[…] And I saw him looking over at me with an expression as close to a reminiscent smile as the occasion would permit, and I knew that he had been surprised by a memory either of devotion or my little buried catastrophe. I gave him a gentle uncomprehending look in return. I am a grown-up woman now; let him unbury his own catastrophes.Alice Munro, An Ounce of Cure (via nineteencigarettes)
A carnival of faces moving with the ferris wheel.
A parade of bleeding mouths and no one’s asking if you’re okay.
A vineyard of old love letters turning into wine.
Someone could have loved you once.
Could have rediscovered their hands to give you something
bigger than what you had to give up.
You were just lost in a forest or a city
or yourself, and no one bothered looking for you.
It could have all had a different ending.
The one you deserved with the garden full of your mother’s
favorite plants and your father’s laugh
ringing through the trees.
You’re so much older than you were this morning.
Your favorite song is the one where we all
fall in love like we’re not sorry.
Your favorite song doesn’t exist.
I want to break it to you gently,
but nothing ever breaks without leaving a mess.
The ones who left, they’re not coming back.
The ones who are still here,well,
they’re leaving soon.
Everyone you love will run out of heart.
All the earth you ache for will melt into nothing.
The right ending is the one where you stay here anyway.
The right ending is the one where you can’t find courage,
so courage finds you instead.
Even if it meant that she had failed, she was glad. And if what she’d wanted had been impossible from the start, still there was a certain lonely comfort in the fact that she’d known it was impossible and had gone ahead and done it anyway.Donna Tartt, The Little Friend (via quotes-shape-us)
I don’t know how to say this to you.
We’re coming from generations
of women who deserved better.
Who loved like healing
and smiled like lightning bolt.
Always watching the door slam
and gently waiting for a return,
gently waiting for someone to say sorry to,
gently waiting for someone to come back.
Baby, people wear bravery differently.
Baby, I hope you don’t forget to leave once the love starts emptying you.
Baby, I don’t remember if I cried when
I saw my mother’s heart break for the first time,
but I hear pieces of it still haunt that Brooklyn apartment.
Baby, don’t let anyone turn you into a phantom love affair,
into an aching ghost or something to be mourned.
Baby, love yourself like you’re not waiting for
someone else to do it.
Baby, have dreams bigger than the hurt.
Take the Sunday mornings and take
the bad nights and take the changing leaves
until you aren’t homesick for something better.
This wicked thing that’s got it’s hands inside of you,
this wicked thing with its claws and its fangs
that tells you that you must love what doesn’t love you right,
baby, you’re stronger than all of it.
Baby, I promise to still love you on the days
that you think you aren’t.
Baby, I promise to still believe in you
on the days you can’t believe in yourself
and on the days you think you don’t have a reason to.