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🌿flowers of pakistan 🌿

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— A Prayer, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry 

[text ID: I’m only asking for strength for my days. Teach me the art of small steps.]

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Was it worth it

A cold black night with the wind so still, it felt like the time had stopped to grieve the loss of another dream. Ironic as the very thing one believed that kept him alive eventually caused his demise.

It was a lonely neighborhood, an ignored area filled with hopelessness, and in one of its remote street’s west end lay a rusty, old bookstore with torn, overflowing books and no label. A poor place used as a disguise for a job, but now it was nothing more than a battlefield. Some had gone to enjoy their hard-earned fruit leaving the place wretched and no enemy extant but in the middle of the mess there was a man, with his blood-soaked T-shirt and his eyes, that were so wide as if he had gone through hell all at once. Beneath him were several notes spread unorderly, which was something he would betray a friend for, kill a brother for and even go to the very place he loathed for but he didn’t move an inch to have what he desired. 

He died where he first opened his eyes, where he first had his dream for the future, where he was like a lonely, bright star in a night sky and it was also the very place he wanted to escape which will now be the place where he will stay for the rest of the eternity.

He could have been like a violet growing between algae and dirt but the obstacles crushed his dreams and greed made him run in the wrong direction and now he lay there because another chose to sacrifice their dream for their same, own selfish desire

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"name one hero who was happy."

....

"You can't."

"I can't."

"I know. They never let you be famous and happy."

...

"I'll tell you a secret."

"Tell me."

"I'm going to be the first." ... "Swear it."

"Why me?"

"Because you're the reason. Swear it."

"I swear it.*

...

"I swear it."

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​it’s moo-nday!! 🐮 here’s some adorable flower cows to start the week - and year - of right! ♡

(via)

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"I feel that there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people." - Van Gogh

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the feminine urge to visit an old bookstore and find a dried rose between its pages

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flirting is childish, we’re grown just tell the person you see god in their eyes

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“Even after all this time the sun never says to the earth, 'You owe me.' Look what happens with a love like that. It lights the whole sky.”

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thug life? more like hug life. come here

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you try to shadow your house

from her twilight gleam

but you can't see the elysian beauty

that climbs out of you under her memory

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