"It doesn’t make sense to call ourselves ugly, because we don’t really see ourselves. We don’t watch ourselves sleeping in bed, curled up and silent with chests rising and falling with our own rhythm. We don’t see ourselves reading a book, eyes fluttering and glowing. You don’t see yourself looking at someone with love and care inside your heart. There’s no mirror in your way when you’re laughing and smiling and happiness is leaking out of you. You would know exactly how bright and beautiful you are if you saw yourself in the moments where you are truly yourself." |
| ~ (via felicefawn) (via whiteoceans) |
"You can’t find intimacy—you can’t find home—when you’re always hiding behind masks. Intimacy requires a certain level of vulnerability. It requires a certain level of you exposing your fragmented, contradictory self to someone else. You running the risk of having your core self rejected and hurt and misunderstood." |
| ~ Junot Díaz (via whiteoceans) (via whiteoceans) |
catoptric tristula
n. the sadness that you’ll never really know what other people think of you, whether good, bad or if at all—that although we reflect on each other with the sharpness of a mirror, our reflections somehow end up looking softened and distorted, as if each mirror was secretly preoccupied with twisting around, desperately trying to look itself in the eye.
![[I can be cute ok. Fuck anyone who thinks otherwise.]](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m8zi6lfMYQ1qce1obo1_400.jpg)
In French, you don’t really say “I miss you.” You say “tu me manques,” which is closer to “you are missing from me.”
I love that. “You are missing from me.” You are a part of me, you are essential to my being. You are like a limb, or an organ, or blood. I cannot function without you.
(via foxmouth-deactivated20121105)
…who promises that lips might touch and that organs may crumble…
"If we wait until we’re ready, we’ll be waiting for the rest of our lifes." |
| ~ Lemony Snicket (via bookaddictiion) |
