PeacefulThunder

He loved her in a subtle kind of way. It wasn’t the kind of love you see in movies, with swelling music and giant gestures and running through the streets to catch a departing train. It wasn’t the kind of love that Byron or Shakespeare wrote about, with flowery language and hyperbole and iambic pentameter. It was still and deep, like water that you might mistake for shallow if you just watched the surface. It was entirely his, not dependent on her own feelings for him, and it would still be there whether she, or him, or everyone else on the world disappeared. It was a subtle kind of love, but it was true.

Jake Christie, Small Stories (via larmoyante)

It was a subtle kind of love, but it was true.

(via jsmn)

(via heartfelt-handwritten)

DEAR 25 YEAR OLD ME,

I’m sorry I didn’t take better care of myself before you came along. If you are still fat, I forgive you. If you are still lonely, it is okay. If you are still living with your parents and sleeping in the same room you fell in love in, that is alright. I am sorry if my younger self set you up for failure. I am sorry if you still haven’t learned to speak the way you write. I am sorry if you still think about him, after all this time. Some days are going to be hell, even if it’s freezing outside and you haven’t gotten out of bed yet. I am sorry about this. I forgive you for doing lonely things, for kissing strangers who taste like burning buildings, for talking to yourself, for spending New Years hoping the world ends before you turn 26. I forgive you if you aren’t always strong, if you’re still so scared of going to the doctor that you get panic attacks and your mom wonders what happened that made you this scared of your body. If you spend the summer writing screenplays that you don’t show anyone, I forgive you. If you sleep through a job interview because you’re too scared, I forgive you. If you decide you don’t want kids, ever, I forgive you. Some of us still have child hearts that we haven’t learned to nurture properly, and that is okay. I am sorry for running away from him when I wanted him most. I am sorry if you see him and he has forgotten you. I am sorry that I never told him, or any of them, that I was a sun buried underneath lightyears of silence, and that they didn’t deserve to have to wait for my light to reach them. I hope you are kind to yourself. I hope that, when you are sad, you are patient with your pain. I hope you know that there is still a way for you, that, despite everything, your body wants you to keep going, even—especially when you feel like everything inside of you is dying.

A LETTER TO 25 YEAR OLD ME (via alonesomes)

(via heartfelt-handwritten)