scottymouth:

the accuracy of this gives me life. 

tigerwithasniper:

Reblog here for Team Valor

Reblog here for Team Instinct

blue team best team

i was about to go to bed when i decided to open up the journal you gave me and read what you’d written me for the second time today.

– and in a better mood, i was able to reach the heart of the message and let your words lift me up.

i stopped being sad about what i i’ve lost, and i really just felt so incredibly thankful for what we were lucky enough to have and to share.

it takes some people a lifetime to find that, and somehow we found it, and even though it’s over, i am marked by it for life – blessed with the memories, and your grooves and etches – and i accept that and am grateful, because i know i am better for it.

i am not the same person i was when you met me, and you have everything to do with that – you walked in and changed my life (and i guess my life will keep on changing).

i am so lucky that you found me, and i want you to know that i know that.

maybe it’s just wishful thinking, or some naive, silly optimism, but i want to believe that even though it might change, there will always be some sort of love between us.

it helps me feel less lonely in the world.

i don’t know if you still read these, but if you do, i want to thank you for having loved me at all.

i hope you don’t regret it.

because i don’t regret loving you.

i’ve found a good place in myself for thoughts of you, so this might be the last i ever write about this, and i just want you to know that i’m really okay, and i will be okay. i’ve made peace with where we are, and i hope you have too. i hope you’re also at a point where you’re really ready to move on – hopefully while still treasuring the moments that we shared.

i hope you’re happy, and loved, and i hope your life is filled with magic.

and i hope one day you find someone who makes you as happy as you made me.

maybe we’ll talk again some day, and if we do, i pray we’re both in a good, loving place – a place where we can share our lives with each other and neither of us hurt.

until then, i guess this is my last goodbye.

thank you for being my first love.

i wonder if there are still sharp edges for you too.

i wonder if you think about me, from time to time –

i wonder if you’ve counted the days –

or if you’ve lost count.

most of all, i wonder if you’re happy.

i hope you’re happy.

i miss you.

sometimes.

frankocean:

I read in the paper that my brothers are being thrown from rooftops blindfolded with their hands tied behind their backs for violating sharia law. I heard the crowds stone these fallen men if they move after they hit the ground. I heard it’s in the name of God. I heard my pastor speak for God too, quoting scripture from his book. Words like abomination popped off my skin like hot grease as he went on to describe a lake of fire that God wanted me in. I heard on the news that the aftermath of a hate crime left piles of bodies on a dance floor this month. I heard the gunman feigned dead among all the people he killed. I heard the news say he was one of us. I was six years old when I heard my dad call our transgender waitress a faggot as he dragged me out a neighborhood diner saying we wouldn’t be served because she was dirty. That was the last afternoon I saw my father and the first time I heard that word, I think, although it wouldn’t shock me if it wasn’t. Many hate us and wish we didn’t exist. Many are annoyed by our wanting to be married like everyone else or use the correct restroom like everyone else. Many don’t see anything wrong with passing down the same old values that send thousands of kids into suicidal depression each year. So we say pride and we express love for who and what we are. Because who else will in earnest? I daydream on the idea that maybe all this barbarism and all these transgressions against ourselves is an equal and opposite reaction to something better happening in this world, some great swelling wave of openness and wakefulness out here. Reality by comparison looks grey, as in neither black nor white but also bleak. We are all God’s children, I heard. I left my siblings out of it and spoke with my maker directly and I think he sounds a lot like myself. If I being myself were more awesome at being detached from my own story in a way I being myself never could be. I wanna know what others hear, I’m scared to know but I wanna know what everyone hears when they talk to God. Do the insane hear the voice distorted? Do the indoctrinated hear another voice entirely?

by frank ocean

“Young people, Lord. Do they still call it infatuation? That magic that chops away the world in one blow, leaving only the couple standing there trembling? Whatever they call it, it leaps over anything, takes the biggest chair, the largest slice, rules the ground wherever it walks, from a mansion to a swamp, and its selfishness is its beauty. Before I was reduced to singsong, I saw all kinds of mating. Most are two-night stands trying to last a season. Some, the riptide ones, claim exclusive right to the real name, even though everybody drowns in its wake. People with no imagination feed it with sex – the clown of love. They don’t know the real kinds, the better kinds, where losses are cut and everybody benefits. It takes a certain intelligence to love like that – softly, without props. But the world is such a showpiece, maybe that’s why folks try to outdo it, put everything they feel onstage just to prove they can think up things too: handsome scary things like fights to the death, adultery, setting sheets afire. They fail, of course. The world outdoes them every time.”

Love by Toni Morrison

“He looked at her. After a while he said: It’s not about knowin where you are. It’s about thinkin you got there without takin anything with you. Your notions about startin over. Or anybody’s. You dont start over. That’s what it’s about. Ever step you take is forever. You cant make it go away. None of it. You understand what I’m sayin?

I think so.

I know you dont but let me try it one more time. You think when you wake up in the mornin yesterday dont count. But yesterday is all that does count. what else is there? Your life is made out of the days it’s made out of. Nothin else. You might think you could run away and change your name and I dont know what all. Start over. And then one mornin you wake up and look at the ceilin and guess who’s layin there?

She nodded.

You understand what I’m sayin?”

No Country for Old Men by Cormac McCarthy