December never felt so wrong.

December never felt so wrong. Cause you’re not where you belong;

I n s i d e m y a r m s.

Posted: 2015-02-25

— Rita Mae Brown, Hiss of Death

Happiness is pretty simple: someone to love, something to do, something to look forward to.

Need

“He needed her, she was always there. She needed him, he never cared.”

betrayal and loyalty

I betrayed myself, so I could be loyal to you.

~Emma Watson

“Beauty is not long hair, skinny legs, tanned skin or perfect teeth. Believe me. Beauty is the face of who cried and now smiles, beauty is the scar on your knee since you fell when you were a kid, beauty is the circles when love doesn’t let you sleep, beauty is the expression on the face when the alarm rings in the morning, it’s the melted makeup when you have a shower, it’s the laughter when you make a joke you’re the only one who can understand, beauty is meeting his gaze and stopping understanding, beauty is your gaze when you see him, it’s when you cry for all you paranoias, beauty is the lines marked by time. Beauty is what we feel in the inside which also shows outside us. Beauty is the marks the life leaves on us, all the kicks and the caresses the memories leave us. Beauty is letting yourself live.”

Chapter 11 of 12

— Pablo Neruda

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.

— Sara Keirsten Quin

I don’t think people 
understand how stressful 
it is to explain what’s going
on in your head when you
don’t even understand 
it yourself.

— Tennessee Williams, A Streetcar Named Desire

I like you to be exactly the way that you are, because in all my experience, I have never known anyone like you.

— ~Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #52

“I’m falling around you.” He mumbles against her skin and it doesn’t make much sense but he’s intoxicated on a mixture of alcohol and just her.
It shouldn’t make sense but somehow it does. At the end of the world, if the sun was going to grow the size of the sky, if it was going to burn brighter and hotter than it ever had before, if it was going to reduce everything and anything to dust and ash, everyone will fall. 
And as the image of falling dust, through nothing but space, fills her mind, she guesses he’s right, he’s falling around her.

“Maybe.” She murmurs back, voice choked and thick, eyes spilling over as she runs her fingers delicately through his hair. Maybe she was the sun or maybe it was the other way around, maybe she was falling around him.

— Brian A. Ortiz

Passionate women are like fires: often misunderstood and unfairly written off as wild, troubled, broken. And a fire left unchecked can be destructive; for example, a wildfire traveling through a forest. They’re unrestrained passion bordering rage.
Yet if that same fire is burning in a fireplace, people are able to appreciate its natural beauty and warmth, especially when they can feel how cold the outside world is. All because the fireplace has the depth (and through that, the capacity) to channel the fire’s unbridled energy.
Passionate women are the same way. They need someone who loves with a depth that matches their passion; someone they can burn for, and in the sense of having that love reciprocated, to burn within.