“What matters most is how well you walk through fire.” —Charles Bukowski (via handblownpaperweights)
“I may never be happy, but tonight I am content. Nothing more than an empty house, the warm hazy weariness from a day spent setting strawberry runners in the sun, a glass of cool sweet milk, and a shallow dish of blueberries bathed in cream. Now I know how people can live without books, without college. When one is so tired at the end of a day one must sleep, and at the next dawn there are more strawberry runners to set, and so one goes on living, near the earth. At times like this I’d call myself a fool to ask for more…” —Sylvia Plath (via atomos)
most of the time i feel like some awful, strange mix of liz lemon and jack donaghy. there can be no peace this way.
that awkward moment when some kid i hooked up with 3 years ago comes to a bonfire at my house. and i sit down at the fire and say, "who is this person? i don't know who this person is, he just comes over my house and doesn't say hi?" and he looks at me, and i see his face in the fire for the first time, and he's just like, "I'm derpderp.we've met."
“and then i recovered like a boss”
no one is cooking in my house, but i still smell thanksgiving food. that can only mean that all of america is filled with the scent of yams this day.