“What they don’t understand about birthdays and what they never tell
you is that when you’re eleven, you’re also ten, and nine, and eight, and
seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one. And when you
wake up on your eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven, but you don’t.
You open your eyes and everything’s just like yesterday, only it’s today. And
you don’t feel eleven at all. You feel like you’re still ten. And you are —
underneath the year that makes you eleven.
Like some days you might say something stupid, and that’s the part of
you that’s still ten. Or maybe some days you might need to sit on your
mama’s lap because you’re scared, and that’s the part of you that’s five.
And maybe one day when you’re all grown up maybe you will need to cry like
if you’re three, and that’s okay. That’s what I tell Mama when she’s sad and
needs to cry. Maybe she’s feeling three.
Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings
inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the
other, each year inside the next one. That’s how being eleven years old is.”
— ~ Sandra Cisneros (via conflictingheart)
(Source: arpeggia, via conflictingheart)
1:06 am • 10 February 2014 • 54,301 notes
“God I want you
in some primal, wild way
animals want each other.
Untamed and full of teeth.
God I want you,
In some chaste, Victorian way.
A glimpse of your ankle
just kills me.
— Want, Clementine von Radics (via boywitch)
(Source: clementinevonradics, via metan0iaa)
12:56 am • 10 February 2014 • 32,705 notes
Snowdrops by Dyker_The_Horse on Flickr.
Yesterday I saw some snowdrops for the very first time this year - spring may not be so far away after all!
12:56 am • 10 February 2014 • 95 notes