“There Are People Who Take The Heart Out Of You, And There Are People Who Put It Back.”

“I have lost and loved and won and cried myself to the person I am today.”

— Charlotte Eriksson, Empty Roads & Broken Bottles; in search for The Great Perhaps (via wordsnquotes)

Maybe I will miss the comfort of my own home when I fly away to a new one to make it my own. I will miss how the light used to pour into my room in the evenings, or how I used to take a shower while those sunrays soaked my body more than the water ever did. I will miss watching myself act out music videos in the bathroom mirror while I'm taking a shower. I may miss the cold breeze of early winter and the hot showers I took then. But one thing I know for sure, is that I will try to find beauty wherever I go.

Whatever space I fill, wherever in the world that may be, I will always find things to be grateful for. I will find beauty in mundane activities.

That is the promise I'm making to myself inorder to feel alive, and not just be it.

To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.

— Oscar Wilde

Mohammed El-Kurd, from Rifqa; “Rifqa”

[Text ID: “I cried—not for the house / but for the memories I could have had inside it.”]

“Someone once asked me what depression feels like. I said ‘like a slower way of being dead’ and I know it doesn’t make any sense but that’s just the way it is. laying in bed, unable to move even though there is nothing physically wrong with you doesn’t make much sense either. A family member once asked me why at my age I didn’t have a job. I said ‘i’m sick’ and they said ‘being sad isn’t the same as being sick’ and, yeah, they’re right. being sad ISN’T the same as being sick. i can’t call in sad to work, or to school, or to anywhere else for that matter without being accused of throwing a self-pity party to which the only attendees are me and my sadness which is constantly being invalidated by those who don’t understand it, including me, because I don’t understand my sadness either. it’s difficult to admit this but the ugly truth is i have been sad for so long that I no longer remember what it’s like not be. kind of like when you have a cold and can’t breathe through your nose but instead of not being able to breathe through your nose, you can’t breathe AT ALL and all you can do is wait to suffocate while the people around you ask you what’s wrong but you can’t tell them because it wouldn’t make any sense. It never makes any sense.”

—

Sylvia Plath, from The Unabridged Journals