Leaving is not enough. You must stay gone. Train your heart like a dog. Change the locks even on the house he’s never visited. You lucky, lucky girl. You have an apartment just your size. A bathtub full of tea. A heart the size of Arizona, but not nearly so arid. Don’t wish away your cracked past, your crooked toes, your problems are papier-mâché puppets you made or bought because the vendor at the market was so compelling you just had to have them. You had to have him. And you did. And now you pull down the bridge between your houses, you make him call before he visits, you take a lover for granted, you take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic. Make the first bottle you consume in this place a relic. Place it on whatever altar you fashion with a knife and five cranberries. Don’t lose too much weight. Stupid girls are always trying to disappear as revenge. And you are not stupid. You loved a man with more hands than a parade of beggars, and here you stand. Heart like a four-poster bed. Heart like a canvas. Heart leaking something so strong they can smell it in the street.

Frida Kahlo   (via brutalite)



Beautiful in life, even more so in death.
Took this picture last summer(2010) in Colorado. Right outside of a friends Cabin.

Beautiful in life, even more so in death.

Took this picture last summer(2010) in Colorado. Right outside of a friends Cabin.

LEVIATHVN: If you work at that which is before you, following right reason...

alexanderraban:

If you work at that which is before you, following right reason seriously, vigorously, calmly, without allowing anything else to distract you, but keeping the divine part pure as if you should be bound to give it back immediately; if you hold to this, expecting nothing, fearing nothing, but satisfied with the present activity according to nature, and with truth in every word and sound which you utter, you will live happy. And there is no man who is able to prevent this.

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations