I EAT CAKE IN BED!

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awelltraveledwoman:

thatkindofwoman:


I’m excited for two decades from now.
I’m excited to reno an old farm house. To paint the walls white and laugh at the plaster in your hair. To rip up the floor boards and squeal at what we find underneath. To replace the shingles and ask ourselves one hundred times what on earth we got ourselves into.To make it our own. I’m excited to see lines at the corners of your eyes that spread out towards your hair. I’m excited to see your hair change colour and length and cut. I want to wake up beside your smile, with two extra decades of happiness, triumph, and pain behind it.
I can’t wait to bring you home flowers because you stubbed your toe on the way to shower that morning. To sit in front of the fireplace with you on a late December night with comfortable silence between us that only decades can bring. To tie a tire swing in the tree out back during a lazy July afternoon and watch your head fall back, full of laughter.
I’m excited to slam the doors. To scream at each other from opposite ends of the painted hallways. To give it up to you because it’ll never ever ever be worth it to see you upset. 
I’m excited for when we make up.
I’m excited to hear a baby crying. To hear little feet trotting down the hallway before jumping into our bed. For the late nights figuring out how we’re going to pay for groceries and back to school clothes and daycare and the mortgage. 
I’m excited for two decades from now. I know I’ve told you this countless times- but all this crazy bullshit is worth it, as long as you’re there waiting for me at the finish line.

awelltraveledwoman:

thatkindofwoman:

I’m excited for two decades from now.

I’m excited to reno an old farm house. To paint the walls white and laugh at the plaster in your hair. To rip up the floor boards and squeal at what we find underneath. To replace the shingles and ask ourselves one hundred times what on earth we got ourselves into.To make it our own. 

I’m excited to see lines at the corners of your eyes that spread out towards your hair. I’m excited to see your hair change colour and length and cut. I want to wake up beside your smile, with two extra decades of happiness, triumph, and pain behind it.

I can’t wait to bring you home flowers because you stubbed your toe on the way to shower that morning. To sit in front of the fireplace with you on a late December night with comfortable silence between us that only decades can bring. To tie a tire swing in the tree out back during a lazy July afternoon and watch your head fall back, full of laughter.

I’m excited to slam the doors. To scream at each other from opposite ends of the painted hallways. To give it up to you because it’ll never ever ever be worth it to see you upset. 

I’m excited for when we make up.

I’m excited to hear a baby crying. To hear little feet trotting down the hallway before jumping into our bed. For the late nights figuring out how we’re going to pay for groceries and back to school clothes and daycare and the mortgage. 

I’m excited for two decades from now. I know I’ve told you this countless times- but all this crazy bullshit is worth it, as long as you’re there waiting for me at the finish line.

(Source: triponbroknbeats, via light-shot)

“Sometimes you’re 23 and standing in the kitchen of your house making breakfast and brewing coffee and listening to music that for some reason is really getting to your heart. You’re just standing there thinking about going to work and picking up your dry cleaning. And also more exciting things like books you’re reading and trips you plan on taking and relationships that are springing into existence. Or fading from your memory, which is far less exciting. And suddenly you just don’t feel at home in your skin or in your house and you just want home but “Mom’s” probably wouldn’t feel like home anymore either. There used to be the comfort of a number in your phone and ears that listened everyday and arms that were never for anyone else. But just to calm you down when you started feeling trapped in a five-minute period where nostalgia is too much and thoughts of this person you are feel foreign. When you realize that you’ll never be this young again but this is the first time you’ve ever been this old. When you can’t remember how you got from sixteen to here and all the same feel like sixteen is just as much of a stranger to you now. The song is over. The coffee’s done. You’re going to breathe in and out. You’re going to be fine in about five minutes.”

The Winter of the Air (via oldtimefriend)

(via lakritza)

(Source: fauren)

Anonymous asked: why should i carry on living?

writingsforwinter:

Birthdays. Setting fires. Holding hands. Making stew on cold nights. Mountain climbing. Sleep. First dates. Vacation. Spending the day in bed. Buying wedding rings. Exploring a forest. Playing peekaboo with a baby. Watching someone smile genuinely. Camping. Stargazing. Counting rings on a tree. Realizing that someone loves you. Returning that love. Getting drunk for the first time. Smell of old books. Looking through black & white photos. Learning your ancestors’ names. Laughter. Hot chocolate. The feeling of getting back up after falling down. First day of college. Last day of college. Acing a job interview. Screwing one up and realizing it’s not the end of the world. Collecting shells. Sunbathing. Listening to someone’s heartbeat. Sound of waves crashing against shore. Rain hitting a tin roof. Heartbreak that turns into heart-healing. Your own house. Decorating that house. Coming home to someone you love. Hearing the sound of their footsteps on the stairs. Honesty of fall leaves. Their colors. Fresh snowfall. Singing favorite songs off-key. Seeing love come into someone’s eyes. Watching your parents look at each other like the very first time. Sunrise. Sunset. The way fire burns into ash. Smell of a campire. Waking up with light spilling over the sheets. Breakfast in bed. Living long enough to watch wounds heal over. Change. Wilderness. Forgiveness. Change some more. More change. Spring. Flowers blooming, opening up like you can. Good memories. Learning how to forget bad ones. Warm feet in a cold bed. Sleeping with the only person you care about. Waking up to their mouth and arms. Smiles that reach all the way to the eyes. Letting go of balloons like dead weight. Floating in water on your back. Skydiving. Risk. Adventure. First C on a test. First A. Favorite teacher. First poem. Last poem. Holidays with family. Roadtrips. Changing the sheets. Your father’s gnarled hands when he grows old. Grandchildren. Children of your own. Their first day of college. Their graduation. Their wedding. Anniversaries. Making daisy chains. Smell of freshly-cut grass. Pride. Feeling good about yourself. Loving what’s in the mirror. Not being afraid anymore. No more heaviness. No more grief. Survival. Picking berries til your fingers are stained dark. Frost on windows. Holding someone without sex. Sex with love. The joy of swearing. Counting the years you’ve lived. Another candle on the birthday cake. Another mark of victory. That bellyache laugh that hurts all over. But hurts so good. Breath freezing in winter. Feeling that breath on your skin. Someone’s eyelashes blinking into your palm. Accomplishment. Self-worth. Love. Triumph. Sitting under willow trees without weeping. Apologies that get accepted. Understanding that comes from forgiveness. First fight. First makeup afterward. Less hurt. More good.

Everything.

(Source: bohemianhomes)

Always thought you are holding me back but
But it turns up you are holding me together

(Source: youtube.com)

(Source: roamersberlin)

hawaiiancoconut:

Little star lights in the nest. 

hawaiiancoconut:

Little star lights in the nest. 

“It’s only after we’ve lost everything that we’re free to do anything”

Chuck Palahniuk: Fight Club (via azo82)

(via verdensdatter)

(Source: rubyandmoon, via nannanova)

(Source: goffgough, via nannanova)

(Source: hoyss, via death-by-elocution)

my heart stopped and started again.