on some days, we are a graveyard of conversations we could never have with them

~ i hope you find someone who speaks your language,so you don't have to spend a lifetime translating your soul ~

There is a place where warmth is adjusted to the right degree. An enclosure so safe, it beckons the eyes rest. Like hills wrapped around valley, clouds enraptured atop mountains. Embrace fitting and welcoming to those called at the table. And I seek it out, like drought chasing rain – like bone lusting blood. For love is modelling clay, you will make of it a sculpture all your own. But where it lies will always be the same: in the arms of the adored, against the chest of a lover’s beating drum. And if love should be like anything as quiet and rumbling as a stream -, than it can only ever measure up to the chanting of corresponding souls.

“I love how to movie ended with Neil at the play!”

Stop it guys y’all are being delusional. We all know what happens… Neil gets dragged home by his dad and he can’t tell his dad how he feels. He goes to bed not feeling understood with the pending doom of military school. It’s about 11 by now and Neil can’t sleep and he’s just so angry and sad and he doesn’t now what to do so he walks through the house and BOOM!!! Jk his dad wakes up and he explains that he was scared to tell him about theater after the events with the school paper so he lied and that he’ll still go wherever his dad wants he just wants to do theater on the side (he switches his majors but his dad doesn’t know that as of right now) so his dad agrees and let’s him continue at Welton and Keating keeps his job. I’m the end the poets all go to nyc and do whatever they want with their lives.

Hey (with the intention of watching Dead Poets Society with you)

what will I do to a blank page with a broken pencil?

sharpen it, they said. but when I cut the surface that covers it, that's not progress. buy a new one, they said. but when I changed my old to the new, that's not progress. so I stopped showing the scribblings and the mess of my rough sketch. I hung the art at the end. somehow they didn't look at all the cuts and the change and everything that pained, but they said

— that's exactly what you do to a blank page with a broken pencil

ash

"You are the moon to my oceans."

this world is full of people who are living for themselves. how about you live for me and i live for you? how about you soak in the love i shower on you? how about i keep my eyes opened forever to keep looking at you? how about you exist and i take the responsibility of loving you?

Me: I don't have a type.

Also me: *refuses to date any guy because they are not like Stick*

Just look at him. He's simply perfect.

It's all fun and nice and casual until one day you crack a miserable joke,and she laughs.then comes a moment of silence,where your laugh fades into a smile. She turns around and asks you, "what did you have for lunch today?" And it's such a simple question,and this is so normal,but you know,YOU KNOW, that you might just fall in love with her,that you might never find someone like her,that you want to hold her,and tell her how beautiful and kind you think she is.In that Moment,YOU KNOW,that you are in trouble

Grief: the word itself is so gloomy, it carries all the burdens of life, relationships, situations, missed opportunities. Grief is ones own personal. It’s important to feel grief to live again!

music is crazy bc she’s singing her heart out and I feel every emotion as my own. He’s shredding the guitar and I start getting faster with my every action. Their whispering? I’m whispering.

Anderperry.

That’s it.

That’s the post.

oh to be sitting under a tree in August going through your Pinterest boards listening to artists like Peach Pit, Bleachers, Gangs of youth, Far Caspian.