you know what’s dumb
the concept of treating adolescents like children throughout the entirety of their teenage years and then at around age 17 pulling a complete 180 and expecting them to decide within the next couple years what they want to do with the rest of their lives
you put it in words
My cousin has two deaf parents and just posted
“You don’t know the struggle until you run out of toilet paper and everyone in your house is deaf.”
and i’m laughing reALLY HARD
” …We went through fire and flood, but You brought us to a place of abundance” (Psalm 66:12, NLT).
In scripture, three Hebrew teenagers, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, were told to bow down to the king’s idol or they would be thrown into a fiery furnace. They said, “No, King. We’re not going to bow down. We know our God will deliver us.” Their attitude was, “We’re not worried about it. We know we have inside information. We know everything is going to be alright.” Notice they didn’t fight it. They weren’t upset. They weren’t complaining. They were at peace. They knew God Almighty had His hand upon them. The guards threw them into the fiery furnace, and when all was said and done, they came out without even the smell of smoke on them!
Notice that God didn’t deliver them from the fire; He delivered them through the fire. Maybe you are going through the fire today. Know that God is with you. He’s doing a work in you, and He’s displaying His glory through you. Remember, on the other side of the fire is a place of abundance and blessing! Stand strong and see the fulfillment of the promises He has in store for you!
I promise to love you:
at 6am when you’re waking to go to work, to school, or whatever road life takes you on, and when you didn’t sleep well, your hair is a mess, and your eyes are sleepy.
at 8am when we say goodbye for the day and you’re rushing out the door with a cup of tea and your car keys in the other hand.
at 5pm when you’re exhausted from the day and people have worn you out and you feel like crying, and falling asleep and escaping from everything. I will kiss your forehead, and wrap myself in your arms.
at 10pm when you’re heading to bed, even though you won’t sleep for hours. Especially when we become a human knot wrapped up in sheets and kisses.
at 3am when loneliness and sadness do not destroy you, but consume you and when you weep without an explanation, I’ll kiss your lips softly and tell you you’re the absolute best and that things will be better soon
I will love you when you grow old, and I will love you after that. I will love you if I’m no longer here. I will love you, I will love you, and I will love you.
i promise to love you forever (via the-psycho-cutie)
if I hear one more dead-eyed hipster
tell me that art is dead, I will personally summon Shakespeare
from the grave so he can tell them every reason
why he wishes he were born in a time where
he could have a damn Gmail account.
The day after I taught my mother
how to send pictures over iPhone she texted
me a blurry image of our cocker spaniel ten times in a row.
Don’t you dare try to tell me that that is not beautiful.
But whatever, go ahead and choose to stay in
your backwards-hoping-all-inclusive club
while the rest of us fall in love over Skype.
Send angry letters to state representatives,
as we record the years first sunrise so
we can remember what beginning feels like when
we are inches away from the trigger.
Lock yourself away in your Antoinette castle
while we eat cake and tweet to the whole universe that we did.
Hashtag you’re a pretentious ass hole.
Van Gogh would have taken 20 selfies a day.
Sylvia Plath would have texted her lovers
nothing but heart eyed emojis when she ran out of words.
Andy Warhol would have had the worlds weirdest Vine account,
and we all would have checked it every morning while we
Snap Chat our coffee orders to the people
we wish were pressed against our lips instead of lattes.
This life is spilling over with 85 year olds
rewatching JFK’s assassination and
7 year olds teaching themselves guitar over Youtube videos.
Never again do I have to be afraid of forgetting
what my fathers voice sounds like.
No longer must we sneak into our families phonebook
to look up an eating disorder hotline for our best friend.
No more must I wonder what people in Australia sound like
or how grasshoppers procreate.
I will gleefully continue to take pictures of tulips
in public parks on my cellphone
and you will continue to scoff and that is okay.
But I hope, I pray, that one day you will realize how blessed
you are to be alive in a moment where you can google search
how to say I love you in 164 different languages. b.e.fitzgerald (Art is a Facebook status about your winter break.)
This is, and forever will be, one of my favourite movie scenes ever.
Motherfucker do you comprehend the intensity of that scene? Do you?
They pictured the feeling of tasting something that takes you way fucking back in time and makes you remember a certain moment of your life, a taste so comforting that makes you remember how happy you were back then.
MOTHER FUCKING PIXAR.
AND THE THING IS
OUT OF ALL OF THE THINGS THAT COULD HAVE IMPRESSED EGO
IT WAS A SIMPLE DISH THAT WAS CONSIDERED A ‘PEASANT’ DISH.
FUCKING PIXAR YO.