There will be ups and downs
But what is an ocean without any waves
There will be perhaps only uphill
But god, the view from up top
There will be tears like the rain
But flowers don’t grow with only sun
There will be broken frames, burnt letters, wet pillows, and that moment where you could leave it all behind
But in the end wouldnt you rather be able to say it was worth it
Have you not found the lakes, the rivers, and the trees.
Have you not found it to be tranquil?
Have you not found solace with the beauty of it all,
Wanting nothing more and nothing less,
And with the wet soil under your feet,
Found that you are not too far away from home?
Does it not offer you aspirin to the arthritic pain of existence?
I’m sorry if you have not yet felt this way.
I am sorry that you have not been living,
But rather just been persevering on your incline.
But one day as you wander feeling you have lost your way
Perhaps this thought will cross your mind
And I hope that you may once again, find peace with yourself.
I once dated a writer and
Writers are forgetful,
but they remember everything.
They forget appointments and anniversaries,
but remember what you wore,
how you smelled,
on your first date…
They remember every story you’ve ever told them -
but forget what you’ve just said.
They don’t remember to water the plants
or take out the trash,
but they don’t forget how
to make you laugh.
Writers are forgetful
the important things.
(Source: ofheightsandhollows, via caatharsis)