Ernest Hemingway
deconstructivebehaviour
“ You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you dies each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintry light. But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person had died for no reason. ”
this hurts, the way it's supposed to
Fear nothing in this world, except becoming one of those grey half-people that do nothing but complain about the traps they build with their own two hands and call it the pursuit of excellence. Theirs is a race run with death as the finish line. Don’t be fooled into trying to keep up, you’ll only follow them out over the precipice. Build your own worlds, observe your own laws, and leave them to their poisons and their crutch-loves.
own your damage
Don’t hide your scars. Though there will be times when they ache, though you can run your finger along them and feel, vividly, that so particular numbness, though they might seem ugly and worthy of naught but hiding, though you can cover them with makeup or even fresh wounds, though sometimes they tear and bleed anew, though you may hate them and long only for sound flesh, you should never be ashamed of them because they are the written history of what brought you to right here and now. By our scars we are our own greatest works of literature, whose pages will only ever be shared with a precious few, each of which is not an end in itself, as we so often believe, but only mark the end of one chapter and the beginning of the next. We are stories written in blood upon sound flesh, and so long as we never bleed in vain then the scars will be there to remind us of the lessons we’ve learned and of all the people we once were. There is strength in that, and beauty, if only you know to look for it.
i swear, this could have been posted in new orleans somewhere. i love this.
(via alotlikelove, kittylitter)
