- Vincent Van Gogh

𝘈𝘳𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘣𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘣 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦. 💐💙✨

We have always been here

@ beetlemoses on ig

all of the sudden you’re twenty-nine, standing on the sidewalk barefoot before bed, and the crickets sound just like they did when you were seventeen, sleepless with the windows open. when you remember sadness ran through your body like a fever. nights you were so familiar with the dark—the kind you watched break into daylight around 5, and the kind of restless sinking that never quieted. you remember thinking long and hard through those unceasing nights, in the hidden journals written in your young handwriting, that you’d never live past 18. whether a goal or a prophecy, you weren’t sure, but something felt definite that this grief would be the thing to pull you under, if only hoping a small peace would follow.

the sidewalk is rough, but still warm under your feet. it’s been so long since you’ve thought about this; somehow both twelve years and a lifetime ago. the dog finishes sniffing around the trees and bounds back to you, a happy familiarity once he catches your eye. you’ll both go upstairs to the room you love and fall asleep, in the house you love and share with your best friend. tomorrow, you’ll spend the day laughing, fingers intertwined with your partner, in a loving relationship you’d have never imagined possible.

twelve years after. how easily you saw it over, and what friendships, trips and cross-country moves, published books, new talents, heartaches and bad hair cuts, gardens, and long indulgent breakfasts you’ve accomplished since. you forgot there was a time you couldn’t see yourself alive past eighteen. now, you can’t picture ever wanting to leave this.

What Makes a Man

What makes a man

Is being gentle

When we’re irate

It’s being humble

When we are great

It’s finding love

Amongst the hate

What makes a man

Is supporting one another

Building each other up

Picking up the pieces

When everything goes toes up

It’s shaking hands

To heal rifts

It’s being generous

With our gifts

What makes a man

Is helping friends

And making amends

It’s recognizing mistakes

And fixing them with haste

Boys may fight

But men do what’s right

That’s what makes a man

hey man I found a piece of your soul stuck in the text messages of old friends you don’t speak to anymore. do you want it back

I never before felt this ache in my chest

when the lover on screen was found broken and dead.

But now

it's you. And it's me

in the story.

And when looking for death, there's no need to hurry.

My heart blocks my throat

I don't know what to do

Now the survivor is me

and the dead one is you.

Acrylic paintings by Jason Limon on Instagram

"One might take the tip of the pencil and magnify it. One reaches the point where a stunning realization strikes home: The pencil tip is not solid; it is composed of atoms which whirl and revolve like a trillion demon planets. What seems solid to us is actually only a loose net held together by gravity. Viewed at their actual size, the distances between these atoms might become league, gulfs, aeons. The atoms themselves are composed of nuclei and revolving protons and electrons. One may step down further to subatomic particles. And then to what? Tachyons? Nothing? Of course not. Everything in the universe denies nothing; to suggest an ending is the one absurdity."

- Stephen King, The Gunslinger