I am driving deep inside of me, my heart is working hard it’s learning how to love for free.

There are so many things that will never happen to me again, and I never noticed when those things stopped occurring. And it does not mean I wish I had my old life back, because I like my new life better; I was just shocked to discover how much of what used to be central to my existence doesn’t even matter to me anymore.

I think it’s intoxicating when somebody is so unapologetically who they are.

(via dakos)

I am lonely, yet not everybody will do. I don’t know why, some people fill the gaps and others emphasize my loneliness.

Sometimes I feel so - I don’t know - lonely. The kind of helpless feeling when everything you’re used to has been ripped away. Like there’s no more gravity, and I’m left to drift in outer space with no idea where I’m going’
Like a little lost Sputnik?’
I guess so.

One advantage in keeping a diary is that you become aware with reassuring clarity of the changes which you constantly suffer.

(via travelerschecks)

The young composer, working that summer at an artist’s colony, had
watched her for a week. She was Japanese, a panter, almost sixty,
and he thought he was in love with her. He loved her work, and her
work was like the way she moved her body, used her hands, looked
at him directly when she made amused and considered answers to his
questions. One night, walking back from a concert, they came to her
door and she turned to him and said, “I think you would like to have
me. I would like that too, but I must tell you that I have had a double
mastectomy,” and when he didn’t understand, “I’ve lost both my
breasts.” The radiance that he had carried around in his belly and chest
cavity — like music — withered very quickly, and he made himself look
at her when he said, “I’m sorry. I don’t think I could.” He walked back
to his own cabin through the pines, and in the morning he found a small
blue bowl on the porch outside his door. It looked to be full of rose
petals, but he found when he picked it up that the rose petals were on
top; the rest of the bowl— she must have swept them from the corners
of her studio — was full of dead bees.

(via travelerschecks)

Lonely is a freedom that breathes easy and weightless and lonely is healing if you make it.

simplylovelytoria:

“We’ve been conditioned to associate pain with weakness, sadness with coldness, loneliness with unworthiness, difference with disease, as if these feelings are contagious, as if ambivalence is something not to be felt but to be feared…”

(via youve-cattobekittenmerightmeow)

10 sheep deep: things change so fast I guess. at least in my life that’s how it goes.... ›