate that we polarize one another and use terms to define eachother. Why do we need to lock others within the confines of a frame to better understand them. That’s one of the most shallow sentiments I could think of. Not a single person deserves to be defined by a moment of neglect. Because we’d hate for that to be done to us. We need to be more human and appreciate what makes others human or else we’re just automated and lifeless.

Why are old lovers able to become friends? Two reasons. They never truly loved each other, or they love each other still.

Whitney Otto, How to Make an American Quilt  (via thelovejournals)

Learn to remain silent, just like you learn to speak.

Abu Dhayyal, Fadl al-‘Ilm (p. 283)

real depression is when you stop loving the things you love

God gave me this illness to Remind me that I am not the Greatest, He is. -#MuhammadAli #rip . . #muhammadali #ripmuhammadali #muhammadaliquotes #muhammadaliboxer #feelingsad #quote

Love ends when we start laughing about things that made us cry one day. ينتهي الحب عندما نبدأ بالضحك من الأشياء التي بكينا بسببها يوما

(via nizariat)

... main apne hontho'n se chun raha hoon tumhari saanso'n ki aayat ko

There is so much pain and self-hatred in the stories of the hair of women of color.

me: *sleeps for 4 hours* tired me: *sleeps for 8 hours* tired me: *sleeps for a week* tired me: *sleeps for a month* tired me: *sleeps for a year* still tired

Power

This is the poem Where you decide how it ends For once in your life