Peace Love Happiness.

"We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations." Oh btw I'm paola :3

Follow me on twitter: @PBGodzilla

My blog has grown with me exponentially.
~ Tuesday, April 22 ~
She deserves better, you say. I say: You’re a goddamn coward. What she deserves is an actual person she can connect with. She deserves you, or me or the entire world; she deserves someone achingly real and honest. She deserves a human being equally raw to pursue her and love her and, perhaps, destroy her emotionally, but she deserves all that as well. She doesn’t deserve anyone’s sugary fairytale. She deserves to float freely, with you, or me, or the world, into the very depths of her own psychosynthesis. She deserves to explore the meaning of the word "intimacy", with someone beside her that will care regardless. She fucking deserves all of it. So, pluck up the courage and be with her or leave her in peace but don’t you dare "sell" her your own "inadequacy" as a lie so that, again, you manage to comfort your conscience and eventually come to feel that you love her exactly because you’re letting her go. Because, darling, that’s bullshit. That’s only you own little self-created lie laying behind a much bigger lie; it’s not even properly concealed within itself, you fucking idiot.

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If I had to give you one piece of advice it would be this: Don’t be intimidated by other peoples’ opinions.
— Paulo Coelho (via onlinecounsellingcollege)

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My knees are bleeding again, and I don’t remember hitting the floor this time. You had a voice like red wine and I wanted you to stain every inch of my skin until my bones were too drunk to break. It turns out bones don’t work like that. They break anyway. I’m learning how the echoes of silence can pound against your head so loudly, you’ll mistake them for voices. And I am carving each one into walls that aren’t mine and slamming the doors to cabs and sobbing over coffee that tastes too bitter. Lately, every part of New York has been looking at me with sad eyes, as if to say ‘Baby, did you see the way the buildings fell here? Did you see the way they were born again? Don’t you dare cry over a boy who kissed you so hard you fell and scraped your knees. You are not an abandoned city. You are a home waiting to be rebuilt.’ This poem is for all the time I spent hating you. This poem is for all the ways I didn’t kiss you and all the ways I did. This poem is for all the love letters that I never gave you. This poem is for the parts of me I let bleed out. Here. I am giving it to you like a peace offering for the days I blamed you for the war in my head. And I know my hands might be shaking, but they aren’t yours to worry about anymore. I will learn the art of getting better. But I need you take this from me first
— Y.Z  (via sadlittlepotato)

(Source: rustyvoices)

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your mother
didn’t spend
9 months
forming your body
inside of her
just so you could
hate and destroy it
— bzq (via fuckinq)

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If you don’t go after what you want, you’ll never have it. If you don’t ask, the answer is always no. If you don’t step forward, you’re always in the same place.
— Nora Roberts  (via fuckoff-mondays)

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