Worn pages. Little messages.

When I press the keys, it all gets reversed.

19,421 notes

93,601 Plays
Neutral Milk Hotel
I Love How You Love Me

dearsurvivors:

I love how your heart beats
whenever I hold you.
I love how you think of me
without being told to.
I love the way your kiss
is always heavenly. 
But darlin’ most of all
I love how you love me.

(via loveyourchaos)

33,899 notes

It’s easy to feel uncared for when people aren’t able to communicate and connect with you in the way you need. And it’s so hard not to internalize that silence as a reflection on your worth. But the truth is that the way other people operate is not about you. Most people are so caught up in their own responsibilities, struggles, and anxiety that the thought of asking someone else how they’re doing doesn’t even cross their mind. They aren’t inherently bad or uncaring — they’re just busy and self-focused. And that’s okay. It’s not evidence of some fundamental failing on your part. It doesn’t make you unloveable or invisible. It just means that those people aren’t very good at looking beyond their own world. But the fact that you are — that despite the darkness you feel, you have the ability to share your love and light with others — is a strength. Your work isn’t to change who you are; it’s to find people who are able to give you the connection you need. Because despite what you feel, you are not too much. You are not too sensitive or too needy. You are thoughtful and empathetic. You are compassionate and kind. And with or without anyone’s acknowledgment or affection, you are enough.
Daniell Koepke (via internal-acceptance-movement)

(via thingssheloves)

154 notes

I have so much to tell you, the problem isn’t that I’m running out of time, I’m running out of room, this book is filling up, there couldn’t be enough pages, I looked around the apartment this morning for one last time and there was writing everywhere, filling the walls and mirrors, I rolled up the rugs so I could write on the floors, I’d written on the windows and around the bottles of wine we were given but never drank, I only wore short sleeves, even when it’s cold, because my arms are books too. But there’s too much to express. I’m sorry.
Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close (via seabois)

(via sunt-lacrimae-rerum)