When I was in fourth grade, I wanted to read Harry Potter. Someone in my class told me I couldn’t because it wasn’t in my level and I wouldn’t understand it. I read Harry Potter just to spite him. I’ve reread it a million times, it’s one of my favourites. I realised after reread and reread that I didn’t understand it in fourth grade. When I was in sixth grade, I wanted to read the classics. I read the Bell Jar, Red Badge of Courage, Shakespeare, and as many as I could find. I couldn’t tell you what they said. But I looked like I could read at a higher level than I could. I read the same books and plays in high school. They made sense, I enjoyed them, I read them not to prove something but because I wanted to. When I was in eighth grade, I only read murder mysteries and criminal books. That’s what more advanced readers read. I wanted to prove that I could read as well as someone twice, three times my age. I enjoyed them, but it was because I was proving something. When I was in college I reread the series of unfortunate events. I loved every single book, every single line. I’d forgotten what it was like to read a book because I wanted to. I read young adult novels more than anything because I like them. I don’t care that they’re below my level, that they’re ‘too’ young for me. I don’t care that people see me reading them. I realised something. I was taught to read because I needed to. Intelligent people read, that’s how people become smart. Reading isn’t a waste of time like television. I wasn’t taught to love to read. No one is. I found a love of reading by giving up the idea that people gave a shit if I read or not. I enjoy it more than I should. I realised that instead of instilling the idea of doing something because it’s expected or because someone should do something, instill the idea of doing something because you want to. Instill the idea that happiness comes from what we choose, not what others have chosen for us. I realised that when I’m happiest, when I have the most joy, it’s when I do something for me. It’s when there are no expectations, no drive to prove someone wrong. I realised that my happiest when all inhibitions and perceptions are gone. Maybe that’s how we should enjoy our hobbies.
KJS // Advice for someone hiding themselves (via wyattwesleywriting)
He drinks and he smokes to forget about me, but at the end of the night, when he’s absolutely wasted and faded, he’s crying over me into another girl’s arms. He is yet again reminded that nothing could take away how much it hurt to lose me. No substance, no drug, nothing. I will always live within his mind and within his heart. It is not a choice. He will have to live with the pain that is the loss of something so great, the best he’ll ever have.
v.m (via writingboutyou)
They were in love once, But they were too young, Too oblivious to see what they had. They broke each other over and over. He was distant and afraid, She was wild and carefree. They still talk, but it’s never the same. There is still love, but both have changed.
-K.N.B. (via learningtoliveagain7896)
There is no calm inside me, no serenity no silence.
Gabriel Gadfly, “Teething.” (via wordsnquotes)
The substance of grief is not imaginary. It’s as real as rope or the absence of air, and like both those things it can kill.
Barbara Kingsolver, The Poisonwood Bible (via theliteraryjournals)
maybe it’s for the best
commissions | patreon | twitter | instagram
Photographer Ann Sophie Lindström spent several months documenting a group of horsemen in North Philadelphia who have been countering crime through their love for horses. For more riveting photos of the equestrians of North Philly, here’s this week’s Spotlight essay from Emily Anne Epstein.
A stallion named Dusty rears up as Jamil Prattis, 25, leads him to the lot across from the Fletcher Street Stables, October 19, 2013. Jamil became involved with the horses when he was 12 years old, after he saw a group of urban cowboys riding through the streets of North Philadelphia. (Ann Sophie Lindström)
Jamil Prattis sits in front of his house on French Street, May 23, 2014. (Ann Sophie Lindström)
Stephfon Darnell Tolbert, 31, teases a pony named Harlem, making him rear up, October 2, 2013. Harlem is known for being aggressive when someone gets too close. (Ann Sophie Lindström)
A horse is tied up in front of a vacant lot on Fletcher Street while horsemen clean the stalls, October 6, 2016. (Ann Sophie Lindström)
Stable manager Edward E. Ward cuddles a horse named Maverick, September 29, 2013. (Ann Sophie Lindström)
Tymeir Sanders, 17, stops by a friend’s house on West Harold Street while out on a ride with Rosie, June 1, 2014. (Ann Sophie Lindström)
Stephfon Darnell Tolbert, 24, prepares feed for the horses, October 16, 2016. The horsemen have tack rooms where they keep supplies, feed, and hay. (Ann Sophie Lindström)
Donnell Glenn takes Cash out for an evening walk, October 9, 2013. (Ann Sophie Lindström)
Stevie Spann, 50, checks on the horses before closing the stable for the evening, August 22, 2014. (Ann Sophie Lindström)
Jamil Prattis, Stevie Spann, and Nate Benson sit inside a horse trailer to escape the sun and smoke, May 25, 2014. (Ann Sophie Lindström)
There is no indoor arena at the Fletcher Stable, so the horsemen like use the vacant lot across the street to train their animals, October 6, 2013. (Ann Sophie Lindström)
Romere Burch,13, rides bareback on a stallion named Ace N da Whole on Glennwood Avenue, October 3, 2013. (Ann Sophie Lindström)