The honey is sweeter when you love the bee.
MEXICO CELEBRA MEDALLA DE ORO EN FOOTBALL OLIMPICO
Foto: Jadiel Galicia
I crave so badly to be a person of incomprehensible intelligence. Not intelligence measured in terms of education, math or even science. I want to be smart in a worldly way, I want to be educated in the science of human compassion and the art of kindness. I want to be well spoken, and well versed in making others feel like they are the universe, not merely a part of it. I want to know what’s it’s like to wake up in a different country with the love of my life, or to understand what it feels like to look at another human like they are the sun. I wish to know what it’s like to change the world, to know what it feels like to improve someone’s life, or to be a person of little vanity and self absorption. I want to know what’s it’s like to find what I’m passionate about, and to die for it. I want to find purpose in every breath this life grants me. Give me not a college education, or the burden of social constructs. Give me not a life of conformity or normalcy. Give me a life of passion and love and worship. Give me a life of eccentricities and coloring beyond the lines of societal standards. Give me not a lesson that can be learned in a textbook, but rather a lesson that can be taught only by my beating heart.
@indieluhv The Book of “I” (via indieluhv)
She is more than just her body.
Pay attention to the way she speaks about her dreams.
I mean really pay attention.
When you see the way her eyes light up when she tells you about her passions; you will swear that God gave you your own personal star to take care of.
Stop her if she apologizes for being a burden, and assure her that you enjoy her presence and her smile that grows wider and warmer with each second like the morning sunrise.
If she doesn’t apologize, stay quiet; that means she is sure of herself and that’s wonderful.
Listen to her thoughts long enough, and you will realize that she is more than strawberry lips and satin skin.
Her voice will become your favorite song, the runner up being her laugh only because there’s just something about the way she sounds at 2am when everything is quiet except the inside of your head and she is all you can tolerate.
You will look in the mirror and your reflection will feel incomplete; the space left over when she is not around will tug on the heartstrings you forgot you had until you next meet and when you do, you will question how her soul can be so shiny in such a dark world.
She will become everything you think you want and everything you fear; her words spoken with an intensity that will make you believe there is fire coursing through her veins hotter than the flames of life that forged her.
The only thing able to match the heat will be the way she touches you like she wishes she could burn her name onto your skin, not knowing that you already feel like her image is seared into your eyelids, and as if things couldn’t get any worse, she will smell amazing.
She is a hurricane and you will know this but you will want to call her home.
I’m telling you, she is more than just her body.
And if you’ve managed to see her naked, you still haven’t seen anything yet.
Maxwell Diawuoh, Below the Surface (via wnq-writers)
We are so full of life, quite literally; our lungs fill with air, our hearts tirelessly pump blood and beat with intensity. And how incredibly bizarre I thought it was, that here we are alive, with not the slightest clue how to live.
The bruises on her knees looked like little planets, the freckles that covered her back just like tiny constellations. And how beautifully ironic I thought it was that her body resembled the universe even though she was a universe of her own.
She was a nomadic lover, a wanderer at heart.
She danced through life with the soul of a gypsy.
Making homes out of people, but never staying long enough to call them her own.
I thought maybe if I loved her enough, she could find my heart to be her forever place.
She was like a metaphor I didn’t understand
An excerpt of a book that I’d never get to read.
Reducing her to just a girl was like reducing poetry to just words. It was like reducing love to just a feeling, and war to a mere disagreement.
I couldn’t pin point home on a map, but I’d found it in her arms.
She no longer lived inside my chest, but she’d left her fingerprints on everything.
And even though I was just another stop on her path; She was my entire journey.
indieluhv (via wnq-writers)
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