The Beast of Blue Eyes

Shelby's the name and writing's the game.

“A flower does not think of competing to the flower next to it. It just blooms.”

—   from Zen Shin Talks  (via lovely—delight)

(Source: serymn, via rcvryprocess)

scottthepilgrim:

it really pisses me off how easy it is to get sad and then how long and hard it is to get happy again like what the fuck man thats not fair

(via rcvryprocess)

Baby Elephants!

(Source: venera9, via thefinestiloveyouso)

My Wise Advice

I have been struck with doubt before.

I have been stricken with pain

And a self reassurance of failure.

Life has torn me into pieces

Like a weak scrap sheet of paper.

I’ve walked a thousand miles with a storm cloud,

And I do have my demons.

I know this because I use to think these things were all I had.

I’ve never noticed that in the breaks between the raindrops,

I have happiness,

I have friends,

I have spaces of joy and excitement,

Love,

And I have hope,

A hope that leads me to feel ok

At least every once in a while.

In between these breaks and pauses of storms,

I have had time to look up.

Granted, this time stands up to a couple of seconds

Compared to the hour of darkness,

But it’s worth it.

Because I use to believe in every dark myth:

I use to believe that my demons were the only cards in life I was dealt with.

But I discovered a more positive truth.

I discovered a minute of clearance in the darkness.

I found that we need to live through that happiness,

that love,

hope,

That feeling that we’re actually going to be alright,

And hold on tight to all of them ,

Cherish them and take none for granted,

Even when the flood comes.

Because it’s those small moments we don’t notice,

That will carry us through the storm.

A Miracle of Love

And there it is: A phenomenon, a miracle in its rightful place. A revival of true affection. My heart after Dylan was taken from this world was torn out, ripped up, and scattered into the earth I never thought I could regain the pieces, never thought I could be capable of loving anyone like this again. But as I stand here, I am fully aware by the cold parts in my heart giving way to warm water trickling though dry crevices, that it is possible. It is possible to have your love whisked away completely, leaving you cold and empty like a vacant train vessel in the winter. But then have it found later, by something or someone who discovered it in the dirt, who brushed off the grime and handed it back to you like it’s precious, like it’s not already broken. Someone who would kneel down in the mud to help you glue the pieces, even when you have already quit. I never knew until now, but that phenomenon, that miracle of love, is possible.

If you don’t want to reach out past your boundaries, don’t expect much.

Not a single one of my successes were obtained inside my comfort zone.

“my sadness is not
a cut for you to bandage
and it is not
a bruise for you to kiss

i am not waiting
for you to save me
i am hoping you will love me
while i rescue myself”

—   this is what a hero looks like (via gnarly)

(Source: bombsinyourbones, via rcvryprocess)